The Family G Man by Neoxphile and FelineFemme
by neoxphile
Summary: After losing his love and his best friend, Mulder is offered a second chance. Would giving one a family and saving the other's child make a difference? Mulder Scully married; Mulder-Doggett friendship
1. Last Christmas

Title: The Family G-Man

Authors: Neoxphile and FelineFemme

Rating: we're shooting for NC-17, ya'll better take cover

Spoilers: Seasons 1-9

Category: Alternate Reality, Snark, Family Fic, plus a dollop Angst for the beginning (and despite what chapter one leads you to believe, this is *not* a character death story)

Disclaimer: So yeah, we're going to be borrowing CC's characters, and the idea behind "

The Family Man," which put a twist on "It's a Wonderful Life" which blatantly copied "A Christmas Carol." We hope the print doesn't get blurry from being a copy of a copy of…

Summary: What if he could go back and change things, save the son one lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them safe?

* * *

Chapter One

"Last Christmas"

December 24th, 2003

If events had ever set Mulder up for a worst Christmas than the following day would inevitably be, it had to be the one when he was twelve. That year had been agony because his parents were still trying to put on happy hopeful faces that believed Samantha would be coming back to open the presents dutifully bought and laid under the tree. When she didn't miraculously show up, the day passed in stony silence, except for the weepy condolences everyone offered.

But that Christmas he'd only lost one important person, this year he'd lost two. One by accident, the other by hopeless design. It had been only a week since he attended John Doggett's funeral, and he was already facing another. At least Doggett's death had been none of his own doing.

Doggett had been on his way back to the beach where he and Barbara had scattered their son's ashes when he encountered a semi-truck driven by a man who had been awake so long that he fell asleep at the wheel. The car was a twisted ruin, and Doggett was already dead by the time the rescue workers were able to pry him from the wreckage. The only fortunate thing about the whole event is the fact that Monica Reyes had to work late that day, so she wasn't able to accompany him like she had the year before. From talking to her, though, no one dared suggest how lucky she was.

As stunned as he was by the loss of a man he was rapidly becoming to consider a close friend, Mulder had little time to mourn before fate dealt him two more crushing blows. The first of these lead to the second. On December 22nd, a court decided that William S. Mulder was better off in the custody of his adopted parents.

Mulder thought Scully might had been able to live with that, if William hadn't been right there in the courtroom. He had been smaller than Mulder had been picturing, obviously taking more after Scully size-wise, and his hair was her bright red, and long enough to curl at the ends. He also had her bright blue eyes...which had been completely empty of recognition. He knew his son was too young to remember him, but Scully had obviously thought he'd remember her. William looked at her like he'd never laid eyes on her before. Mulder was fairly sure that's what drove Scully over the edge.

She'd celebrated their defeat that night by leaving the house while he was sleeping, and driving to a high, secluded bridge. Her body washed ashore the next afternoon, the afternoon before the one he was living. When he'd driven by the bridge, just to tell himself it was real, he couldn't help but remember another bridge in another life, exchanging a clone of his sister for his partner. Only this time he'd had nothing to give to get her back.

* * *

A cloud of numbness had settled over him the day before, which is why he found himself walking through mostly deserted streets near their apartment. He hadn't had any goal in mind, he just couldn't stand to be inside a minute longer, not while the ghosts of things he'd done and said with his friend and his beloved dueled for his attention. In the living room he and Doggett had watched the Thanksgiving ball game; in the bedroom he and Scully had made love. Every room was marked, crowded, and he just couldn't stay there.

He'd vaguely thought of calling Reyes to see if she wanted company, but he'd nixed the idea. Two depressed people just makes misery grow, not lessen it, so he decided to take a walk instead. He didn't know where he was going, and he was so preoccupied he didn't even know where he was. If he hadn't accidentally bumped into someone leaving a liquor store, he might have just keep walking aimlessly until he froze to death.

Instead he blinked and apologized. "Oh! Sorry about that," he told the short blonde woman he'd just bumped into. She glared at him until he helped her pick up her things, none of which had broken he was happy to note.

"You should pay more attention," the woman scolded him.

"I know. I'm sorry, it's…it's been a really bad week," he said, not feeling like going into details.

"Two deaths in one week. That is rough," the woman agreed, with a bird-like nod of her head.

Mulder blanched. "How did you…?" he stammered, his mind a sudden whirl of confusion. "Are you a mind-reader or something?" he asked, thinking of that fraud Yappi.

"No. It's just my job to know these things about people. You're Fox Mulder, FBI agent. Several days ago you lost a friend, and the night before last you lost the love of your life. That's enough to distract anyone."

Mulder's thoughts grabbed onto one part of the woman's words. "What do you mean, it's your job?" he asked her.

"Ok, you got me. It's only part of my job. My actual job is helping people fix the mistakes in their lives."

"Like a therapist?" Mulder scoffed. "I think it's a little late to for that sort of thing. My problem is the fact that people are dead, and no amount talking it out is going to fix that."

"I fully agree," The woman told him." The only thing that would fix your problems is to make your friends undead."

"I really don't think turning them into vampires would be much of an improvement!" Mulder protested.

The woman looked slightly flustered. "Poor word choice. I meant if they weren't dead."

"Well, obviously!" Mulder exclaimed. "Except for the fact that bringing them back to life is impossible."

"That's true," she admitted. "You can't bring someone back to life after they've already died. But you could keep them from dying."

Mulder gave her a suspicious look. "You're not a genie, are you? I've already seen what happens through wish-granting, and I'm positive that nothing good could come from it."

She shook her head. "I'm not a genie. I don't deal in wishes, I deal in change."

"You don't look much like a pan-handler," Mulder replied, looking her over. Her coat and scarf looked pretty pricy to him.

"People changing, not currency, you idiot," she snapped, then immediately looked contrite. "That was uncalled for, I'm sorry. Look, if it was possible to keep your loved ones from being killed, what price would you be willing to pay to accomplish that?"

"Just about anything," he replied instantly.

"Would you give up the life you're now living to do it?" she asked in a wheedling tone.

Mulder gave a short sharp laugh. "Are you kidding? What do I have now? I can't get my son back, the love of my life is gone, and given that she and my friend are dead, my life's work is probably going to be dismantled as well because there aren't enough people left to keep it going. I have nothing."

The woman looked slightly taken aback. "This is usually a harder sell…Let me ask you one question, Mister Mulder. What do you think it would have taken to keep your loved ones from dying? And I don't just mean the car accident or the bridge, I mean what in their lives being different would have kept them from their fates?"

"John Doggett is easy," Mulder said. "If his son hadn't died, he never would have been going to visit where the boy's ashes are scattered, so he wouldn't have been killed by the trucker."

"-and Scully?" The woman asked, making him blink because he didn't think he'd mentioned her name.

Mulder thought hard. "I guess things would have been different for her if she'd had the family she always wanted. She was never the same after trying so desperately to have our son, then losing him."

"There you go!" the woman said with a look of triumph on her face.

"Huh?" Mulder asked, which was a completely legitimate response.

Instead of answering him right away, the woman reached into her coat and pulled out an envelope. Just an ordinary green one that Christmas cards came in. She thrust it into his hand.

"Here. If you really think you can help them by changing those things about their pasts, open this card when you get home, and read it. As soon as you do you'll get the chance to help them."

Mulder gave her a skeptical look. "What's your name?"

"It's Elsbeth, why?"

"Because I like to be able to give the hospital a name when I tell them that a crazy person is wandering the streets of DC on her own. It makes it easier on the people responding to the APB."

"You won't call anyone, Mister Mulder," Elsbeth said firmly. "They never do."

"Ok, whatever. Just promise me you'll head on home without bothering anyone else."

"Oh, I promise," she said in a vapid tone, batting her eyelashes at him. He sighed and walked away, deciding that maybe the apartment wasn't such a bad place to be after all.

* * *

Back in his apartment, he thought a lot about what Elsbeth told him. She was insane, but it was something else to think about besides his heavy grief, so he let the ideas she presented consume his fears.

If Luke hadn't been kidnapped and murdered, he might never have met Doggett. Being unattached was probably the main reason he'd accepted the invitation to head up the task force to look for him when he'd been missing. If Mulder could go back and keep himself from being taken without letting Scully go in his place, he definitely would never have met the man. But that would be better than him and the kid being dead, that was for sure.

Scully was harder to think about. She wouldn't be dead if her only baby hadn't been kept from her, and… if he wasn't her only baby. It all went back to when Duane Barry grabbed her and let her go to the aliens instead. If she hadn't been taken, she wouldn't have gotten cancer or think she was barren, and her impossible daughter would never have been born to a life of pain...

Shaking his head regretfully, he pulled out the envelope. Nothing would happen when he opened it, but if there was a trillion in one chance that Elsbeth was a magical being rather than a crackpot, he thought he was ready. So he opened the envelope and –

Nothing happened. Smiling ruefully, he looked at the card. It was almost entirely dark blue, with a silhouette of the nativity being approached by the three wise men on camels. They reminded him a little of the gunmen. The only spot of brightness on the card was the star of David, which looked all the more brilliant because of it's dark background. In all it's a nice enough card, but fairly typical.

He opened the card with a sigh, and read the words in it. Hand written, it said only "Wish you were here." Giving an unhappy laugh, Mulder thought of who he wished was there just then. Depressed once more, he let his eyes close.


	2. Pilot

Hoover Building

March 7, 1992

When he opens them again, he's in the basement office. He blinks and looks around; it looks unchanged. Which is completely wrong, because it has seen many changes with the addition of three more agents in the X-Files. Yet it looks exactly like it did when he first started out. A glance at the calendar tells him that he is back to a day he's never forgotten- the day he met Scully. He doesn't understand how Elsbeth has given him another chance, he's just glad she has.

He hears the elevator ding, then a few sharp footsteps that don't sound like a man's. There's a knock on the door a moment later.

::What did I say last time? She seemed to think it was endearing, if memory serves me right.:: "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted." He calls, remembering what he'd said.

* * *

Mulder notices that the first thing her eyes light upon is his "I Want To Believe" poster. Even before she notices him sitting there. He doesn't know how he feels about that, but he resists the urge to sigh over the unfairness of her not immediately noticing that he is hot.

"Agent Mulder. I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you." She sounds very business-like as she extends her hand, and he can't help but think it's cute. He'd forgotten how young she was, they both were, when they met before.

He pauses for a moment, trying to remember his lines. "Oh, isn't it nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? So, who did you tick off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?"

She seems to do her best not to seem taken aback by his skeptical demeanor. "Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've heard a lot about you."

He puts on his best smirk. "Oh, really? I was under the impression... that you were sent to spy on me." ::How did we ever get together?:: he finds himself thinking just then. ::The way I needled her in the beginning, it's a wonder we even became friends, let alone became so close:: "It's just been a matter of time before they sent a viper into my nest."

"If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials, th-" She trails off uncertainly when he stands up and looks for something, apparently no longer listening to her.

Before she has time to get too upset, he pulls something out from under his phone. "You're a medical doctor, you teach at the academy. You did your undergraduate degree in physics. Einstein's Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation. Dana Scully Senior Thesis. Now that's a credential, rewriting Einstein. At least they sent someone with something going on upstairs to be my babysitter," he adds, and he can see her trying not to respond to that.

He's surprised how easy it is to fall back into old events and conversations. He's pretty much on autopilot during their first case, at least until they've taken their jaunt through the buggy woods. Then he finds himself paying close attention again when there's a frantic knock on his motel door.

* * *

Mulder opens the door to find a very shaken Scully, wearing a bathrobe. ::Hoo boy,:: he thinks, remembering what this is all about.:: Funny, she got so worked up over mosquito bumps, which weren't anything really, but when she took that tiny chip out of her neck, she was curious and scientific even when she found out the consequences,:: he thinks, holding the candle. "Hi," is all he says.

"I want you to look at something," she says, trying to keep her voice steady.

He wants to shoot off a smart remark, but he doesn't want to shoot himself in the foot so early in the game. "Come on in," he says, stepping back. She walks in, then turns around, slipping off her robe. He isn't surprised to see she's still wearing a plain bra and panties, she never really got into dressing up underneath until later. She glances back at him, then at her lower back. Holding the candle steady, Mulder tries to keep the gaze professional and, for now, purely platonic. Yup, she's bumpy, all right.

"What are they?" she asks in a strained tone. She doesn't see him smile a little, more at the irony of the situation than at her fear. "Mulder, what are they?"

"Mosquito bites," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

Disbelieving, she asks, "Are you sure?"

He grins a little. Hard to believe this is the same Scully who'll put me through the wringer to underline the crazy evidence that's right in front of her face. "Yeah, I got eaten up a lot myself out there."

Relieved, she exhales, putting on her robe and hugs him tightly, more than a little mortified at her willingness to believe his theories and not wanting to really face him just yet.

"You okay?" he asks, not displeased to be hugging a woman in her bathrobe and underwear.

"Yes," she says, pulling away.

"You're shaking," he says, commenting more on her emotional state than physical.

"I need to sit down," she says, wanting a drink badly, preferably at least 80 proof. She sits down, gathering her robe around her modestly.

"Take your time," he says, sitting in a seat across from her.

"I think I need a drink," Scully sighs, not looking at him.

He gets up, rummaging through the dark mini-fridge, and hands her a small bottle of bourbon. She smiles a little as she takes it from him, then downs it in a few quick gulps. "Did it help?" Mulder asks.

She nods, feeling the alcoholic warmth moving from her throat to her stomach. "Mind if I take over?" She nods towards the bed.

He shakes his head. "Help yourself." He debates getting a small bottle for himself, but remembers what happens next, then grabs his coffee thermos, sitting beside the bed. Unscrewing it, he tilts the still-warm contents into his mouth, then offers it to his partner, who shakes her head.

Scully begins to close her large blue eyes when a question interrupts her calm. "Mulder, what got you into the X-Files? I mean, were you always," she pauses, "curious about UFOs?"

He smiles, but there's a bleakness to the smile. "I guess it all goes back to my childhood, just like the psychologists say. I was twelve when it happened. My sister was eight. She just disappeared out of her bed one night. Just gone, vanished. No note, no phone calls, no evidence of anything."

"You never found her," Scully says, and he knows this is moment, not when she undressed, is when she begins to understand his quest, understand what this is all about. And when she turns from following the FBI's agenda, the Syndicate's agenda, and standing on his side of the line.

"Tore the family apart," he answers, not letting his emotions get the better of him, "No one would talk about it. There were no facts to confirm, nothing to offer any hope."

"What did you do?" she asks, half-knowing what the answer will be.

"Eventually, I went off to school in England, I came back, got recruited by the bureau. Seems I had a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases." He pauses, remembering not only how spooked his colleagues were with his uncanny ability to crawl into a killer's mind, but also how he went from the manipulative Phoebe in college to the even more ruthless Diana after Quantico.

"My success allowed me a certain freedom to pursue my own interests. And that's when I came across the X-Files." He turns to face her, wanting her to trust him, and knowing for all her scientific skepticism and professionalism, any mention of other women involved would send her through the roof.

"By accident?" Scully asks.

"At first, it looked like a garbage dump for UFO sightings, alien abduction reports, the kind of stuff most people laugh at as being ridiculous. But I was fascinated. I read all the cases I could get my hands on, hundreds of them. I read everything I could about paranormal phenomenon, about the occult, and," He sighs, remembering how cocky he'd been, even though he'd only scratched the surface of the colorful world that had become his life's work, his life, period.

"What?" Scully asks, bringing him back to the present.

"There's classified government information I've been trying to access, but someone has been blocking my attempts to get at it," he says, almost by rote as he covers up his woolgathering.

"Who? I don't understand," Scully says, sitting up.

"Someone at a higher level of power," Mulder replies, remembering how frustrated he was, " The only reason I've been allowed to continue with my work is because I've made connections in congress." ::Or so I thought,:: he muses, ::God, we were so damn naïve.::

"...and they're afraid of what? That, that you'll leak this information?" She wonders, and it was a reasonable assumption.

"You're part of that agenda, you know that," he says, with no ill will.

"I'm not part of any agenda," she says, believing it. "You've got to trust me. I'm here just like you, to solve this." and yet part of her knows the report she'll be turning in will reflect poorly on Agent Mulder's willingness to believe in farfetched theories rather than evidence that will surely reflect more mundane, if reasonable, explanations.

As if he can read her wavering thoughts, he leans forward, kneeling. Mulder says in a confidential, almost conspiratorial tone, "I'm telling you this, Scully, because you need to know, because of what you've seen. In my research, I've worked very closely with a man named Dr. Heitz Werber and he's taken me through deep regression hypnosis. I've been able to go into my own repressed memories to the night my sister disappeared. I can recall a bright light outside and a presence in the room. I was paralyzed, unable to respond to my sister's calls for help."

Moving closer, Mulder raises his volume as he gets into it. Even after all these years, even after all the retellings and the painful memories, the initial raison d'etre of his quest still moves him. "Listen to me, Scully, this thing exists."

"But how do you know," she starts to ask, when he interrupts her, carried away.

"The government knows about it, and I got to know what they're protecting. Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I've ever gotten to it," he says, the intensity overriding the fact that he knows this is just the tip of the iceberg.

The phone rings, startling her and giving her a grateful respite from him going into any further detail as he picks up the phone.

"Hello? What? Who is this? Who is," he tries asking, then hangs up, having gotten as much information from the reluctant caller as he could. "That was some woman," he says to Scully's unspoken question, "She just said Peggy O'Dell was dead."

"The girl in the wheelchair?" Scully asks, her eyes already wide.

He nods, also grateful for the interruption, because if he got any more intense on her, she might panic and run, or he'd mistakenly try to hit on her. Not yet, he thinks, handing her his coffee thermos to clear her head, and she nods before going to her room to dress.

* * *

Scully's Apartment

Later That Week

Scully lies in bed, unable to sleep. Even with the terrific sex with Ethan, she finds herself remembering the odd case that's somehow gotten under her skin. Especially the part in the forest, the odd lightning and thunder that Mulder said was a UFO of some sort. Despite her skepticism, she knows Billy doesn't have those strange marks on his back anymore and he's no longer comatose, but not completely in his right mind, either. This whole case doesn't make sense, she muses, wishing they could have more evidence saved than that strange metallic device retrieved from the disfigured body. It's 11:21 p.m., and the clock flips to 11:22 as she watches it.

The phone rings and she picks it up. "Hello?"

"Scully?" Mulder asks on the other end. "It's me, I haven't been able to sleep. I talked to the D.A.'s office in Raymon County, Oregon. There's no case file on Billy Miles. The paperwork we filed is gone. We need to talk, Scully."

The redhead blinks in assent, even as she shivers slightly. "Y-yes. Tomorrow," She agrees, grateful that her boyfriend is asleep. Wouldn't want to have him thinking more than one man makes her shiver.

Hanging up, she settles back into bed uneasily. Maybe it's Mulder getting under my skin, she thinks flippantly, then chides herself for such a thought.

But it still takes a long time to sleep, and her mind is filled with strange, conflicting thoughts.


	3. Familial Pressure

June 1992

Mulder tries to stifle a yawn with his fist, but it escapes anyway. "Sorry. No rest for the wicked, huh, Scully?"

They'd just gotten a flight home after a doppelganger case, and are already being sent to investigate something else, less than ten hours later.

"No, no rest at all," Scully tells him. "Ethan keeps complaining that he barely sees me."

"Oh." Mulder tries hard to ignore any mention of her boyfriend. From the last time around, he knows that Ethan is history just months after Scully joins him on the X-Files. ::I hope I never have to meet the poor bastard. I'll have so much trouble not calling him "short-timer".:: "They don't even schedule us enough time between cases to hit the restroom," he says instead.

She looks amused. "If you need to pee, I can get a car from the motor pool myself."

Mulder is sure that he surprises her by taking her up on the offer. "Thanks a lot. I'll meet you down there."

"I thought you were just being figurative."

"Nope. I bought a Big Gulp at the airport, remember?"

"Okay, Mulder," she says, and he wonders if she realizes that she's wearing a small smile.

He darts into the men's room because he really does need to relieve his aching bladder. He almost moans when he's finally able to go.

* * *

"So you're working with Agent _Mulder,_" A disembodied voice says as Mulder approaches the motor pool.

Mulder freezes when he hears the exaggerated way that the unseen woman says his name. Deciding to eavesdrop, he backs against the wall, where he's sure that shadows will hide him from anyone who happens to wander by.

"Yes, that's right." Scully's voice holds an uncertain note, clearly unsure about what the other woman is getting at.

"There are a lot of women at the bureau who envy you," the voice remarks to Mulder's great surprise. "Plenty of girls would like to have the chance to work under him, if you know what I mean," the woman continues.

"He doesn't seem to be dating anyone, or at least he's never mentioned a girlfriend, and I know he's not married, so what's stopping these 'girls'?" Scully asks.

"What's stopping them is that he rarely looks twice at any of them." The other woman sighs. "What a waste."

There's a pause, then Scully haltingly asks, "You don't think, he's...um..."

"Gay? No. There was this woman a couple of years ago...If you'd seen them together, you'd know he's not. She took off on him without warning, from what I heard, though. No one much liked her, but he did, so most people figure that he's nursing a broken heart."

"Oh. That'd explain a lot."

There's the sound metal sliding across the top of a desk. "Well, here are your keys. It's in space 107."

"Great, thanks."

By the time he backtracks through the building, Scully is waiting for him in their newly acquired Ford Tempo. "Sorry, it was busier in the men's room than I expected."

"Guess we're not the only ones on a tight schedule," she says as she tosses him the keys.

"Scully, you're scientifically inclined. What is it that you expect to find when we land in Pittsburgh?" Mulder asks with a hint of a smile.

"Well, not a dragon," she says, also smiling.

"What, not even a Komodo or bearded?"

"I suppose it's possible that the dragon someone saw wandering downtown in Pittsburgh could be a Komodo dragon or bearded dragon, but it sure as hell isn't the twelve foot long dragon like the person who reported it claims."

"My money is on alligator," Mulder tells her.

"An alligator?" She looks like she's about to laugh.

"I hear that Pennsylvania has find sewer systems. Lots of places for a flushed baby alligator to grow up."

She's giggling by the time he turns on the car.

* * *

Hoover Building

October 31, 1992

Given that it's Saturday morning, very few other people are in the building. They wouldn't be themselves if their flight hadn't gotten back so late, and if Blevins hadn't insisted that he wanted a report on the case they had just finished within 18 hours, no exceptions. There is no way that Mulder can tell her, but he assumes that they are being punished for her not meeting expectations as a spy.

"So, Mulder, what are your plans for the night?" Scully asks, looking up from what she's writing. They have been taking turns writing reports, and it's her turn. He's mostly there for moral support, and to help remember details.

It's on the tip of his tongue to make a quip about trying to talk her into bed that night, but he doesn't.

:: Slow and steady, Mulder.:: He reminds himself for the 4000th time since finding himself back in 1992. Although it was his first impulse upon finding himself back in time, meeting Scully again, to immediately start hitting on her, he found it necessary to remind himself that in the past that strategy has worked out poorly for him. There were girls in college and afterwards that he was able to immediately charm. But they also almost immediately dumped him. :: Keep thinking about saving her from that nut Duane Barry. Come on to her too soon and you'll blow it long before you get the chance to put your plan in motion..::

"Um, I bought five of those big bags of chocolate at the grocery store, and a bowl three times the size of my head covered in ghosts and bats. I figure that I'll carve a pumpkin, prop the door open, and watch scary movies between trick-or-treaters," he tells her.

"Five bags of chocolate, Mulder? It sounds like you'll be the hit of the neighborhood."

He gives her a wry smile. "I give my landlord enough trouble without having him be pissed at me because somebody toilet papered or egged the hallway. How about you?"

"I don't know what I'm doing tonight."

"You don't know? I'm shocked."

"Ethan told me he bought tickets to something, but wants what they're for to be a surprise."

"Oh. You must trust him to know your tastes, then."

"Pretty much. Which horror movies?"

"What?" He gives her a puzzled look.

"You said that you're going to watch horror movies. Which ones?"

"I guess it depends on what's at the video store. I was hoping for a few 80s classics, like The Changeling and Poltergeist."

"Poltergeist?" She shivers. "I hate that movie."

"You do? I know the bodies in that movie aren't as fresh as the ones you're used to dealing with, but-"

"Not the bodies. The clown."

"You're afraid of clowns?"

"When I was three, Bill had a birthday party and my parents hired him a clown. Let's just say that it didn't go well for me."

Mulder nods. "If we ever encounter a clown on any of our cases, I promise I'll shoot it for you."

"My hero," she says sarcastically before getting to her feet. "It looks like this report is done. As soon as I drop this off upstairs we can get the hell out of here."

Mulder glances at the wall clock. "Maybe you'd better take the elevator."

Less than five minutes after Scully left, Mulder hears footsteps outside the door. They are much too loud to be hers, so he wonders who might be there. He doesn't remain in suspense very long, because a nervous looking man wearing a visitor's badge soon pops his head into the room. "Hi, I'm looking for Dana Scully."

Mulder does not have to read the name on the visitor's badge to know that this is Scully's boyfriend, Ethan. It only takes him a minute to assess the man. Even though it's Saturday afternoon, he's wearing a dress shirt and perfectly pressed khaki pants. His hair is raked back so severely that you can see teeth marks from the comb. :: He looks like he should be out giving people Watchtower magazines.:: Mulder thinks disdainfully before bothering to answer. "You've found the right place."

Ethan looks relieved. "You must be Fox Mulder then."

"I must be," Mulder says flatly. "Scully didn't say that you were coming."

"Scully?" Ethan looks slightly puzzled. "You FBI people, calling each other's by your last names..."

Mulder stares at him.

"Um, I thought it would surprise her with lunch," Ethan says in a rush. It's clear that Mulder has put him on edge again.

"I've never taken her for the type of person who likes surprises, but I guess you know better," Mulder replies. "So, speaking of surprises, where are you two going tonight? Don't worry, I won't spoil the surprise."

"The circus is in town this weekend. She told me once that she'd never been, so I bought us tickets. I suppose it's a little silly, but I'm hoping that she finds it endearing rather than cheesy."

"Good luck," Mulder says, trying to force himself to sound like he means it.

"Thanks."

Two seconds later they both hear the sound of Scully's heels on the tile in the hallway. She looked surprised when she enters the room. "Ethan? What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to invite my best girl to an impromptu lunch," Ethan tells her with more confidence than he has displayed in his exchange with Mulder.

"That sounds great. You have good timing too, because we were just about to leave."

:: Don't ask me to lunch too. I don't think I can pretend to like this man long enough so you don't think I'm a jealous prick.:: Mulder thinks to himself before getting to his feet. He holds his hand to Ethan, and the other man gives him a startled look before shaking it. "It was nice to meet you, Ethan. But if you excuse me, I have several errands I need to run."

"Oh." Scully looks slightly disappointed, and he sure that she intended to ask him to join them for lunch. "Have a good Halloween then, Mulder."

"You too."

As Mulder walks through the Hoover building, he tries not to smile broadly. Scully is afraid of clowns, and her idiot boyfriend is taking her to the circus. He doesn't know what he was worried about. Ethan is sabotaging himself much more easily and creatively than Mulder ever could.

* * *

Hoover Building

November 2, 1992

"So, how was Halloween?" Mulder asks as soon as he and Scully enter the office in the morning.

At first she doesn't say anything, but slowly shakes her head. "There were clowns involved," she says flatly.

"Were you armed?"

This makes her smile. "Of course not."

"What I said Saturday, I meant it. If we ever see a clown, I will shoot it for you."

"I believe you. It's not comforting, but I believe you."

"Have you seen any ghosts today?" Mulder asks.

"Ghosts?"

"I've been reading on Catholicism a little bit. Today is All Souls Day, right?"

"Yes..."

"Doesn't that mean you see dead loved ones?"

"Mulder! You haven't done enough reading. You're supposed to think about your dead loved ones, not see them," she says, exasperated. "The point is praying for those in purgatory, not having an audience with them."

"That's disappointing. I thought it would be a little more hands-on, like than day of the dead down in Mexico."

"You sound like my brother Charlie," Scully says with a laugh. "He wanted all souls Day to be like the day the dead too. Of course, he was seven."

"Charlie, hmmm? I take it that's the brother you like best."

"Why do you say that?"

"Whatever you say your older brother's name, little worry lines show up on your forehead. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that there is some clashing there," Mulder says teasingly.

"If you had an older brother, maybe you could understand."

"I_ am_ an older brother."

Neither of them say anything after that, both suddenly reminded of why Samantha Mulder hasn't had to worry about him being an overbearing sibling.

* * *

Bill and Margaret Scully's Home

Early December 1992

Around December, Scully is itching to get back to something like a normal life, so she escapes, albeit in the company of another man, to her parents' home. ::Away from the X-Files,:: Scully thinks, ::away from my crazy partner, away from the madness that has us running like chickens with our heads cut off month after month.::

"Mrs. Scully, good to see you again, Mr. Scully." Ethan Minette shakes hands with the captain after briefly hugging his wife.

"What brings you down here?" Margaret Scully smiles, not at all surprised or dismayed by the sudden visit.

Her daughter fidgets nervously, unlike her confident companion. "Just stopping by, since we were in the neighborhood, Mom," she says.

"I see," her mother says, and nudges her husband. "Well, you're welcome to stay for lunch, we've got plenty of munchies since Bill and Tara are here."

"Bill's here, too?" Now Scully looks surprised, and she looks up at her father, who nods. Nodding a bit too proudly, she notes. "Well," she says, recovering her equanimity, "I guess Ethan will be meeting more of my family." She and her boyfriend follow her parents inside, where another couple is sitting comfortably in the living room.

"Dana." Tara smiles, standing, and Scully warmly hugs her sister-in-law. It still boggles her mind that this strong, loving woman is actually married to her bossy older brother, but then again, she counts the woman as a saint. "Can you believe they're letting him stay seven months? Perhaps they're afraid he's forgetting how to walk on land." She grins.

"Hey, little sister." Her brother envelopes her in a massive hug. Ergh. "Contrary to what some people believe, they're just giving me more paperwork to do, stuff I can do on land," he says the last two words to his wife, who grins back impishly.

"Hi there, Bill Scully," he says, giving Ethan an over-firm grip.

Ethan doesn't wince as he shakes the other man's hand just as firmly. "Hi, Ethan Minette," he says.

"I like him." The tall, broad-shouldered man beams at his sister, "He's not like the other guys you used to bring home."

"Bill," Scully sighs, "high school was another lifetime ago." There's something unsettling about her brother liking her boyfriend, it just feels odd.

"No, Bill's right, you did pick some," Her father pauses, "unsavory characters."

Ethan raises his eyebrows, as she pretends to let their insinuations roll off her back. Fat chance. Even her mother knew to change the topic. "Well, Dana, how have things been going lately?"

Scully smiles gratefully at her mother. "I just got back from a case in Georgia, and, and I just thought I'd like to see you guys again before I get sent goodness knows where."

Ethan nods. "I thought I'd be flying more for my international litigations work, but Dana keeps flying all over the place." He smiles at her, and she smiles back, a little tentatively.

"I guess all the Scullys have some wandering blood in them." Her father beams. "Bill's in the Navy, Charlie's a satellite engineer, Melissa's," he sighs, "finding herself, and Dana's in the FBI. I thought you'd be the one to settle down first," He looks at his youngest daughter.

"I am," she says, "as soon as things settle down at work."

"When will that be?" Bill wonders, in his blunt fashion.

"Good question," Ethan says, looking directly at her.

"Whenever it is, I hope you don't make Ethan wait too long," Her father adds helpfully.

Ooh, kiss of death. Perhaps she hasn't outgrown her youthful rebelliousness after all. "I think I'll have some tea," Scully tells her mother, as Tara gives her a sympathetic glance.

* * *

Hoover Building

Monday

Familiar staccato clicks on the tile announce her arrival before she opens the door. Scully nods to her partner, taking a sip of coffee from the styrofoam cup before she puts her purse down. " Hey, how's the homies?" Mulder asks, tossing another wadded paper ball into the trash. ::It's amazing how his game improves when he's not on a case, he thinks, that, or the ceiling gets full of lead.::

She raises that infamous eyebrow as she takes off her coat. Ooh, shpooky. "The 'homies', as you put it, are fine. In fact, I got to spend time with my brother Bill and his wife, as well as my parents."

Mulder suppresses a shudder at the mention of her brother. He wonders if the other one, Charles, would be any more mellow. Or less of an asshole. "...and I'm guessing everything was just peachy in the Scully household."

She smiles a little. "As a matter of fact, yes, it was. Well, there was that one thing," and with that her smile fades. "But didn't anything *unusual* happen here?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "No, nothing worthy to be sent down here. No, what was that one thing that happened?" He leans forward, curious.

She sighs, regretting having brought it up. "Well, it wasn't a big deal, really," she starts, when she sees him leaning forward on his elbows, his chin resting on his hands, and makes a face. "Jeez, nothing *did* happen around here, did it?"

"Come on, Scully, don't make me beg for the juicy details," Mulder whines, putting on the full puppy-dog eyes, complete with pout.

"Brother." She snorts, but, allowing herself the luxury of turning away from him, "Well, if you must know, I almost got engaged."

Mulder almost falls over. "What?" He blinks.

"Yes," she says, turning around to see her tall partner's jaw hanging. "But with your keen powers of observation, you might detect something missing here," she says, holding up her hand. "Ethan's a nice boy, but we were moving too fast, and I don't see myself getting married anytime soon." She chuckles a little and bends down to retrieve her purse, while her partner gathers his wits.

::Okay, so she's not engaged, she's just dumped her boyfriend, thank you God,:: he rejoices inwardly, while his face betrays nothing of his emotions, as usual. One of these days, he's gonna crack a smile and freak her out, but in the meantime, it's all he can do not to jump up and down, hug her, and yell at the top of his lungs, "You're not getting married! Yes! No little Minettes running around!" Aloud he says, "So should I say congratulations or sorry?"

She smiles, "Neither. I'd still be your partner, married or not, Mulder. You can't scare off a Scully that easily."

He smiles back. ::That's for sure,:: he nods, ::your mom stuck up for us God knows how many times, and Bill sure wasn't shy about expressing his feelings. Neither did Melissa, as I recall.:: At that last thought, he sobers up, remembering his mission. Nobody else should have to suffer, nobody else, like Melissa, should have to die. "Good to know," he says aloud.

* * *

"This is one of those times I'm happy to be a man," Mulder tells her.

"Oh?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. Her look is slightly defensive, as if she expects him to try to hit on her now that he knows she's single.

Which isn't what he has in mind at all. "As a man, I can say nothing at all about the demise of your relationship. Now, if I was one of your female friends, I'd have to tell you he's scum, I never really liked the guy, you could do much better, and I know this guy I'm sure you'd hit it off with," he says with a grin.

"But you and Ethan spoke to each other for all of five minutes the entire time I dated him, so how could you hate him?" she asks reasonably.

"Doesn't matter. The extra X chromosome would force me to hate him even if I didn't know he existed until you mentioned breaking up with him."

Scully smiles slightly. "You sound as though you've investigated this."

"I do have a degree in psychology, Scully," he says with mock arrogance. "And I've watched a lot of TV."

"That explains it."

"And, you know, the phenomena is an x-files. Much like the one about why women can't go to the bathroom alone. Which is another reason to be happy to be male."

"You wouldn't want to go to the bathroom with me?" Scully teases him.

::No, because I wouldn't get to see anything!:: "Well, maybe if you promised to bring a can of air fresher."

She throws a paper clip at him, but doesn't seem upset, which makes him happy for the rest of the day.


	4. Lucky Break

Burlington, Vermont

February 14th, 1993

For once in her life, Dana Scully is more than glad to be kept busy on Valentine's day. A couple of months earlier, she'd believed that she and Ethan would be spending a romantic day together, but those brief daydreams had dissolved when she'd broken up with him. Two months later, she was still not regretting the decision, because Ethan just hadn't struck her as the type of man she'd be happy settling down with.

She's still thinking about this as she and Mulder drive to the scene of yet another crime in a small town. Mulder apparently notices her distraction, because he looks away from the road just long enough to ask, "Got something on your mind?"

Willing herself not to blush, she replies, "Have you ever stopped to think about how many of our cases could be summed up as 'agents investigate a horrible crime in a picturesque small town'?"

Mulder grins. "Maybe there's a dark hidden underbelly in all the pretty places, too."

"Hmm."

"I guess that's better than the brutal places that are more than happy to roll over and show you their underbellies," Mulder concludes.

"Mulder, you better be careful. There are laws against abusing a defenseless metaphor like that," she tells him with a cheeky smile of her own.

"You going to rat me out, Scully?"

"To the literary police? You bet. If I turn in three more offenders, I earn double miles on Southwestern flights."

"Have we even been booked on one of their flights, yet?" Mulder asks her.

She shrugs. "There are plenty more pretty towns with dark underbellies out there."

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'll eventually see them all." He looks slightly annoyed. "I feel like we're on some bizarre tour sometimes."

"Minus the rhinestones."

"I think I'd look pretty good in them though. Maybe paired up with some cowboy boots."

Their easy banter has her thinking about Ethan again. He'd been a nice enough man, but things had never been all that fun between them. Scully glanced at her partner. Why couldn't she find someone who was witty and brilliant like him, but minus the paranoia?

"Here we are, the pretty scene of a gruesome murder," Mulder announces as they come to a stop in front of a white farm house.

It is rather pretty. Large pine trees lined the yard, and nearly every limb is bowed down with clean looking snow. If it wasn't February you could half imagine Santa touching down with his team.

Of course, it's also the scene of a disemboweling that no one had been able to figure out, too, so that quells some of inclinations towards fond feelings for the place.

* * *

Three hours later they are little closer to solving the murder, and much farther from breakfast. Mulder pulls over in front of a small diner, and turns off the car before looking at her. "I hope you don't mind, I'm starving."

She looks up at the diner and feels all hope of a healthy meal fade away. "After hearing those details, you're still hungry?"

"I am. It takes more than a discussion about strewn entrails to put me off my feed." He opens the driver side door and gets out before looking back in at her. "Come on, you're a doctor. You can't have lost your appetite over something like that. There weren't even any pictures!"

Rolling her eyes, she throws open her own door and steps out. Mulder's longer legs mean that it only takes him a few steps to appear by her side, and she's soon glad that he has, because one of her feet skids on a patch of ice.

"Whoa!" Mulder cries, grabbing her by the arm to keep her on her feet.

"Thanks, Mulder. I thought I was going to fall on my behind."

"Not when I'm around," he tells her gallantly.

"Oh no?" she asks, smiling up at him.

"Nope. I'll always be here to catch you when you fall."

"Isn't that nice?" a delighted voice behind them calls out.

They both turn around and spot an older woman beaming at them. Within three heartbeats the woman has joined them. "That was very sweet, what you said," she tells Mulder.

"Um, thanks?"

"It's so nice to see a young couple in love like that." The woman doesn't seem to notice that both FBI agents have immediately turned red. She pokes Mulder. "You had better keep your promise, young man."

"I will," Mulder replies in a dazed voice.

The older woman smiles again. "I hope it works out for you. Your children would be lovely."

"Um…" Scully starts to reply, but the woman has given them a final smile before crossing the street, heading in the direction of the library.

She and Mulder exchange embarrassed looks.

Eventually Mulder decides to break their mutual silence, "I hope she's not one of the people we need to talk to during this case, because it'd be a shame to have to crush her illusions."

"I hope not, too, because I'm willing to bet that she fancies herself a matchmaker," Scully mutters, watching the woman enter the building across the street.

He looks down at her to catch her gaze. "You know I didn't just mean I'd catch you literally, right, Scully? I've got your back."

"I know, Mulder. And I've got yours."

To their relief, they soon solve the case without having to talk to their new favorite busybody.

* * *

The Shops at Georgetown Park

Washington, DC

May 1993

"This is nice," Scully tells her friends Kathy and Ellen as they settle at a table with trays of food. All three have varying kinds of salads, but Ellen and Scully have also decided to indulge, and have bought milk shakes as well. They've been shopping for three hours, and their stomachs have finally demanded food so they've agreed to a quick break.

"What, the food court?" Kathy asks, looking around at all the weekend shoppers they're marooned in the middle of. "If so, you've got a strange idea of nice. This is okay once in a while, but I prefer eating somewhere with menus and waiters."

Scully laughs. "I don't mean the food court, I mean spending the day with the two of you."

"You thought your credit card could use a work out, right?" Ellen asks archly. She's the one who complains the most often that they hardly see her any more.

"No, I thought I could use a day away from the grind."

"I'm glad you decided that, because we hardly see you," Ellen starts in again until Kathy lightly swats her arm.

"She's here now, so maybe it's not the best time for a 'why don't you ever do anything with us' lecture."

"All right." Ellen looks slightly contrite, but it isn't long before she has a new thing to harp on. "If you weren't so busy, though, maybe you'd have a new boyfriend by now."

"I seem to recall it taking more than five months before you replaced Don," Scully coolly tells her.

"That's true. We heard you moon over him for eight months after you broke up," Kathy adds.

"Nine months."

"Oh yeah, nine," Kathy agrees. "But what about the guy you work with?"

"Mulder?" Scully asks blankly. "What about him?"

"Is he married?"

"Just to his work."

"Dating anyone?"

"Not that I know of."

Ellen turns to Kathy. "That means no. He couldn't be dating anyone without Dana figuring it out."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You're a details person, Dana. Things like that wouldn't escape your attention."

"Uh, okay."

"Now the most important question," Ellen announces. "Is he cute?"

Scully grimaces. "Yes, he's cute." Kathy and Ellen exchange smug looks. "But I told you that he's married to his work."

"So you're jealous of that?" Kathy asks.

"What is this, 'gang up on Dana' day?"

Ellen pats her on the shoulder. "We're not trying to be mean. We just want you to be happy."

"And it seems like you're too busy lately to even look at anyone, never mind maybe getting a date," Kathy adds, her voice gentle.

"I didn't realize you were planning an intervention," Scully says a little stiffly.

Ellen holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. We'll drop it. Did I tell you what my wonderful son did in school last week? I was at work when I got a call from his teacher…"

Scully half listens to her friend's tale of first grade mayhem, more thinking about the earlier part of their conversation. She has been too busy for a relationship since breaking things off with Ethan. Would things even out for her eventually, or would she end up chronically single like Mulder apparently was? After more than a year on the X-Files she still wasn't feeling like things would ever slow down at work.

"You okay, Dana?" Kathy asks, looking concerned. "You look worried."

"I'm fine. Refresh my memory, which store did you say had a sale on silk sheets?"

The three of them finish their food and head back into the throng of shoppers, and for once Scully makes an effort to really look at the men around them.

* * *

_a/n: Sorry folks, if you want the uncensored version of this scene, you need to click on the link for this story in my profile. We don't want a handful of scenes in a **very** long fic make the whole thing M-rated._

July 1993

They're supposed to be writing up the report on the Victor Tooms case when she notices that he's staring off into space, even though he doesn't quite realize it himself. "Mulder, what are you thinking about?" Scully asks, looking up from a scattering of crime scene photos spread before her on a small table. Another small stack is piled on his desk in front of him, but he's not looking at them.

Instead of answering her, he glances at the door, making sure it's firmly shut, then approaches her from behind. Before she can ask him what he's doing, he grabs the hem of her FBI approved skirt, and throws it up onto her back. She gasps as he hooks his fingers in her panties and hose, but squirms in a helpful manner as he pulls them down for her. One of her hands brushes the front of his pants, and he's sure she can feel the censored that's straining against the teeth of his zipper.

He gives a soft grunt as he frees himself from the confines of his suddenly way too tight pants, and barely notices as the offending piece of clothing slitters to his ankles. She licks her lips and gives him an inviting look before swiping the photos off the table so she has a place to brace her hands.

It delights him to hear her moan softly as censored

While he would love to draw things out, to tease her, he can't help but glance at the door every couple of censored. Anyone could walk in, and that thrills him almost as much as it worries him. But just almost. What they're doing could cost them both their careers if anyone found out. As if reading his thoughts, she whimpers softly, and he's glad that they never put any surveillance cameras in the basement.

Much too soon he feels an exquisite tension, and knows that it won't belong before censored a whole lot Together they-

"Mulder, what are you thinking about?"

He blinks and looks over at her, where she's still reading that stupid case report. ::What am I thinking about? I'm thinking that the only way you're going to be safe this time next summer is if you've got a bellyful of baby. I'm worried that I'm going to screw everything up, and not get you into bed on time, or worse yet, do bed you, but destroy our relationship so we don't end up happy anyway. I'm worried that I'm not up to the chore of seducing you, because I never was too smooth with the chicks and I know you'd never believe me if I told you the truth, so I'm going to have to blunder on, and hope I can turn daydreams into reality. Well, maybe not this particular fantasy, since the office is kind of a scummy place for a date, but-::

"Mulder?" Scully looks a bit worried, reminding him of the time when she'll find him in a strange motel room with no memory.

"Sorry. Woolgathering. I was thinking about the final frontier, going where few men have gone before…" He gives her a sheepish grin. :: I hope it's a few men…note to self, find a way to tactfully bring up AIDS tests...::

"Star Trek, huh?" she asks, giving him an it-figures look.

"Something like that," he agrees, pulling his chair a little closer to the desk. Mostly, he's just hoping he won't be required to stand up in the next few minutes and have to display evidence of where his thoughts really were.

* * *

The calendar tells Mulder that he's got to go to New York very soon if he's going to spare Doggett the anguish of losing his only son. The only problem is, how does he tell Scully?

A voice in the back of his head reminds him that Skinner is always on his case about not taking vacation time, so he decides that it's the perfect cover story. He just needs to be very innocent seeming, so he doesn't raise her suspicions.

Skinner readily agrees to let him take the week off, mumbling something about "it's about time." So Mulder decides to wait until the last possible moment to tell Scully, since that's the sort of thing she probably expects from him.

He waits until they're packing up for the day to broach the subject. "Scully, you know how you're always going on about how you resent me making all the decisions in our cases?"

She gives him a startled look. "I've never said anything like that."

"Your eyes tell the story, Scully. Windows to the soul you know. Anyway, what would you think of being able to call all the shots for a week?"

"I'd wonder what the catch is," she says warily.

"Skinner has been hounding me to take some vacation time, and has threatened to not pay me for the week if I don't take it. Now."

"You're going on vacation?" She looks a little hurt, but he tries not to notice.

"I'll only be gone a week. You're probably sick of me anyway," he adds lightly.

"I'm-" She pauses, looking a little confused. "I hope you have a good time," she finishes lamely, obviously not saying what's on her mind.

"It'll be great. I haven't been to New York in years. Maybe," he says, grinning at her. "I'll bring you a souvenir. Do you need a paperweight?"

"Just be careful, Mulder."

"Oh sure. I'll be on my best behavior."

She looks unconvinced, but says nothing.

* * *

August 10th, 1993

At first he thinks that maybe all he'll have to do is to steal the kid's bike, but he knew John Doggett. He was completely devoted to his kid, so the first thing he'd do would be to dry the kid's eyes, and the second would be to buy him another bike.

Something much more drastic will be called for, in case the police don't nab Regalia as quickly as he hopes. He is going to have to make sure that the boy can't ride any bike, not just the one he has now. As much as he hates the idea of hurting a child, he decides it's the only sure way to keep him off his bike and out of the view of the pedophile monster who'd kidnap him.

He knows what Luke looked like, so all he has to do was wait for an opportunity to orchestrate an injury. After a couple of days of watching the boy carefully put his bike in the bike rack at the library near his home, he has an idea. There are steep granite steps that the kid had to climb up after he and his mother park their bikes, and the kid leaves his bike helmet on until he gets inside. All Mulder will have to do is knock him down the stairs and hope he breaks an arm or a leg.

Mulder's plan works perfectly, except for the fact that Doggett has taken Luke to the library today day instead of his wife. Noticing Doggett there does not change Mulder's mind. His prop is a large awkward box that is hard to see around, and as soon as he hears the man and boy's feet hit the first stair, he began to briskly walk towards the stair case himself. Luke is on the second to last step from the top when Mulder bowls him over, perfectly executing his plan. He drops his box with what he hopes is a surprised look on his face, and watches helplessly as the little boy tumbles all the way down the stairs. There's a sharp sound followed by a pitiful wail, the combination of which fills Mulder with both shame and pride. Luke is hurt, but there is no way he'd be riding his bike passed his would-be kidnapper in two days.

Pretending shock, Mulder rushes down the stairs. "Oh my God, I didn't even see him! What can I do? His leg…" Luke's leg is bent at an unnatural angle, which tells him he's definitely been successful.

"Do you have one of those cell phones?" Doggett asks, as he tried to comfort his son. The question strikes him as odd, until he remembers that cell phones weren't as pervasive in 1993 as they are in 2003.

"Yeah," Mulder says quickly dialing 911 for an ambulance. "I'm so sorry," he tells Luke as he bends to take a better look at him. The boy's pained grimace is the closest thing he gets to a reply.

"What the hell were you doin' anyway?" Doggett demands to know a couple of minutes later as they wait for the ambulance to show up. Mulder hovers with a guilty expression that he did not have to feign as he listens to Luke whimper in pain.

"I'm an FBI agent, and I was at the library doing a bunch of research, so they boxed the photo copies I need for my case for me, and I was running late…" Mulder does his best to sound nervous and apologetic- it doesn't require much acting. "I can't believe this happened."

"Do you have any kids?" Doggett asks, sounding a little less angry and a lot more weary.

"Not yet. My girlfriend and I are hoping for one soon, though." At least he's hoping. Then he's briefly distracted by wondering how Scully would react to hearing herself referred to as his girlfriend.

"You'll soon learn that accidents happen, no matter how well you look after your kids. You can't protect them from everything," Doggett declares with a sigh.

Mulder nods, but he hopes he's made Doggett's job in that regard a little easier.

The paramedics arrived soon after, and proclaim that Luke Doggett has indeed broken his leg. Luke's thoughts are of his bike. "I won't be able to ride my bike, Daddy!" he complains, as he's loaded into the ambulance.

"Not for a couple of months," Doggett agrees.

::and thank God:: Mulder thinks.

Doggett is about to climb into the ambulance when Mulder stops him. "Look, I feel terrible about this. Give me your address and I'll drop the bikes off at your house, it's the least I can do."

Doggett gives him a suspicious look, but then relents and gave him the address Mulder already knows. Before the doors to the ambulance swing closed, he gives Doggett his business card. "If there's anything the insurance doesn't cover, send the bill to me. I'm so sorry about all of this…" Doggett nods, then a minute later he and his son are off to the hospital.

To Mulder's relief, Barbara Doggett isn't home when he pulls into their driveway. He unloads the bikes quickly, then leaves before anyone has the chance to ask him what he's doing. He starts to drive back to the highway, but on impulse drives to a toy store instead. Walking up the counter, he asks the man, "Do you deliver?"

The man nods. "But it costs 25% extra." He goes on to explain that Mulder's question isn't as unusual as he probably thought, since grandparents and other relatives often make impulsive buys on their way home from visits. Since it was the man's own business he's able to offer better service than bigger stores. "We even gift-wrap and add a card."

"That's great," Mulder calls over his shoulder, already looking over the toys. He isn't sure what he's looking for, just something a kid that is going to be spending a lot of time indoors could enjoy. His eyes finally wander across a display of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and he remembers how frequent the commercials for the toys were, or he supposes are. Mulder quickly gets a shopping cart and returns to the action figure isle. He puts one of every toy in the line in the cart and brings it up front. "I hope you've got a big box," he says to the man with a grin.

The man nods, and hands him a card to fill out while he rings up the sale. Mulder thinks about what to write for a moment, then jots down, "I'm really sorry about your leg. I hope you feel better soon. Special Agent Fox Mulder."

The man takes back the card without reading it. "So… what did you do?"

"What?" Mulder gives him a puzzled look.

"When someone buys a kid this many toys, they usually feel guilty about something."

"Oh." Mulder gives him a sheepish look. "I uh… I wasn't looking where I was going and knocked a kid down a flight of stairs. He broke his leg."

The man nods. "Yep, I figured it was a doozy. I'll have this stuff dropped off early tomorrow. Don't worry, when the kid sees this, he'll forget all about his leg." Mulder flashes him a weak smile, then pays him and leaves.

* * *

When he gets back to his hotel room, he calls the police every fifteen minutes until they tell him that they caught Bob Harvey with a ton of child porn, just like his tip suggested they would. Then he stops by to make sure they haven't just said it to keep him from calling back, and to be sure it's the same man.

With Harvey out of the picture, he can relax. Regalli won't be getting what's coming for him for years still, probably, but Luke isn't in danger from him without Havey's interference. Congratulating himself on a job well done, he's anxious to get back to Scully and work on that end of the project.

* * *

Several Days Later

Mulder breezes into his office, in which his unflappable partner is sitting at his desk, deep into some thick scientific tome, her reading glasses perched on her nose. "Miss me?" he asks, with a little hopeful whine.

Scully looks up and blinks. "You know, it's amazing what I can accomplish when you're not around," she says, taking off her reading glasses but not moving out of his chair.

Mulder resists looking up at the ceiling for pencils. "Oh?" he asks off-handedly.

She nods briskly. "Yes, I managed to catch up on all our paperwork, some of which you *swore* you finished before you left," she gives him a raised eyebrow, " and dig up some reputable sources, "another eyebrow raise, "and even found time to read up on some of the more, shall we say, 'colorful' cases."

Mulder knows if she were British, she'd sniff disdainfully at this point. "Glad to see you're as enterprising as ever, even though you held off on the room redecoration."

"Trust me, it was very tempting," Scully says, a smile playing on her lips. "So how was New York?"

He shrugs. "A little more eventful than I thought it would be, took in the sights, got my hard-working partner a souvenir…"

"What is it?" she asks, both hopeful and worried. "Would it help if I said I missed you?"

"It'll help," he says, knowing she'll kill him once he reveals his "gift." Grinning, he pulls out from his coat a green styrofoam crown, a la "Lady Liberty." "Ta-daaah!" He crows, mashing the tacky monstrosity on her perfectly-styled hair, as if he's crowning the next beauty pageant queen. "I feel patriotic already," he adds, putting a hand on his heart.

"I feel idiotic," Scully replies. "You really didn't have to get me anything," she says half-heartedly, glancing up at the pointed crown. She will *never* understand her partner, she sighs inwardly, nor does anyone on this planet.

"Man, I can't wait to see the look on Blevin's face when you walk in his office." He grins, and she pulls it off. "Hey!"

"Much as I enjoy amusing you to no end," the redhead says patiently, "we've got work to do. And I am *not* doing it with a styrofoam souvenir on my head."

Now Mulder's grin is wider. "You know, you should really fix your hair. People might think we're up to something down here."

To his disappointment, she races out of the room as if her head was on fire.

"She missed me," he tells himself, walking behind his desk and reclaiming his chair.


	5. Fire

Late Summer, 1993

Mulder has been stressing himself out completely. A book he furtively copied pages from at the library - Female Fertility and You - told him that women ovulated every twenty-eight days, but which of those days might be true of Scully is a lot harder to figure that out than he first suspected.

It had seemed like an easy task - just keep track of how often Scully goes to the bathroom, and see which week that happened most often. Seemed easy, anyway… But since he can't know for sure when she is leaving the room to use the restroom, it's been a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. Sure, he could make it a habit to leave the room then too so he can see where she is headed, but she's an medical doctor and he's sure that she'd conclude his frequent potty-breaks are an indicator of something unpleasant, like a bladder infection, and insist he see someone. Worse yet, she could think it is an STD and never sleep with him. At least he's too young for prostate problems.

The only method he that he's felt safe try, then, is to keep a list of when she leaves the room. But after so many lines being crossed out when she has returned with a folder or a cup of coffee, it has gotten too messy to even read, so he's had to ditch it.

More recently he's thought about trying to figure out when she was moodier, but he has quickly realized the sad truth: she has less mood swings than most of the men he knows. That method isn't going to work either.

With great reluctance, he concludes that he's never going to figure out when she's fertile, and even if he does, it'd probably backfire and make him so anxious he can't perform. He perks up a bit at the thought of this being the one case that quantity is likely to serve him better than quality and precision, but he's careful not to smile, least Scully ask him what he's thinking about. There are only so many jokes about Star Trek that you can make before getting slugged for your efforts.

* * *

Mid-October, 1993

Mulder drops the file he's reading when the phone rings. Scully glances briefly at him, but makes no move to get it, so he does. "Fox Mulder."

"Agent Mulder?" a young voice asks, making him wonder what child could be calling him at work. The mystery is soon solved. "This is Luke Doggett. Do you remember me?"

"I sure do. How's your leg?" Mulder asks, cringing slightly at the memory of the little boy tumbling down the stairs.

"It's ok. Daddy said I could call you when the cast came off, 'cause he said you felt guilty." Apparently the man at the toy store wasn't the only one to figure that out.

"Your dad's right."

"It came off yesterday. It's this weird white color, and it was kind of dirty. You ever have a cast? Stuff gets in there, so it's kinda gross. Dad said I shouldn't have tried sticking things in there, but it itched."

"I can't say I've ever had a cast," Mulder says, grinning at the boy's description. "So besides being gross and white, is it ok?"

"Oh yeah. The gross stuff washed off anyway. I have to see a special doctor to make the muscles strong again, but she tells good jokes, so I like her."

"That's good to hear."

"My Dad says you're an FBI agent, is that true?"

"Yup," Mulder says, wondering if the next question is going to be "have you ever killed anyone."

"So cool! My dad's a cop, you know."

"Does he work for the NYPD?"

"Uh huh…. Agent Mulder, my class is gonna visit the Hoover building in April, that's where you work, right?"

"Yes."

"We're gonna eat in the cafeteria and everything…do you think you could eat lunch with me?"

The little boy's hopeful voice makes him grin, and Scully gives him a questioning glance, obviously dying to know who he's talking to. "Sure, you tell me the date, and I'll make sure I'm there for lunch. " He says. "As long as I'm in the building, that is. Sometimes I have to travel."

"Like when you were where we are. I know that you can't promise for sure."

Before the boy gets off the line, he's struck by a sudden impulse. He'd been trying to figure out how Bob Harvey had managed to get ahold of him the last time around, and had come up with two possibilities. "Luke, will you make me a promise?"

"I dunno… My Mom says you should be careful about making promises to people you don't know well."

"Actually, it's a promise about being careful."

"Oh, ok," Luke agrees.

"When you're not with your mom and dad, like maybe when you can ride your bike, promise me that you won't go with anyone you don't know."

"Sure, but I know that you're not supposed to go anywhere with strangers," Luke scoffs.

"I know that you're a smart kid, but some times people will try to trick you. Some kids who get taken from their parents are told something like their mom or dad is hurt, and they need to go with the person so they can see them right away."

"That's mean!"

"It sure is. What a lot of parents do is set up a password with their kid, and give it to someone who needs to pick the kid up. If the stranger doesn't know the password, the kid knows they should run away from the person because they could be bad. Even if they say the kid's Mom and Dad forgot to give it to them, they could still be lying."

"Yeah."

"And another thing is a stranger could try to make a kid go with them by grabbing them, because they're bigger and stronger than the kid. Do you know what you should do then?"

"Scream as loud as you can?" Luke guesses.

"Exactly. Even if there's no one right there, lots of times the person wanting to take the kid will get scared that someone will hear and let the kid go."

"Ok, I promise not to go with anyone, and to scream real loud if someone ever tries to grab me. But how come you're telling me this?"

Mulder isn't sure what to say, exactly. He decides on something close to the truth. "The reason I was down where you live is there was a bad man taking little kids in your town and hurting them. We put him in jail, but it makes me worry about the kids I know."

"That's scary," Luke says, but it sounds like he's taking Mulder's warnings seriously for that reason.

"It is. Luke is your Dad home? I'd like to talk to him about the password thing we just discussed if he is."

"Dad! Agent Mulder wants to talk to you!"

When Doggett picks up, Mulder tells him as much about Bob Harvey as he can, except for his connection to Luke. Doggett assures him that he and Barbara will make sure that Luke pays attention to Mulder's advice, and they'll pick out a password right away.

When he hangs up the phone, Scully is staring at him. "Who was that?"

"Remember the kid I knocked down the stairs?"

"Sure, but what was that about a child molester? I thought you were New York for a short vacation."

::Oops:: "You know me, Scully," he says lightly. "If I stumble across a case and think there's something I can do to help out…"

"You stick your nose in it."

"That's one way of putting it," he says, letting the matter drop. "I bet you're just glad I wasn't making lunch plans with a woman."

Scully doesn't dignify the question with a response.

* * *

First week of December 1993

"Aren't you going to thank me?" The large-eyed, buck-toothed, dark-haired woman smiles briskly at Mulder as he gets out of the car. Oh God, she just _has_ to come in with a dramatic entrance, and wishes he'd picked another car that day. Way to make an impression.

"For what?" Just once, he'd like to forget he's a gentleman and slug her. Or maybe feign sudden and severe amnesia, and hope his past doesn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"Saving your life," Phoebe Green says, as if it were self-evident. "One tends not to make the same mistake twice."

Got that right, Mulder grumbles internally. "I'll try to remember that," he says without irony.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you left your sense of humor in Oxford ten years ago," she teases him.

::What the hell did I ever see in you,:: he wonders, and not for the first time. "No, actually. It's one of the few things you didn't drive a stake through," he says with some bitterness.

Scully gets out of the car and looks at them. Mulder makes the mistake of not paying attention to Phoebe and gets smooched for his error. ::Aw, crap,: he thinks, as Scully looks uncomfortably at Mulder, then at Phoebe.

"You know, some mistakes are worth making twice," The older woman grins saucily.

Mulder groans inwardly, ::No, they sure as hell aren't, and I just made one again. Thank God there was no tongue, that would've been really gross.:: With no measure of sarcasm, he introduces his past flame, so to speak, to his present. "Dana Scully, Phoebe Green, terror of Scotland Yard." He keeps his poker face on, knowing if he doesn't, there'll be hell to pay.

"Hello," Phoebe says brightly and professionally.

"Hello," Scully says, matching her tone.

"She hates me," the large-eyed Brit whispers to her ex-lover.

Duh, Mulder's about to say, but instead says aloud, "What brings you to the colonies?"

* * *

In their cramped little basement office, Mulder's looking at photos of a barbequed man, while Phoebe is sitting across from him in Scully's seat, and Scully is standing. "Some clever bloke has been giving the aristocracy a good scare," she says in her clipped accent. "Killed off a ranking member of Parliament or three for good measure. Set Windsor Castle ablaze in 1992."

"Your car bomber?" Mulder asks, while wondering if Phoebe had always had that bright shade of lipstick and odd shade of hair dye. ::I think it was longer a decade ago,:: he muses.

"No. This one likes to burn his victims alive," the Brit says with relish. "Can't figure how he does it, either. Not a crumb of evidence left at the crime scene. The last one died in his front garden, his poor young wife watching helplessly as he went up in smoke."

"The Irish Republican Army?" he prompts.

"Our suspect likes to send letters to his victims' wives." With that, she stands, a good head taller than the other woman in the room. "Sent one to the wife of some Malcolm Marsden a month ago. Three days later, he narrowly escaped a fire in his garage. Burned to the ground. So they're renting a place out on Cape Cod. Bringing the family over to the states for an extended holiday or until we can catch the dirty little bugger."

"You think he's that determined?" Mulder asks, knowing full well what the answer is, hell, the answer to the case is. ::It's hard being omniscient,:: he thinks, even as he fidgets under Scully's level gaze at the two of them.

"Judging by his success, he seems to take a certain delight in his work," she replies.

"So what brings you on this detour to Washington, D.C., Inspector?" Mulder asks seemingly guileless, while part of his ego is ready to get stroked, and then some.

"I figured my friend Mulder couldn't resist a three-pipe problem," Phoebe answers, practically leering at him.

"I'll run it by our arson specialist," he says placatingly.

"Splendid." Phoebe smiles, as if expecting that. "I'll call London, let them know." She takes her things and opens the door. Then she pauses and looks back at Scully. "Oh, goodbye."

Scully waves, and Phoebe leaves, but the room is no less tense. Dammit.

"Three-pipe problem?" The redhead asks, her tone dangerously close to igniting.

"That's from Sherlock Holmes," he says, thinking, ::Come on, like you don't have issues with "Moby Dick"?:: "It's a private joke," he adds somewhat defensively. "An _old_ private joke."

"How private?" The petite redhead continues to press him. "And how old?"

::You wanna play that game, fine. Let's pretend like you're not jealous,:: he thinks, "We knew each other in school in England. She was brilliant and I got in over my head, and I paid the price." ::But obviously I didn't learn from my mistakes fast enough, since I got involved with Diana soon afterwards, another large-eyed, devious brunette. Do I know how to pick 'em or what?::

"Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower," Scully comments dryly.

No, that's my porn collection, he's about to say. But the excuses come out instead. "That was over ten years ago, Scully," he says, grabbing his coat and standing. Which means forever in dog years. Honest!

"Yeah, I noticed how you couldn't drop everything fast enough in order to help her out," she says, jealousy dripping with each word.

Drop what? A case we were done with? A temporary drought in dealings of the bizarre? What? "Oh, I was merely extending her a professional courtesy," he says lightly to cover up the sarcasm, then realizes he just stepped in it.

"Oh, is that what you were extending?" Scully raises her eyebrows.

::If you want double entendres, I'll give you some,:: he thinks childishly, :: but *somebody* has to be a professional around here.:: "Look, I'm going to run this by the arson guys and then she's on her own." The unspoken question they both hear is, "Are you happy?"

She looks at him with skepticism on so many levels. "Something tells me you're not going to get rid of her that easily."

* * *

Later on, Mulder tries to have another chat with Scully in the same basement office to try to defuse the situation before it blows up in his face like it did the last time. ::If I stay out with Scully on this, L'Ively's gonna kill more people, but there's no way Scully will want to stick with me and Phoebe. Not that I wouldn't mind a catfight,:: he almost grins as he walks through the door, ::but hell, a mere mortal can only take so much.::

"So, Sherlock, is the game afoot?" Scully asks, raising her eyes from the file she's reading at his desk.

He closes the door. Maybe this time she won't get jealous. Maybe this time she'll see some reason. And maybe frogs won't bump their asses when they hop, "I'm afraid so, Watson. But you're off the hook on this one."

She takes off her glasses. "What do you mean?"

Okay, she's not unsheathing her claws yet. "I mean I'm not going to put you through this." ::Not any more manipulation… except for the sex thing later on, of course. God, I hope that works out…:: He pulls out a file and walks toward her, trying to remember what he said, and hopefully saying the right thing this time.

"Put me through what?" Scully prompts him.

"Phoebe's little mindgame." ::There, I said it. Should be self-explanatory, right? That Posh Spice is a scary woman, that I have no feelings for her whatsoever anymore, right?::

"What are you talking about?" Scully says, and he almost hits his head. ::Guess I gotta spell it out,:: he groans inwardly.

"There's something else I haven't told you about myself, Scully," he says, hating to reveal another weakness. He sighs, kneels down and starts digging through another file cabinet so he won't have to look at her. "I hate fire. Hate it. Scared to death of it." He sighs again, not wanting to go on, but knowing he has to if he wants to make her understand, to make her not be so jealous.

"When I was a kid, my best friend's house burned down. Had to spend the night in the rubble to keep away looters. For years, I had nightmares being trapped in a burning building." He pulls out a file and stands up. There, I said it, *now* do you understand? he wants to yell.

"Wait, and Phoebe knows about this?" Scully frowns.

Now you're getting it, Mulder almost crows. "This is classic Phoebe Green. Mindgame player extraordinaire. Ten years it's taken me to forget about this woman, and she shows up in my life with a case like this."

"So, she shows up, knowing the power she has over you, and then she makes you walk through fire, is that it?" Scully asks.

::Well, yeah. No, I mean, dammit! That's not what I meant!:: "Phoebe is fire," Mulder says, and that's the best explanation he has for this woman who consumed his college years, almost literally. ::But all I have is the taste of ashes in my mouth whenever I see her,:: he wants to add, ::not that you'll believe me or anything.::

"Mulder? Are you sure you don't want me to help you on this one?" She sounds worried. Or jealous. Or maybe both.

But this is for the best, Scully. Really. "Sooner or later, a man's gotta face his demons," Mulder says, walking out. And better me facing it like this, than have you and Phoebe sniping at each other and not paying attention to the case. But it could work in my favor, you getting all jealous and everything, while Phoebe's left with a married man. Yeah, that's it, he nods, rationalizing his actions even as part of him is looking forward to dressing up and dancing with his ex-flame.

It's ex-flame, he repeats inwardly as he punches the elevator buttons, emphasis on "ex". Damn, I hope I'm right. Is it second-guessing or third-guessing if I'm doubting the second time around? Maybe I could get Scully to dress up when she crashes the party, he grins to himself as the empty elevator opens with a ding.

* * *

Later, at the Venerable Plaza, a little after 8 p.m., Mulder's all suave and James Bond in his tux, leaning against the wall as people pass him by, laughing and chatting. He takes a sip from his champagne glass, watching as the Marsdens walk up the stairs, followed by Phoebe. She can't pass the chance to give him a meaningful, if slightly bug-eyed glance, and he returns the favor. Sometime later, he walks into an empty room with a buffet table. He can still hear the crowd, just in case somebody happens to yell "Fire" or something to that effect. As he checks his watch, a voice interrupts his musings.

"Am I late?" she asks, and he looks up. Boy, she cleans up good, he grins, offering his arm. Scully beams up at him in a red floor-length gown, and his perspective makes it impossible to ignore the cleavage. Damn, it's good being me, Mulder thinks.

"No, right on schedule," he says, as she self-consciously brushes a lock of auburn hair from her face, trying to tuck it back into its chignon. "You look great."

"Thanks," she says, her eyes widening as Phoebe approaches in her black gown. "Hello."

"Hello," Phoebe barely glances at the shorter woman. "I was wondering if I might borrow Mulder for a dance." She smiles winningly and confidently at the tall man. With her dark hair, large eyes, buck teeth (which could be fangs), and black dress, she seems like the stereotypical black widow, minus husbands. Maybe there were some, Mulder muses, I don't doubt they could survive her.

Mulder glances down at his partner, who looks at him and then at the other woman, and already she's starting to pull away. They're both surprised when he says, "Sorry, I've got a dance partner. Maybe some other time." The look on their faces is priceless, and he wants to yell, Groovy, baby, shagadelic, yeah! Oh wait, reverse anachronism there, "Austin Powers" hasn't been seen yet. Bummer.

As his twisted ex moves off, he leans toward his partner. "You said you had some information that couldn't wait?"

"It can wait," Scully replies, noting out of the corner of her eyes that Phoebe hasn't quite left the room yet. "I think you said something about a dance?"

He grins, wrapping his arms around her for a slow one. "I think I did, yeah." He nods, as she wraps her arms around his waist. "Thanks for rescuing me."

"Good to know Sherlock needs to be rescued once in a while," She smiles.

While they dance, gazing into each other's eyes and forgetting about a volatile firestarter, Phoebe huffs, then glances away to see the driver, smiling. A little unsettled, she looks away, only to see Mulder and his partner behaving rather unprofessionally. Crossing her arms, she turns away, only to find that the driver is gone. Curious, she goes to look for him and hears a beeping noise. Finding a panel with a list of floors and lights next to them, she sees the fourteenth floor is lit for smoke and fire. This fire should douse theirs, she thinks, and races back to the couple. " There's a fire upstairs, on the fourteenth floor where the children are!"

Horrified, they spring apart, and Mulder races upstairs while Scully, joined by Phoebe, call for help.

* * *

Later, after the excitement and L'Ively's Superman act, Scully's sitting on the bed, with Mulder all shirtless and lying down. She's still in her fancy dress, while he's mostly undressed and weak, resuming his coughing fit.

After he drinks from the glass of water she hands him, she comments, "You were really out."

He blinks, not quite remembering where everyone was. "Where's Phoebe?"

"Down the hall," she says, completely unworried about the woman.

He sighs with some relief. "And the kids?"

"They're okay, the doctor checked them out," she says, as he gets up, wearing nothing but his boxers, and picks up his robe. "What happened to you up there?"

"I panicked," he says, wondering why he froze all over again. Dammit. "I couldn't move, Scully."

"It could've happened to anyone," She reassures him.

"Yeah, but it happened to me." ::After all I should've known better, done better.:: "I hared out, plain and simple." He closes the bathroom door, and realizes he's in his underwear.

::Excellent,:: he thinks, ::she totally stripped me down. A hottie doctor for a partner, and it's all good,:: he thinks, until he hears Phoebe's talking to Scully. Realizing it's a bad idea to leave his catty ex alone with his still-distrustful partner, he steps out, ready to be Mr. Let's Play Nice Together For Now.

* * *

Much, much later, after they catch Sid Viciously Pyro, Mulder's sitting in his office, reading glasses on. I should really read some new case files, he thinks, because that bitch seriously messed me up good. Or I should really mess her up good, he ruminates, until a voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Care to take me for lunch?" a clipped British female asks. He jerks his head up, only to see his partner smiling impishly. ::Okay, she got me there,:: he grudgingly admits, ::but only because I let her::. "Scare you?"

"You have no idea," he says dryly, thankful that a pair of big eyes and buck teeth aren't greeting him at the doorway.

"Where's Phoebe?" she asks, as if she's not particularly interested, sitting on the desk.

"I don't know," he says, relieved.

"You don't know? She didn't call?" she asks, disbelieving.

"No. She did messenger this to me last night, though." He holds up a tape.

She glances at it, then at her partner. "Did you play it?"

"No," he replies, looking at it.

"Why not? Aren't you curious what's on it?" Scully frowns a little, curious herself.

He grins. "Ten to one, you can't dance to it," he answers, repeating what he said about an earlier tape, then chucks it in the trash. "Besides, without that red dress, it probably won't be as much fun." Mulder looks at her hopefully.

"Fat chance, that was a one-time deal," She smirks, but gloats inwardly. "Besides, anybody can slow dance. You'd have to have some serious moves to really dance with me."

"Hey, I've got moves," He protests, "I got the skills that pay the bills."

She snorts. "Which reminds me, it seems our case reports are due, and if we want to pay our bills," She raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

He nods, sighing exaggeratedly as he hangs his head. ::Curses, foiled again,:: he thinks, as he pulls out some forms and mutters half-heartedly.

He doesn't notice her lips twitching upwards, or her eyes dancing.


	6. Beyond The Sea

A week later…

A few condoms are lost to experimentation, but Mulder finally hits on a way to damage them without making it look like they are damaged. A sewing needle carefully inserted though the packaging renders the products useless. He's just glad that he bought them in bulk at Sam's Club, because of the number lost to the cause. An afternoon too is lost as he plays his videos so he can try on ruined rubbers. At least the needled ones don't seem damaged before it's much too late.

As soon as he has a few he thinks will fail to pass muster at the crucial time, he puts them in the pocket of his coat. He smiles to himself, thinking that the last time he carried around condoms "to be prepared at all times" was when he was a high-schooler with aspirations to be a ladies man. Since he doesn't know when he'll be successful, it seems like a good idea to keep them with him, though.

His bout of self-congratulation regarding his perfect sabotage is cut short when he accidentally turns to Lifetime while channel surfing – he finds himself watching a birth control pill commercial, one of the only commercials not trying to panic him about how few shopping days are left until Christmas. As he listens to the woman talk about how the pill cleared her skin while letting her sleep around, he feels a sinking sensation. The pill isn't even something he's considered. What if she's using it?

Surfing on the primitive internet – the one thing he desperately misses about his former life is the advanced electronics - tells him it is remotely possible that she is using the pill even though she dropped her ex Ethan like yesterday's news months before. For all he knows she has really bad periods and uses the pill to alleviate the symptoms. She wasn't using it when they were together, but then, she thought she was barren by that point, and she probably had very few problems with her periods if she wasn't ovulating.

He frets about the possibility for a few days, then thinks of a way he might be able to figure out if she uses it without having to rummage though her purse while she's on a bathroom break.

When Scully gets in the next morning, Mulder greets her with a bright smile. "Scully, I was reading a magazine last night-"

"Did it have a centerfold?" she asks archly. He nearly grins at the innuendo. The last time around it took her much longer to get to the level of those sorts of retorts, so he thinks he must be doing something right.

Instead of rising to the bait, he only shakes his head. "No, it's a health magazine. There were some eye-opening articles in it."

"Like what?" Scully asks, giving him a curious look.

"One was on how they're hoping to some day use electrical impulses to help people who are paralyzed walk again. I think that's pretty neat, it reminds me of the Six Million Dollar man. There was another one about a health risk for women that was pretty scary."

"What health risk is that?"

"They said that they're doing a study, and it seems like there's a huge increased risk of women under 35 having a stroke if they smoke and take birth control pills both. You better not take up smoking," he adds in a mock-stern voice.

Scully gives a short laugh. "I'd only have to worry if I also decided to take the pill. Those synthetic hormones are terrible for you."

"Good. I'd hate for you to have a stroke on me," he says with a grin.

"I know, who else could they pair you with that wouldn't kill you?" Scully smiles back.

* * *

December 29th, 1993

Scully sits at the foot of Mulder's hospital bed and gives him a look he can't quite interpret. She's gone through a lot the last few days, losing her father, then having her mind played with by Luther Boggs. Not to mention his own injury, at least it was only his leg, he keeps reminding himself. At least he knew it was coming this time, and moved slightly so the bullet didn't find bone this time. She could be thinking anything.

At last she speaks, dispelling the mystery. "I was considering Boggs. If he knew that I was your partner, he could have found out everything he knew about me. About my father..."

"Scully." He can't stand to see her torn up like this.

She gets up and walks around to him. "Beyond the Sea" was playing at my parents' wedding. Visions of deceased loved ones are a common psychological phenomena.

If he knew that my father had..."

"Dana. After all you've seen, after all the evidence, why can't you believe?" ::Don't you realize how much easier this would all be on you?::

She sighs and sits down on his bed. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid to believe," she says simply.

"You couldn't face that fear? Even if it meant never knowing what your father wanted to tell you?" he asks, grudgingly admitting to them both that perhaps Boggs wasn't a fraud after all.

"But I do know," she says softly.

"How?"

"He was my father."

He reaches for her, and wraps her in a clumsy embrace. ::Oh Scully, I know it hurts. But we'll have a family. And you'll tell them all about their grandfather. I promise:: "You're right, of you're right," he murmers into her shoulder, and he can feel her relax.

* * *

December 31st, 1993

They are panting by the time they get to the top of the stairs.

Scully's breath comes in gasps. "Mulder… You should… Have gotten…Crutches."

"Aww, but you're all I need to keep me on my feet," he tells her sweetly.

The effect is ruined when they trip over the doorstill and crash onto the floor. The way they land pins Scully's legs to the floor. "Mulder, get off of me!" Scully whines.

::Boy, I hope that's the only time I hear that tonight:: Mulder thinks, struggling to stand. "I'm up. Besides, you're the one who should sit on my lap," he tells her.

"Why is that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"So we can talk about whatever comes up," he replies with a suggestive grin, making her groan. "Too bad I didn't buy that Santa hat I was eyeing a couple of weeks ago."

"Mulder!" She suddenly looks concerned, apparently thinking of their recent fall. "You didn't pop any stitches, did you?"

"I did not. And as you can see, I'm on my own two feet. And you thought I wasn't ready to go home." He scoffs. They'd gone out to dinner in at a Chinese food place after he checked out of the hospital, so it was already quite late.

"Sure, as long as you don't need to go up any stairs, you're fine." She grimaces.

"I'm not adverse to staying right here in this apartment until I'm back to one hundred percent." ::Preferably on my back… or you on yours.::

"You, wanting to hang out instead of looking for UFOs or other weirdness? I never thought I'd see the day," Scully says mockingly.

"I bet this isn't how you pictured spending New Years Eve," he says, turning puppy dog eyes on her.

"Oh, I don't know, this isn't so bad," She tells him with a small smile.

"Since it is New Years Eve, I think we ought to have a drink to celebrate," he says lightly. "I've got a bottle of champagne in the fridge."

"This isn't a set up, is it?" she asks, looking both amused and suspicious.

"Nah. It was a gift from my Dad to congratulate me for getting the X-Files started. I hope it ages well." He looks a little worried, since he never considered expiration dates.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she assures him.

He limps slightly as he goes to retrieve the champagne and two glasses. Scully notices the limp as he returns. "Oh, Mulder you should have let me do that."

"No. Big strong man get drinks, ugh," he does his best cheesy caveman impression and she groans again.

Scully accepts her glass. "So what are we toasting to?"

"You're letting me do the honors? I'm touched," Mulder says, then holds up his glass. "Here's to new beginnings and new opportunities." ::and new relationships::

They clink glasses, then drink deeply.

The count down begins soon afterwards, and they watch it on the TV. At the word "One" Mulder turns his head and surprises her with a kiss. At first he's afraid she'll resist, but her lips are warm and responsive. A brief kiss turns into a long one, but then her hand brushes his leg, and she jumps away.

He looks at her, confused, until he finally realizes that she must have felt his stitches. "Mulder, we shouldn't…your leg…" Her cheeks are flushed.

"Can I get a rain-check?" he asks hopeful.

For three heartbeats he's in agony, thinking that she's going to say no. Instead, she asks, "When do your stitches coming out?"

"In three days."

"Good. And Mulder, next time I'll pick out the alcohol."

"Champagne doesn't age well, does it," He asks, his expression sheepish.

"At least we gulped it down quickly," she teases him. "Next time buy red wine."

"I'll do that," he says, grinning at her.

While he's disappointed that things aren't going any farther that night, he's thrilled to get a rain-check. He just hopes she won't get cold feet.

* * *

January 3rd, 1994

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mulder mutters under his breath. Bad enough that he's seducing his partner without her knowledge of their future relationship together. But that he's taking a page from Eddie Van Blundht, there's something abhorrent about that. Still, he and Scully really haven't talked since he told her about his sister's abduction while sitting in that powerless motel. Time to bite the bullet and open up a little more, he thinks, trying to calm his nerves. Then there's the fact that the closest he's gotten to this kind of action is from that lovely industry he's practically supporting single-handedly, in a manner of speaking. "You've faced mutants, monsters and aliens, how hard could a first date be?" He mumbles, then jumps as the doorbell rings.

"Coming," he calls out from the kitchen.

He opens the door to his partner, who is wearing a typically Scully look on her face, both questioning and bemused. "I have the results," she says, her blue eyes widening as she takes in the cramped quarters. He covers his grimace as she carefully steps into his apartment, while she surveys his living quarters with a critical eye. "Mulder, you didn't clean your place just for me, did you?" she asks, smiling.

God, how he's missed that smile, he thinks, saying aloud, "No, I had the mollies do all the gruntwork." He grins back, "They insisted." He waves vaguely at the aquarium fish, who have managed to survive all those years of neglect. I will never badmouth tank fish again, he vows.

Shaking her head, she makes herself comfortable on the couch. "Well, if they insisted," she says in the same light tone. "I'm afraid the news is rather disappointing, or would be from your perspective." Scully shrugs off her bulky winter coat, and, even in her dowdy work clothes, has quite the figure.

"How's that?" Mulder asks, making himself comfortable at the opposite end of the couch, resisting the temptation for the umpteenth time to remark on her looks rather than her work.

She spreads the files out on the coffee table. "It wouldn't have mattered if you took those photos with an instamatic or a zoom-in," she says, already warming up to her debunking, "I had the lab go through these with a fine tooth comb. These _aren't_ UFOs, Mulder."

"They _are_ unidentified, right?" Mulder asks, peering closely at one photo.

"No," Scully says, reveling in her quashing of his theory. He's letting her have her jollies, she's had so few of them while stuck with him, "and I called the FAA, the Air Force and National Weather Service to double-check. Mulder, these are lights from a commercial airline, what my father used to call a grasshopper flight because the plane was so small."

He raises his eyebrows. He knows he was bored during his New York vacation after the excitement with the Doggetts was over, but he couldn't have been seeing things that much. He leans forward, "Could a commercial aircraft be making those crazy maneuvers like those I described?"

She nods. "Especially when the pilot was drunk," she says smugly. "It was a miracle they landed safely, but some of the passengers are suing."

"Fine, fine." He stands, conceding defeat, "guess we'll be celebrating somebody else's victory, then."

She raises an eyebrow. "Celebrating?" Hearing the pop of a cork, and the sound of liquid being poured into glasses, she laughs. "You were so sure of yourself, weren't you?"

He makes a face, stepping back into the room and handing her a full glass, raising his in salute. "Congratulations, Scully, on debunking me. For once." She raises her brows as if to argue, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. "and for proving that vacations are useless."

She shakes her head, taking a generous swallow of wine. "This is good," she finally says after another swallow. "Maybe you should rethink your definition of vacation."

He smiles, tilting his glass back. "Maybe I should," he agrees. "What would be your dream vacation?"

She blinks, then answers when he's waiting instead of teasing her. "It's a little early to be thinking about that," she murmurs, but as he waves her on to continue, she says, knocking back another glass, "My dream vacation would be to stay at home, catch up on reading all those books I meant to finish, enjoy a nice cup of coffee or cocoa, and maybe have a bubble bath."

He smiles, thinking, Same ol' Scully. Mulder takes another gulp of wine, and they continue their conversation, Scully becoming less coherent after a while, for another few hours.

* * *

"Mulder," she says, her blouse as loose as her tongue, "did you want to be an FBI agent when you grew up? Or what?"

By this time, Mulder's almost as drunk as she is. Almost. "Yes," He nods gravely, and she snorts. "I guess," he pauses, searching for words that seem to escape him, "I just wanted to be someone who could find my sister. And that someone was an FBI agent."

"Why not CIA?" she asks, and it's a reasonable question.

He grins. "They never asked." And it's the truth, as far as he knows.

"Poor baby," She pouts her lips, patting him on the head mock-sympathetically. "So you were stuck with the FBI, and stuck with me." She giggles, and the sound tickles him.

"I like being stuck with you," he admits, smiling. She still hasn't removed her hand from his head. Now's the time, he thinks, she seems agreeable enough, and not too serious. "Scully?"

"Yeah?" she asks, still half-smiling.

He puts his hand on hers, bringing her fingers to his lips. He continues to hold her gaze, almost daring her, as he kisses her hand as passionately as he would, well, her forehead. She leans forward, moving her hand so it holds his head, and, giving him that same look, kisses him deeply, practically inhaling his tongue.

"Wow," he says, once he gets his tongue back.

"What were you going to ask me?" she asks, and for a moment, it seems she's very sober and very serious indeed.

His heart in his mouth, he decides to reply in a light manner. "I was going to ask you," he says, his voice trailing off as his fingers trace her jawline to her neck, and she inhales sharply as his fingers pause at her collarbone before moving downward. Licking her lips, she watches in almost horrid fascination as he continues to fondle her, his hands doing things to her she knows she hasn't told anyone about enjoying. Slowly, torturously, he kisses her, and she tilts her head back as if waiting for a vampire to strike. Strike he does, and she moans involuntarily. Her eyes closed, she clutches him to her, and as his lips find their way back to her mouth, she finds her hands are fumbling for the fly on his jeans. Groaning, he responds to her touch, and he almost forgets the question.

"Whatever it is," Scully says breathlessly, her hands exploring upwards beneath his t-shirt before pulling it off, "yes."

He blinks, and she takes that moment to yank off his jeans. "Yes," Mulder repeats as he removes her loose clothes. ::Oy,:: he thinks, helping her out of her underwire bra, willing his hands not to tremble.

She inhales as his hands linger on her breasts. "Mulder," she says in that husky voice, and he gently brushes his lips along her chest, as if in worship. Smiling beatifically, Scully strokes his short brown hair, and he inhales the scent of her.

Then he lays her down on the couch, and she wiggles out of her dress pants and panties neatly, beaming proudly. Running his hands through her still-long hair, Mulder smiles down at her. "Scully," he says, and she pulls him down for another deep kiss.

Her legs part, and he's about to close the deal when her eyes snap open. "Condom?" She may be drunk and passionate, but she's still got her head on.

Impatiently, he digs with his free hand through his discarded jean pocket.

"Here," he says, and she takes it from him with the same impatience, censored, and is gratified to hear her gasp as she realizes what she's getting into, or rather, vice versa.

"Oh my God," she breathes, as she discovers that Mulder is as long as he is tall. Sometimes, even the tall ones come up short, as she complained to her friends. Well, she won't be complaining any more, she thinks, and it's the last coherent thought in her head for a while. Mulder, to his credit, continues to deliver, and Scully feels like she's got a new spine in an anatomically impossible area.

Her lips part as she pants, and Mulder, having fought the temptation too many times, covers her open mouth with his, and censored. Thanks to previous knowledge, Mulder knows exactly how to make her happy, and she responds in kind, her dazed mind not bothering to question particularly large and unusual phenomenon, her body occupied with the pleasures of his primal flesh. They gasp and call out incoherent words, but their tactile communication is all too clear, and finally, their ardor and stamina spent, lie exhausted on the couch.

_a/n: one of the advantages to uploading this fic again as it's edited is that all the chapters here will now match the ones on our webpage, which should make readers' task of locating the uncensored scenes there much easier than before._


	7. Lazurus

January 1994

When Scully comes into work one morning in late January, she looks pale and slightly green tinged.

Mulder is hopeful that he knows why given that they've spent almost every night together since the third and all the pregnancy test boxes he's snuck looks at promise early results, but he pretends not to have a clue. "Scully, are you coming down with something? You don't look very well."

She pales even more, if that's possible. "We need to talk, Mulder. At lunch."

"Ok," Mulder agrees, pulling open a drawer in his desk. "I been giving what you said about organizing things better thought. But what do we do with something like these-" He spreads a handful of photos from their first case out on top of his desk. "Do they go under 'C' for cow, or 'M' for mutilation?"

Scully glances at them for approximately two seconds before covering her mouth with her hand and bolting from the room. As Mulder listens to the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway as she heads for the bathroom, he sighs. He feels guilty for such a trick, but the calendar tells him that Jack Willis is going to turn up missing very soon, and he wanted to know if he was right. She returns looking even paler, and tells him that he can make that decision himself since they're his files.

* * *

At lunch he notes that she ordered soup, something easy on the stomach, and decides to be gallant and also order soup too. The last thing he wants to do is to turn her stomach again on top of everything else.

Once they've got their steaming bowls in front of them, he gives her an expectant look. "You said there's something we needed to talk about?" ::As if I don't know what:: he thinks, suppressing a grin. ::Right on schedule too. By the time Duanne Barry lands in our lives you'll be so far along there's no way he'll have the heart to let the aliens kidnap you::

Scully gives him a shy look. "Mulder, I know that your family life was less than ideal, with losing your sister, and how distant your parents were after that, but have you ever longed for a normal family life?"

"I haven't given it a lot of thought," he says, thinking :: at least at this point in my life I hadn't.:: "I guess that's because I'd have to find a woman who could stand me, quirks and all, first, and I know that won't be an easy task."

She gives him a sympathetic look, and puts one of her hands on his. "Mulder, you really sell yourself short. You'll make a wonderful husband and father, and any woman who can't see that-"

The shrill cry of Scully's cell phone interrupts her, much to Mulder's chagrin. She was on a roll and he hated for her to lose her train of thought. Besides the fact that she's going to confess to being pregnant, like anyone else, he loves hearing nice things about himself.

Looking both annoyed and surprised, Scully pushes the phone's on button, and gives him an apologetic smile as she answers. "Scully." She listens, and he watches as her expression gets darker and darker. They're not going to continue their conversation.

Snapping the cell phone shut with a little more force than necessary, she tells him what the call was about. "That was section chief Blevins he wants us to check out the morgue because there's problems with Dupre's body."

"What kind of problems?" Mulder asks, not pretending annoyance. If only she'd found out she was pregnant one day sooner!

"Problems like part of it is missing," Scully says with a heavy sigh. "We better get going."

"Sure," Mulder says, sounding equally bleak, but not because of the missing body parts. "Maybe we can pick up our conversation after work."

"Sounds like a plan," Scully agrees, but he can see a new tension on her face even though her mask of annoyance. ::She wanted to get it over with.:: He thinks as they pay the bill. ::Me too.::

* * *

Three days later, Mulder gnashes his teeth and wants to scream in frustration. He's supposed to be changing things to keep Scully out of trouble, but the only thing he's managed to change so far is that he put a bun in her oven. Not that they've gotten to complete their little heart-to-heart on it yet.

Sighing, he admits to himself that he has managed to change one other thing - this time she's wired, even though she doesn't realize it. As soon as it became clear that Willis was going to be a problem again, he called in a favor from the lone gunmen and got them to lend him a bug he could insert in Scully's clothes. A well timed kiss and gentle pawing of her shirt masks that action on his part. He decided it was safer if she didn't know about it, so she has no idea that he's listening with a tiny receiver no bigger than a cigarette pack to every word that passes between her and the pair of criminals. And those words are not good.

He had to pretend when Willis called that he didn't know what was going on with her, but it's so damn hard to listen to what's going on now. As much as it kills him to be inactive, he's got to wait for a plausible moment to bring up where she is, so people don't catch on to his seemingly clairvoyant knowledge of what's happening.

Scully has tried to convince Willis that he's himself, not Dupre, but it's not going well. He's in mid-rant when Mulder hears something that gets his attention. "You left me to die on that table while you tried to save your friend!"

"**You** are my friend," she insists.

"Too bad he was gone already. I watched him go. I just saw him slip away down that long, black tunnel," Willis says, but as Dupre.

"No. We brought you back," Scully protests.

"You shot me dead! And then you let me die." Mulder pictures him turning the gun on her, though he has no way to see if that was the case.

"No. You won't kill me, Jack."

"You call me that one more time I'll make you stone-cold," he growls, making Mulder cringe.

"You wouldn't kill me, no matter who you are, or think you are," Scully says quietly.

"Why's that?" he harshly demands to know.

"Because I'm pregnant," Scully tells him quietly. Listening, Mulder's heart breaks. "Even the man Dupre was wouldn't kill an innocent unborn baby."

"You don't look pregnant," Willis/Dupre accuses.

"I just found out," Scully admits. "I haven't even gotten a chance to tell the baby's father, because of this case."

"Congratulations, then." He sounds sarcastic. "Good thing for you I'm not your ex-boyfriend, or maybe I'd be insanely jealous."

"Good thing," Scully agrees.

"You believe I'm Dupre then, not this Willis fellow, then?" he belligerently retorts.

Mulder holds his breath as he listens - Scully is as stubborn as he is, and he knows she doesn't believe the man is Dupre. He lets his air out in a whoosh of relief when she finally answers. "You've convinced me," she says, sounding utterly sincere. "Jack Willis is dead," she adds in a pained voice.

"That's right." Dupre says in a calmer, gloating tone. "You just keep that in your pretty little head, and you and me will get along just fine."

* * *

Eventually, it's all over. Mulder is able to hint to the tech guy listening to the tape that they're holed up near an airfield, and things move quickly after that. A short time later Willis and Lula are dead again, the same way as before. The only difference is as soon as Scully is uncuffed from the radiator, she clings to Mulder.

Mulder smoothes her hair, and tells her that things are going to be ok. As soon as she notices other agents around, she recoils from him with a sheepish expression, but those who noticed don't think anything of needing a hug after an experience that traumatic.

Mulder gives her a crocked grin as they walk out to his waiting car. "So, any woman who doesn't realize I'd be a great husband and father what?" he asks as soon as they shut the doors.

For a second she looks blank, but then smiles when she remembers what they'd been taking about. "And I thought they said women remembered every word of conversations."

Mulder pouts. "You're ducking. Are you going to finish your interrupted statement or not?"

"Not," she tells him with a mischievous grin.

"Scullllly!" he whines, grimacing.

"What would you give me for telling you?" she asks coyly.

He likes her playful mood. "I'll be your best friend."

"You _are_ my best friend," she retorts, surprising him. Did she feel that way less than two years after meeting him the last time around?

"Well, I'll take you to dinner, then."

"That sounds like a vaguely familiar promise…"

"Hey, I'm not the one who canceled our plans by retrieving a ring in a macabre manner."

He sees her tense for a second at the word ring, but then she relaxes. "Nothing spicy, though, ok?"

"We can go anywhere you want, as long as you don't try to make me eat a salad."

"Men," she mutters under her breath.

* * *

Mulder can't believe how nervous he is an hour and a half later when a waiter finally seats them. From the man's snotty attitude, they ought to be grateful to have gotten a table at all considering they didn't call a month in advance.

At least they get complementary salads, which Scully toys with while they wait for menus. "Is your stomach still bothering you?" Mulder asks, looking concerned. "This is a stressful job, you could be getting an ulcer."

"I'm not getting an ulcer," she says with a shake of her head. "I know what's wrong with my stomach lately."

He gives her a long stare, silently willing her to tell him. Her cheeks pink up, which he thinks looks very fetching, and her eyes are slightly downcast. "I think there's something I need to tell you."

"What?" he asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

"I'm pregnant, Mulder," she confesses. "I know we used birth control, so I'm willing to accept it if you're not ready to be a father-"

"A baby, really?" He lets his delight fill his voice. "I've wanted a baby forever."

"Really?" She gives him a surprised glance. "I wouldn't have guessed that."

"I know, it's usually a female thing, but… like you said, I never really had a family after my sister disappeared, and I want that. I don't know why I didn't admit this the last time we ate together, but I actually have given having a family thought. I don't know, I thought maybe if I admitted it, you'd feel like I was pressuring you into moving too fast.

She looks up sharply. "You've never made me feel pressured into anything, Mulder."

"Good. A baby..." he trails off, allowing himself to look as delighted as he feels. "A baby would make things even more real between us. That is, if the baby's Mommy is willing to give the family thing a go," he says shyly.

"I…of course," she says, flustered. "I want a family too, Mulder, I always have."

He reaches for her hand. "So, do we tell your mother that she's going to have a grandchild or a son-in-law first?"

"Does that mean you're proposing?" Scully asks.

"Only if it means you'd accept. Fragile male ego and all."

She smiles at him. "I think my answer wouldn't damage your ego at all."

* * *

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to day to join this hound-dog and this hot momma in the sanctity of holy matrimony."

"Mulder, no."

"Come on, you know you want to be married by the King, Scully," Mulder pleads with puppy-dog eyes.

Unfortunately, she's having none of it. "Mulder, of all the things I want in life, being married by a fat man in a white polyester jumpsuit is not one of them."

"I suppose you want a big church wedding then, with lots of flowers and lots of people I've never met," he replies with a frown.

"Actually no. Melissa was forever planning her wedding when we were young girls, even buying those stupid bride magazines, but I've never liked the idea of a big wedding. There's just too much stress and planning involved. "

"You've always been a cynic, then."

"I prefer to think of myself as a pragmatist, but yes."

"So what do you want to do, elope? I don't think that'd be as effective without me owning a motorcycle and you sneaking out the window of your childhood room in the middle of the night."

"How about something small? Just you, me, our parents and my siblings?"

"That's really small. I'd agree though, if I could have Danny there as my best man, and invite the Lone Gunmen."

"You'd really want those three there?" Scully asks, making a face.

"I don't have three siblings like you do." Mulder pauses for effect so he's sure she thinks of Samantha too. "They're my best friends."

"Well…ok. But keep a tight leash on that Frohike character."

Mulder snorts and agrees to keep an eye on her smallest admirer. "Aren't you glad I want Danny for the best man?" he asks, thinking about garter belts.


	8. Darkness Falls

February 14th, 1994

The ceremony is held on Valentines' day, which is the only concession towards fairy-tale weddings that Scully is willing to make. It makes Mulder smile every time he thinks of how little a romantic she is; he'd thought she'd be the one to come up with that date for their nuptials.

While his parents and her mother seem a bit nonplused about the haste of their wedding, given they'd not actually been told their children were involved, they are all three the picture of dignity, and refrain from mentioning the old adage about marrying in haste and repenting in leisure. They almost seem happy.

It's also to Mulder's vast surprise that Bill Jr. doesn't have any objections at all to the wedding, which he finds exceedingly odd given how much Bill hated him the last time around. But then, the reason for his dislike hasn't happened yet, and if Mulder has his way, never will, so it's not too terribly hard to understand when he thinks about it. He's still wary of his new brother-in-law anyway, though.

At last the ceremony is over, and they've exchanged rings, and kissed blushingly before their audience. Scully will keep her last name because two Mulders in the office would be confusing, and surprisingly enough, none of the parents object to this bit of modernism.

It's on, then, to the fun part as Mulder sees it, or at least the first fun part: the reception. It's quite amusing to watch the parents' dance, and he almost tears up when Byers shyly invites Mrs. Scully, who'd been watching the Mulders' on dance floor, if she too would like to dance.

Of course Mulder and Scully dance too, and she looks so happy he can hardly bear it.

"I wanna wish you the best of luck, Mulder, you Lucky Dog," Frohike says later into the reception, blinking owlishly since he'd been visiting the wet bar. "You better take care of that girl, 'cause I'm so jealous that I'll steal her away from you if you don't treat her right."

"You'd try, anyway." Langly snorts rudely. Frohike clumsily extends him a finger.

"I know a good thing when I see it," Mulder tells him. "No worries."

"Yeah…say, is her sister seeing anyone?" Frohike asks, sending a flirtatious glance in the other redhead's direction.

Eventually the happy couple bids everyone good-bye, and gets into their can and streamer-festooned car, heading off for their honeymoon.

* * *

"Mulder, I am **not** in the mood," Scully groans, her head resting on the passenger door, and she isn't. If she had the strength, she'd roll her eyes, or bang her head repeatedly on the door at the insanity of it all. She wonders if the talk show host is merely tapping into the boredom and paranoia that insomnia seems to bring out in even the best of people, like her husband, for example. Then again, Mulder was never clearly on this side of sane, anyways, and has only a tenuous grasp of reality, as opposed to the talk show host, who has no concept of reality, period. She sees the man she's pledged to spend the rest of her life with memorizing of-repeated phrases, and finally indulges herself in an eyeroll of massive proportions.

Yeah, she'd be in a better mood if this was happening during some other time than their honeymoon. It was enough to make a woman handcuff her man to the bedpost to remind him of what proper wedded etiquette meant. She's not sure what exactly happened, but somewhere between here and the airport, they'd taken a serious detour away from what she assumed was Las Vegas. Then again, she's not at her best, having battled and succumbed to several waves of nausea earlier that morning. She's feeling better now, but not by much.

So here they are, in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, all because of some crazy late night talk show, driving a car still decorated with festive streamers. Still, she didn't trust him to go off by himself, because, God forbid, something horrible should happen to him and he's trapped by himself…. She sighs. Now she's trapped with him.

"Mulder," she tries again, "just because this Ted Ringer guy says it's there, doesn't mean that it is. I mean, it could be like that Geraldo Rivera thing all over again." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "We don't _have_ to go chasing after something just because a dubious source puts it out there."

"Or what if it is out there, and we could be the first people to actually see it for ourselves," he replies, his eyes on the road.

Forget eye rolling, she's wanting to bring on some serious concussions, first to his head, and then to hers, if it'll help. A jolt in the road, and suddenly her stomach reminds her that she's pregnant. "Mulder," she says in what she hopes is a firm voice.

"We're still going," he says in a sing-song tone.

"Then I'll decorate the glove compartment with a lovely shade of puke," she says in the same tone.

The car pulls to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road.

* * *

"I cannot believe it," Scully says as they come to a stop an hour later. "It's got to be some kind of practical joke."

"Nope," Mulder says reverently, "it's just like what the callers on Ted Ringer's show said."

They're not the first ones at the scene, and they step out of their car carefully, just another couple in a crowd of what seems to be hundreds. All witnesses to the strange spectacle that has captured the imagination of a late-night listenership. The tall man looks at the red-haired woman, and, after a brief understanding, put their guns back into their holsters. Around them, people buzz, some in hushed tones, others in excited squawks. They are all pointing up at the sky -- and ahead of them.

"What is it?" Mulder asks someone with binoculars. He squints to see what exactly the falling objects are, but with no luck.

The man puts down the binoculars and blinks up at the taller man. "It's unbelievable," the short man stutters.

"It's a hoax," Scully says, valiantly trying to keep her skepticism from turning into sarcasm.

"No, see for yourselves," he says, handing his binoculars to the red-headed woman whose frown he can see even by the moonlight.

Her mouth open, she finally puts the pair of lenses down. "I don't believe it," she says, handing it over to Mulder.

Now his mouth is open as he stares through the binoculars. A huge grin is plastered on his face as he hands them back to the short man, who resumes his watch. "This is a *great* honeymoon," He declares, hugging his wife to himself."You would think so," Scully says in a long-suffering tone.

He gives her a look. "Hey, be glad it's not aliens," he says as they make their way to the front of the crowd.

"Only you would decide to detour from our regularly scheduled honeymoon destination, to chase after 'shooting stars'," She makes quotation marks with her fingers, "and it turns out to be Elvis impersonators."

"Guess they made a wrong turn at Alburquerque," Mulder grins, and she shakes her head. "Wonder if they take requests."

"I've got one of my own," Scully drawls, "just tell me when is everything going to be sane again."

"C'mon, Scully," Mulder says, like a kid in a crowd at Disneyland, "this is almost as good as visiting Graceland. Or Dreamland, for that matter."

"Dreamland?" She raises an eyebrow.

He nods. "You know, Groom Lake, Area 51 -- Land of a Thousand Rumors."

"Ah-ha," She nods. "Okay. So this is actually a publicity stunt gone wrong."

He looks shocked. "Or very, very right," he argues, holding her and attempting a few dance steps as the Elvises set up their sound equipment and lights. "If they sing 'Burning Love,' it's fate."

She grins suddenly. "If they sing 'Can't Help Falling in Love,' it's love."

He grins back, and twirls her as someone taps a microphone. Everyone looks up, and there is a hush over the crowd as they take in the vision of white sparkly and black leather-clad Elvii on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a black leather Elvis declares, "thank you very much for coming this evening. We're gonna start off with something for the ladies." He leers at the already-shrieking women, and a slow melody makes itself heard over the loudspeakers.

"Wise men say only fools rush in

But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay

Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you," The Elvis croons, and already, a few impressionable women are swooning.

Nearby, Mulder smirks. "Guess it's love, then," he says, and the redhead in his arms doesn't argue with that.

_

* * *

_The biggest post-ceremony change in his life is having to clear out his bedroom and buy a bed so they had some place to sleep. Scully is anxious for them to find a place with another bedroom, but he keeps telling her that they have about a year for that, since a baby doesn't really need it's own room right away. Besides, he can't imagine her wanting their baby in another room at first, but he wisely keeps that insight to himself.

He isn't sure what he expected, but he thought there would be bigger changes in them both after swearing to stand by each other in sickness and in health, til death do them part, but really, other than the new past-time of baby shopping, they're the same people they've always been. Or she is, and he is again.

Knowing her as he does, it's hard to resist the urge to tell her to take it easy, to avoid certain cases, but resist he does. She's so stubborn, one of the few ways they mirror each other, that any suggestion of the sort would only make her more determined to prove that he's being silly, and she's still fully capable of doing whatever it is that he'd rather she didn't.

Which is why they're in the middle of the woods, having the same argument they had years before. He tried to convince the ranger that they ought to bring more gas with them, but to no avail since it was considered a "waste of daylight" so they're in the same spot they were in last time. And Scully still doesn't understand why he gave the gas to Spinney, and since he can't tell her how he knows the man is trust-worthy…

"Mulder..."

"Look, it's done. I shouldn't have let him go. Let's just move past it, okay?" He says, even knowing it won't be the end of it, not by a long shot.

"Fine. What do you suggest?"

"I don't know. We'll think of something," he says half-heartedly.

"Look, I think we both have a pretty good idea of what happened to those loggers and what happened to the group in 1934."

::Yeah…they got et.:: "We only found one cocoon," he says, trying to distract her with logic.

"It's a big forest."

"Look, Scully, what would you have done?"

"You mean, would I have made a decision by myself that would have affected the whole group? I would have started by **not** doing something as goddamn foolish as that without bothering to talk it over with anyone," she tells him, eyes blazing.

"Oh, will you cut the sanctimonious crap?" he gripes, knowing that it'll just anger her further. Angry is better than scared, he reasons.

"Well, what do you want me to say? Let's face it, Mulder, we might die up here! You, me, Moore, the baby… If we're lucky, they'll find our bodies spun up in a tree or they may not find us at all!"

"You're right. And we're wasting time arguing about it," he says before storming off.

But her point about the baby is something he never even stopped to think about before now. He thought of it as being something to keep Scully safe, and never stopped to consider their cases might put him or her in danger.

* * *

High Containment Facility

Winthrop Washington

Three days later…

Mulder slowly paces the room, looking anxiously at Scully and Moore, who are lying in beds. Spinney isn't there... he didn't make it. Mulder had argued with him, demanding he stay in the jeep with them, but he was too determined to meet his fate. At least Scully and Moore seem like they'll live.

"How are you feeling?" a voice asks, startling Mulder out of his thoughts.

"I feel a little less like I'm trying to breathe sand. How did the tests come back?" he asks, knowing what the man will say.

The man walks over to a desk and picks up a chart. "Your respiratory charts were good. We're more concerned with the extent of damage due to inhalation. There were large concentrations of the chemical determined as Luciferene."

"The enzymes we find in fireflies and other bioluminescent insects? " Mulder asks, wondering if the doctor will be surprised by his "knowledge."

He doesn't even blink. "Yes. Our entomologists are still trying to determine the specific

epithet of the insects you encountered."

Mulder leads the man over to Scully. It hurts him to see the sores on her face and hands, but he knows that she'll be ok before long, and look like her old self again. "How is Scully doing?"

"She's still not out of the woods, so to speak. She lost a lot of fluids. Two or three more hours of exposure, she might not have made it."

"And the baby?" Mulder whispers, as if Scully might hear him if he speaks louder.

"Surprisingly enough, it seems perfectly fine. It's your baby, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Looks like you two are going to have a strong kid some day soon."

::Not soon enough:: Mulder thinks, picking up Scully's limp hand. "I told her it was going to be a nice trip to the forest."

The man nods grimly, and that does nothing to alleviate his guilt.

A little while later, Mulder is banished to his room because he's seen as getting in the way of their care of Moore and Scully. Sitting in his room gives him a lot of time to think, and he'd rather not.

Until he argued with Scully, it never occurred to him to think about the baby's well-being. The point of having the baby is so that Scully would be kept safe, so why hasn't he thought before about keeping it safe too? If she miscarried, there could be big trouble, since it seems unlikely he could talk her into trying again before August.

Sighing, he collapses on his bed, his head full of new worries. Trying to keep the baby safe is going to require convincing Scully to take it easy, and how ever could he do that? A strong will is one of the things that attracted him to her in the first place, and impending motherhood hasn't tempered that in the slightest.

* * *

_* a/n "Can't Help Falling In Love," words & music by George Weiss, Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore_


	9. Tooms

Early Spring 1994

Later on in March, Scully finds herself trying out a number of outfits, wondering which suit would suit her best. She'll be meeting with their new direct supervisor, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. She doesn't know much about him, but she's heard the rumors that he's a hardass from the military. She holds another outfit up by the hangar. Should she show off her stomach, her impending motherhood? Will it help her or hinder her testimony? Then again, this early in the game, she's not really showing at all, but still, she sighs. She finally opts for a no-nonsense, tummy-hiding outfit, even though he's probably read her records and knows of her marriage to and pregnancy due to her partner. Dammit. The redhead sighs, knowing she won't make it in time for the court hearing of Eugene Victor Tooms.

Who would you rather face, your new supervisor's wrath, or your new husband's? Tough call, she sighs again, straightening out her blouse in the mirror and touching up her lipstick before she leaves the apartment.

You're Doctor and Special Agent Dana Scully, you can put up with any man's crap and deal it just as much, she tells herself sternly over and over, finally ending up in front of a bald man with glasses, suit, and a linebacker's physique.

"Agent Scully, we have reviewed your reports and frankly we are quite displeased. Irregular procedure, untenable evidence, anonymous witnesses, inconclusive findings aggravated by vague opinion," he starts off.

And that was the good news, she groans inwardly, arguing aloud, "But sir, the very nature of the X-Files cases often precludes orthodox investigation." Already, she can tell the meeting will be too long, no matter what the clock says. And she's got a sinking feeling that, kid or no kid on the way, this Skinner will cut neither her nor Mulder any slack.

I can deal with Mulder, she thinks, as the bald man continues to interrogate her, I can deal with the very understandable concerns our supervisor has, but I'm not sure I can deal with the consequences this meeting may have on Tooms' court case, or on Mulder's psyche.

She forces herself to pay attention to her supervisor's increasingly impatient tone. "May I ask, sir, what more you require?" she says, as politely as possible without sheathing the steel in her voice.

"What I require is increased frequency of reports," Skinner answers with his own steel. "Conventional investigation. In short, Agent Scully, it is your responsibility to see that these cases are by-the-book."

"I understand, however... conventional investigation of these cases may decrease the rate of success," she replies, as she watches the tall, silent man put out his cigarette. And who is that man, she wonders briefly, still annoyed by the fact she's had to put up with the secondhand smoke her child has probably inhaled. As quickly and as politely as possible, she takes her things and leaves the office, heading for the courtroom and for the more-than-likely release of a certain liver-eating, body-stretching mutant.

* * *

Later, at the Lynn Acres Retirement Home in Baltimore, former Detective Frank Briggs is looking at a clipping with the headline "Suspect Caught in Serial Killings" with a picture of Tooms below. He crumples and tosses the paper before rubbing his forehead and sighing. Scully is standing near him, knowing how he feels. "If Tooms gets away with this now, then the next time he takes a life, you'll be nearly my age," The old man says. Glancing at her stomach, he adds, "Your kids might have to be the ones to chase him down."

She smiles briefly. "Detective Briggs, you've helped us so much before. Now we have to prove that Tooms was involved in the killings you investigated thirty years ago. You've lived with this case half your life." The female agent sits down next to him. "There must be something, maybe a connection with the victims. Now, I know that we've seen all the evidence, but is there anything, anything at all amongst all the evidence that doesn't fit?"

His eyes flicker. "There was something that never did sit quite right with me. All of the victims that I investigated in '63 were found at the crime scene, liver extracted. All five."

"As were the four most recent murders," she agrees, wondering where he's going with this.

The old man wheels himself over to the bed with a box on it. "When I was a sheriff during the Powhatan Mills killings of 1933," he says, "only four of the victims were found at the crime scene. However, there was a fifth person who was missing and never found. "As Scully walks over, he takes out a piece of liver in a jar marked "evidence." "But this, this was discovered at the Ruxton Chemical Plant when it was under construction." He hands the jar to her and she sits down gingerly. "But it doesn't belong to the other victims."

She looks at him after looking at the jar's contents. "That doesn't prove that it belongs to a person murdered by Tooms."

"I'm positive that Tooms hid this one victim because there was something about the body that could prove he was the killer."

A little surprised, Scully asks, "and what makes you positive?"

"A hunch," he answers promptly, "a good old-fashioned hunch. You've got to trust your instincts."

If Mulder were here, he'd probably give a thousand out-there testimonies about the same thing, she thinks. "and what does your instincts say about where Tooms buried the body?"

"In the cement where they poured the foundation of the chemical plant," the old man replies.

* * *

Much later, after Detective Briggs had pointed out the spot and a construction worker had drilled it out, Doctor Plith of the Smithsonian's forensic lab had examined the remains and ran a superimposed image of the last victim, it appears that they match. However, Mulder mutters, "It's not enough. It doesn't tie it into Tooms."

"Well, it's a start," Scully says, thinking, What the hell have you been doing all day? As he nods, she glances at the various take-out food trays. Ick. "Mulder, it's getting a bit ripe in here, don't you think?" She's glad she's pretty much over the morning, afternoon and night sickness, but Mulder is not helping things.

Oh yeah, the so-called gentlemanly part of his brain goes, air freshener! He digs around the glove compartment, startling her, and pulls it out, smelling it deeply before shoving it in front of her nose. "Pine scented," he offers.

Men, Scully thinks, while wrinkling her nose. "Ew."

"Better?" He continues in the same tone. "Tooms hasn't come out of the house all day. I sat through a Phillies game, an Orioles game, and four hours of Ba-Ba- Booey. When it got dark, I took a walk around the block. Do you have that sandwich I asked you to bring?"

We're married, and he's still a dork, she thinks, pulling out the sandwich from the brown paper bag. Glad I ate earlier, or he'd have no sandwich. "It's liverwurst," she says primly.

"Ha-ha," he says, unwrapping the sandwich. And is surprised to find that, yes, it *is* liverwurst. What kind of a she-devil did he marry?

"Mulder, you know that proper surveillance requires two pairs of agents, one pair relieving the other after twelve hours."

"Article 30, paragraph 8.7?" he pulls from his photographic memory.

She's ready to smack him upside the head. "This isn't about doing it by the book. This is about you not having slept for three days. Mulder, you're going to get sloppy and you're going to get hurt. It's inevitable at this point."

"A request for other agents to stake out Tooms would be denied. Then we have no grounds," he argues way-too-reasonably for a sleep-deprived mind.

But Scully's putting her foot down. Dammit, she wants to raise a child with him, not the liver-eaten remains of him! " Then I'll stay here. You go home."

He sighs. "They're out to put an end to the X-Files, Scully. I don't know why, but any excuse will do." ::Actually, I *do* know why, I just can't tell you yet,:: he thinks. "Now, I really don't care about my record, but you'd be in trouble just for sitting in this car on this 'unofficial' stakeout and I'd hate to see you carry a very official reprimand in your file because of me."

Now she sighs. "Fox," she starts to say.

He laughs and she looks at him. "Oh, don't start calling me that. It's still Mulder, please," he says, feeling odd telling the person he's married to to call him by his last name, "I even made my parents call me Mulder. So, Mulder." From her lips, however, it sounds just right. Not his father's middle name masquerading as a first name. Just Mulder.

"Mulder," she stresses the name, "I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you."

How well I know that, he thinks as they look at each other. "If there's an ice tea in that bag, could be love," he says hopefully. Okay, just because they're married doesn't mean he's always gonna get lucky, but it doesn't stop him from trying.

"Must be fate, Mulder," she says smugly, "root beer." As he sighs dramatically, she rolls her eyes. "You're delirious. Go home and get some sleep."

He hands her the sandwich with the big bite mark. "Here, take my sandwich," he says gallantly, "I only had one bite." As she makes a face, he goes on, "You're gonna want it later, believe me. And you'll call me if anything happens, immediately. I'll be here." He holds her shoulder, but looks at her stomach. She nods reluctantly, starting to get out of the car. Grinning, he adds, "Oh, and 11:30, station 790, the Pete Rose Late Night Talk Sports Radio Show."

Scully snorts, "Wouldn't miss it for the world." She closes the door, getting into her own car to replace his spot.

He nods and starts the car, safe in the memory that nothing bad happens to her on stakeout. He doesn't notice, however, the trunk latch shut as he drives off.

Once inside her car, however, she makes a face as she looks at the sandwich. Ew. But something makes her take another look.

* * *

At 66 Exeter Street, which is now a giant shopping mall, Mulder and Scully make their way inside, thanks to the security guard. Flashlights drawn, they walk through the dark building, and Mulder comments, "he's got to be here." He almost said, I know he's here, which would have earned him more than just an eyebrow raise.

"If he is drawn to this location for some reason, maybe this nest is in the approximate location of his previous nest." As they stop, she notes, "this is the area. There's a storage facility on the second floor." They start up the escalator, but Mulder ahead of her, stops. "What?"

He shines the light down at the door under the escalator. They open the door, only to find a narrow space.

"There's only room for one." Forgetting her pregnant state, for once, she starts to take off her trenchcoat, but he stops her.

"Skinnier one goes in, guess that's me," he says, and she punches him because she's not really showing yet, but backs off reluctantly as he holds her gaze. ::Like I'd let a pregnant lady wrestle with a liver-eating monster,:: he thinks as he takes off his coat and tie and crawls into the narrow space, flashlight in hand. ::I will not lose my gun,:: he tells himself, ::I will *not* lose my gun.::

Shining the flashlight on the floor, he sees some bile and makes a face, and cautiously makes his way through the passage, which has the same bile and newspaper décor Tooms' former nest had. ::I will not lose my gun,:: he reminds himself, pulling out his gun and shaking off a loose grate.

"Mulder?" Scully's worried voice comes to him from a distance. Shining her own flashlight into the hole, she can see nothing helpful.

As Mulder comes up to the nest, he grips his gun tight, remembering what happened last time. A hand bursts through, and Mulder fires off a couple of shots, but none hit the growling, naked man who refuses to let go. As they struggle, Mulder loses his gun but breaks free. "Dammit!" he mutters, trying to shake off the snarling animal-like man.

"Mulder!" Scully calls out, ready to climb into the hole herself.

Mulder's determined to get out before she goes in after him, and smashes the crazed yellow-eyed mutant in the face with his flashlight, knocking down the smaller man for a moment, but only for a moment. Panicked, Mulder shimmies down the vent, followed by a very naked, very angry man. He finds the opening, and none too soon, as his wife and partner holds out a hand to him.

"Mulder! Come on, just a little-!" she breaks off as Mulder is dragged back in. She watches in horror as he struggles to free himself, smelling the noxious bile covering the yellow-eyed man in the tunnel. "Come on!" she hollers, pulling for dear life once Mulder's within reach.

Free, Mulder jumps forward and presses a button, turning the escalator on and turning Tooms into screaming hamburger meat. Gasping for breath, the two agents hang on to each other as blood rolls up the escalator stairs.

Trying to recover his cool exterior, he says, "Next time, you get to tussle with the naked, bile-covered mutant."

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight," she mutters.

He pouts, but smiles as she walks ahead of him, making their way to the security guard.

* * *

Later, in Baltimore, Mulder is looking at a caterpillar cocoon hanging off a branch. Scully comes up to him and taps him on the arm. "Okay, let's go," she says.

"It's amazing how things change, isn't it?" he says, commenting on so many things at once.

She looks at the cocoon. "The caterpillar?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No, a change for us. It's coming." He smiles a little, and she puts a hand on her still flat stomach.

"You think?" she says, smiling back.

He grins at her now, biting his tongue, wanting to say so many things, but not wanting to freak her out. We're going to face the Conspiracy head-on, get shut down, hopefully keep you from getting abducted by Duane Barry, and that's not including other monsters we'll run across. "Just a hunch," he says lightly.

She glances at the caterpillar, then at him before taking his hand in hers. "I'm starting to trust hunches," she says in the same tone, fingering his wedding band.

He nods, feeling that strange rush as they walk off, hand in hand. We're married now, it's okay, he reminds himself, but it's still a weird feeling. Weird is good, he thinks, and grins. Weird is normal.


	10. Elerenmeyer Flask

April 1994

The normally dull Hoover building cafeteria has taken on an air of enchantment. At least for Mulder. Sitting there amongst the noisy comings and goings of fellow federal employees, he studies his lunch companions without their notice. He hopes. Still cheerfully and rapidly exclaiming over the tour he's just taken, Mulder is sure that Luke doesn't notice his scrutiny, but Doggett might be more aware.

Even with the threat of being obvious, Mulder can't look away. ::God::. He can scarcely believe that he's really sitting there with the two of them. Particularly the animated little boy who is busily describing the metal detectors as he shovels orange Jell-O into his mouth. A little boy who is supposed be dead. By this time, it's supposed to have been months since Doggett and Reyes were to have discovered his cold little body. Torn apart by their shared yet separate grief, Doggett and Barbara are supposed to be very close to calling it quits.

Yet here the little boy sits eating lunch, next to a father who is still devoted to his wife. He even looks different from the photo that Doggett enshrined on his desk in another reality. His blond hair is winter-darkened and his tan is gone. All in all he looks very good for someone who has supposed to have been dead eight months. It's the most incredible thing that Mulder has ever seen. ::I did this. How could I do this? Is it really real?::

And Doggett looks so young…and relaxed even. Without the crushing weight of his years of grief on him, he even looks different than the John Doggett Mulder once knew. No frown lines, no permanently furrowed brow, no sadly haunted eyes. It's not just that he's younger, Mulder realizes, it's that he's still happy. :: And let him stay that way::

"Did you always want to be an FBI agent, Mister Mulder?" Luke asks, breaking the spell.

Mulder shrugs. "I didn't think much about what I wanted to be when I grew up.":: At least not after Samantha was taken away. Before that I wanted to play baseball. After Samantha was taken I mostly wondered if I'd grow up without being taken too. Little did I know that it would be decades before I had that experience.:: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Probably a cop, like daddy." Luke smiles as he says it, revealing a missing tooth that wasn't gone in Doggett's photo.

"Is your mom a cop too?"

"No," Luke giggles. "Why would mommy be a cop?"

Mulder pretends to pout. "You know that FBI agents are a type of police officer, right? My wife is an FBI agent too, and lots of other women are agents and cops." He points out, wondering if there are women on Doggett's force, and if there are has Luke met any.

Doggett raises an eyebrow. "Married the girlfriend, huh?"

Mulder suddenly remembers telling him that he and his girlfriend wanted a baby. "On Valentines' day. The baby is due late September," he adds with a sheepish smile.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." Mulder decides it's a good time to plant a suggestion. "What about you, did you ever want to be an FBI agent too?"

Doggett shrugs. "I've thought about it. But we're pretty happy in New York. We'd have to relocate at least temporarily if I was going to go to Quantico."

"That's reasonable. But don't give up on the idea entirely, we could use good people around here."

"If we ever move to DC, I'll give it serious consideration," Doggett says, but he's clearly joking.

"Can we see your office, Mister Mulder?" Luke asks suddenly, giving him a hopeful look.

"I'm not sure, but I can call my supervisor and ask him," Mulder promises, wondering how Skinner will react to the idea of visitors to the basement office.

* * *

Skinner is fine with the idea, so Mulder leads the way down, listening contentedly to Luke's eager chatter in the elevator.

Mulder pushes the door open, and the three of them file in. "It's not much, but it's home."

"Basement, huh?" Doggett asks, a glint of humor in his eyes.

"My superiors don't like me," Mulder piously answers. " The cases we take are a little unusual."

"How so?"

"Mulder?" He turns and sees that Scully is giving their guests a curious look. She'd taken a lunch-hour doctor's appointment, and was just now getting back. From the look on her face, she's forgotten all about his lunch plans.

"Hey Scully. I'd like you to meet John and Luke Doggett," Mulder says, putting his arm around her gently rounded waist. "Scully is my partner here, and at home," he adds with a grin that only the adults appreciate.

"Mister Mulder broke my leg, you know," Luke earnestly informs her. "But it was an accident, and I'm all better now, so I like him."

"Oh, so you're the little boy that I've heard so much about," Scully tells him with a smile. "Are you here to become an FBI agent?"

"Naw, I'm only in the third grade. Maybe Daddy can become an agent though."

Doggett laughs and ruffles his son's hair. "I don't think your mom would like that, Sport."

"I'm gonna ask her, though."

Doggett glances at the clock and gives a slight frown. "Hey, I think we've got to go find your class now, Luke, before we get left behind."

"Do we gotta?" Luke pouts.

"If we want to go see the dinosaurs with your classmates we do."

"Ok…" Luke throws himself at Mulder, hugging his waist. "Thanks for letting us visit. Maybe you can come see us sometime too."

"Maybe," he and Doggett agree.

"Keep in touch," Doggett adds, looking happier than Mulder had ever seen him.

"I will. Quite a kid, you've got there," Mulder says, watching Luke race for the door.

"Oh, I know. The wife and I treasure him. Good luck with yours too."

They disappear a moment later.

"They seem so nice, Mulder."

"Yeah, they are," he agrees. Life is full of weird wonder, he decides, and Luke is proof of that.

* * *

And it doesn't take long for weird to bite them in the ass. Granted, it's about a month later on a beautiful Tuesday, May 10th, at the Emgen Corporation in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Mulder and Scully find themselves in the midst of another carrot-chasing, conspiracy-laden adventure, courtesy of Deep Throat. Mulder wasn't exactly thrilled to be woken up in the middle of the night, but he knew this night would come.

And now, in the light of day, walking next to his partner flipping through pictures of a different dead man, he almost shudders with the remembrance of what this case will bring about.

Scully, however, proceeds unaware, as she should be, as she says, "The county sheriff's office is conducting the investigation. On the preliminary reports, it's being listed as a suicide." She's wearing a sensible-looking ensemble, but there is no doubt in anyone's mind that she's expecting.

"Suicide?" Mulder parrots back, trying to stay out of the way of various crime scene technicians. He wonders, not for the first time, how safe it is for the baby to be around all this lab stuff and chemicals.

"Yeah, they think that for whatever reason, he trashed his lab and then killed himself." She looks up at him from photos of a scientist they only met yesterday and is concrete splatter today.

"How?" he asks as he walks to a table on which numerous Erlenmeyer flasks and other lab equipment rests.

"Well, it says he tied one end of a roll of medical gauze around his neck and the other end to this gas outlet," she replies, putting her hand on a spigot with gauze wrapped around it. "Then he jumped."

"I don't suppose there were any witnesses?" Mulder asks, his tone completely doubtful.

She doesn't disappoint. "Nope."

Crossing his arms, he smirks, "The man we met yesterday kept this place like he was waiting for the people from Good Housekeeping to show up. I would have never pegged him as someone to do all this... or a Greg Louganis out the window." Then he turns, looking out the broken window.

"I know, that gauze is troubling," Scully frowns.

"It's a bit too calculated, huh?" he comments, holding the gauze. "Almost as if someone wanted to make doubly sure he'd break his neck before he hit the ground." He starts walking around the lab again, and she follows, folder in hand. "What else do we know about Doctor Berube?"

Dutifully, she flips through the folder. "Ummm...Terrence Allen Berube. Harvard Med., 1974. He was working on the Human Genome Project. Are you familiar with that?" She looks up again.

"Yeah. The mapping of all human genes. Maybe the most ambitious scientific endeavor in the history of mankind." He raises his eyebrows at her, knowing she's probably not all that impressed with the statement or the scientist.

And he guessed right. "Right, but there's nothing extraordinary about that. I mean, there were thousands of scientists working on that project," She states, her expression challenging him for a point, or better yet, a Mulder leap.

He looks at a glass, then puts it down before answering. "Yeah, but only one who owned a silver Ciera and went bungie-jumping with medical gauze wrapped around his neck," he says, opening up a metal container. Which means conspiracy, Scully, which means freaky world-dominating alien lackeys, which means we've gotta watch out. For ourselves and our baby.

Not knowing the implications, or the troubled waters under her husband's placid surface, Scully crosses her arms, "I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm seeing the pieces but I'm not seeing the connection."

Exactamundo, he almost tells her. He takes out the Erlenmeyer flask containing the red liquid. It has a label on the bottom that reads Purity Control. "Well, maybe that's just it. Maybe we're not seeing it because it can't be seen, not in any obvious way. What do you think this is?"

She stares at the vial for a moment before looking at him. "I don't know," she says, wondering at the reddish color and what exactly Doctor Berube was working on, monkeys notwithstanding.

He hands her the vial. "Well, can you find out for me?"

"Maybe, if I happen to know any qualified scientists," she retorts playfully, taking the vial from him, and inspects the label underneath. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll see what else I can find out about Doctor Terrance Allen Berube," he replies, already heading out the door.

"Okay, Mulder, but I'm warning you... if this is monkey pee, you're on your own," she calls out.

He pauses at the doorway. No way is he gonna let her have the last word this time around. "If it's alien blood, will you stay on the case?" he asks innocently.

She makes a face as the crime scene people pause for a moment, and he ducks out of the room. Again, she's wondering why on earth she married the man.

* * *

Later, at the microbiology department at Georgetown University, Scully calls Mulder. "Mulder," he answers, and she closes her eyes briefly with relief.

"It's me," she says simply.

"He's alive," Mulder says, apropos of nothing, and the background noise indicates he's on the road.

"Who?" Scully frowns, wondering who on earth he's talking about. If it's Berube, this case will be another ballgame altogether.

"The fugitive, the driver of the silver Ciera. He called the doctor's house while I was there," he says, unsuccessfully reigning in his excitement.

"Where is he now?" Please, please don't be chasing down another mutant, she thinks.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Georgetown Microbiology Department." She sighs with relief. No mutant, no undead fugitive. "I've got something for you."

"Is it smaller than a silver Ciera?" He wonders aloud.

"Much." She smirks. "and it's not silver, it's green."

"What is it?" he asks, although he already knows. Why spoil the fun and freak her out at the same time?

"Some kind of bacteria, each containing virus and it looks as if Berube may have been cloning them," she answers, staring at the odd picture of the freeze fracture on the computer screen. "They also contain something that looks like chloroplasts... Plant cells. But they, they've never seen anything like it here."

"Any idea what he could have been doing with them?" Mulder asks, making another turn.

Even if I wasn't pregnant, this thing wouldn't make sense, Scully sighs inwardly. "Well, the only reason why you clone a virus inside a bacteria," She's thinking aloud, on her tired and swollen feet. "Is in order to inject it into something living. It's called gene therapy and it's still highly experimental."

Amen to that, Mulder thinks. "Well, maybe that's what he was doing with those monkeys. Can they tell you anything else there?"

"Yeah, they're just about to run some primary cell cultures and a DNA sequence," she replies, then walks away from Doctor Carpenter to continue the conversation and the veer towards the twilight zone this discovery may be. "Now, I may be understating the strangeness of this, Mulder. Bacteria like this... it may have existed, but not for millions of years, not since before our ancestors first crawled out of the sea." She pauses, wondering why he hasn't jumped at this statement. "Are you there, Mulder?" She waits another beat. " Mulder?"

He's heard her, but the excitement of what he's about to see is sending happy tingling jolts of adrenaline through him. And this time, he's got a camera. Yay, preparation. "Yeah, Scully. Keep up the good work," he says absentmindedly, pulling the car to a stop in front of Zeus Storage on the appropriately named Pandora Street.

* * *

The next morning at 7:30, he of the dark trenchcoat and she of the tan trenchcoat pull to a stop in front of Zeus Storage. His mind appropriately blown, he can't wait to show her what he's seen, what he's photographed. But he doesn't trust any 24-hour film developers since one-hour film developing hasn't happened yet, and not even the FBI labs are safe, so he's hid the film in a safe place. He hopes. Still, he wants Scully to see for herself, even though he knows at this point, they've cleaned house. She puts a hand on his arm. "Wait a second. Mulder?" He turns to look at her. "I, I just want to say that I was wrong."

He knows it took a lot to say that to him, and much as he'd like to savor the moment, he knows he's gonna eat it soon. So it's easy for him to say, "It's all right, don't worry about it."

"No, um... if you'd had listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now. I should know by now to trust your instincts," she says this so earnestly that it takes a lot for him not to hold her and say, No, Scully, always, always double-check me. Or else I might go off the deep end or who knows where?

Instead, he says in a self-effacing rejoinder, "Why? Nobody else does."

She smiles. "You know, I've always held science as sacred. I've, I've always put my trust in the accepted facts. And what I saw last night... for the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe."

"Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully... when you walk into that room? Nothing sacred will hold." After that pronouncement, Mulder leads her into the storage facility, downstairs and into a locked room where he knows he'll crash and burn. Flicking on the switch, the light reveals nothing but a metal table and their own numb expressions. "There were tanks here and five bodies suspended in solution. There were computers monitoring them. They were alive, Scully, underwater." He knows how insane he sounds, how ready for the tabloids and daytime talk shows he seems.

Instead, she asks, "What happened to them?" As if she's expecting to see the bodies that he's yet to reveal on film. He hasn't told her about the film, though, just in case.

"God only knows," a familiar dry twang greets them from the shadows. Walking over to them, Deep Throat carries an envelope that piques both their curiosities. "Most likely, they've been destroyed." He nods at the redhead. "Agent Scully. I believe we met ever so briefly."

"Destroyed by whom?" Mulder asks.

"I don't know," the older Southern gentleman says simply.

"I don't believe you." The tall man scowls at him.

As if anticipating his protégé's doubt, Deep Throat explains almost smugly, "There are limits to my knowledge, Mister Mulder. Inside the intelligence community, there are so-called 'black organizations.' Groups within groups conducting covert activities, unknown at the highest levels of power."

"There were three men last night, I was chased," he accuses the older man.

"Hmmm," Deep Throat muses, smiling a little. "If you were chased, you would have been killed. Those men are trained for that sort of business and they are trained well." He looks contemplatively at Mulder, who stares back at him.

"Were those the same men who killed Doctor Berube?" Scully demands.

"Presumably," Deep Throat continues in the same almost amiable tone.

"Why?" she asks.

"'Why?'" he repeats. "Good lord, you've worked so hard and you still don't see it."

Time for a Mulder leap, the tall man thinks, jumping in, "Doctor Berube was conducting human experiments with extraterrestrial viruses."

"Yes, but that's been going on for years. We've had the tissue since 1947 but not the technology," the Southern man says in a congratulatory fashion.

"Roswell?" Mulder asks.

"Roswell was a smoke screen, we've had a half-a-dozen better salvage operations," Deep Throat corrects him. "Doctor Berube was killed because his work was too successful. You're standing in the room where the first DNA transplant took, the first human-alien hybrid was created."

He puts the envelope down and spreads its contents, glossy black and white photos, on the bare metal table. "Six volunteer patients, all terminally ill." He holds up a picture of a particularly unhealthy-looking individual. "One, Doctor William Secare, an old friend of Doctor Berube's, was dying of melanoma cancer. And as a result of the E.T. gene therapy, all six patients treated in this room began to recover from their illnesses. Doctor Secare was able to live a more or less normal life. As normal as possible for a man who has developed inhuman strength and the ability to breathe underwater." He pauses, savoring the look of incredulity on the scientist's face and the look of discovery on the believer's.

Pacing around, Mulder thinks aloud, "That's how he was able to elude capture."

The older gentleman merely hmmphs in agreement.

"What was he running from?" The redhead stares at him.

"Doctor Secare was never supposed to have survived. Doctor Berube's research was part of a top secret government project being run out of Los Alamos. All they were interested in was the technology, the science. To have a hybrid living out in the real world? Too great a liability. What if he should need emergency medical procedure? The man has a blood chemistry that is alien and very likely toxic. That story should hit the press." He almost looks happy at the prospect.

"It was just easier to kill Doctor Secare," Mulder deduces.

Deep Throat agrees, "Of course, there was only one problem. He was Doctor Berube's old friend and he was able to warn him."

The look Scully gives the older man would flay other, lesser men. "There's just one thing I don't understand. Why you gave us so little to go on in the beginning and why are you giving us so much now?"

"I didn't anticipate the speed and precision of their clean-up operation. They're systematically destroying all the evidence... Doctor Berube, the bodies here. Without the evidence, you two have no case. Who would believe the story I just told you? You must put together everything that you have found and you must find Doctor Secare before they do. I'll have no further contact with you on this matter." and with that, he turns and leaves, disappearing into the light.

"I'm going to get back to Georgetown and get all the lab work," Scully says, after briefly pausing to determine where the strange old man went. Doesn't Mulder have any *normal* sources, she wonders, then thinks that would be an oddity in itself.

"I'm going to find Doctor Secare," Mulder says in an equally determined voice.

"Where?" She frowns a little.

"I don't know. I'm going to trust my instincts," he says blithely.

She puts a hand on his arm. " Mulder, be careful," she says seriously. " They've killed Doctor Berube, cleaned up a room full of," She shakes her head. "Just, be careful."

He nods. "You, too," he says, making a mental note to pick up a gas mask along the way to Berube's house.

* * *

In spite of his precautions, Mulder still winds up trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey on the floor of Berube's attic. What sent him into momentary oblivion were a combination of concussion-inducing kicks to the head and a barrage of steady blows to various parts of his anatomy, none of which were padded.

Unfortunately, the sound of his cell phone ringing brings him back to this plane of reality, and the man with the severe crew cut and none-too-gentle prisoner rapport leers over him. "Damn phone's been going off," the man says, and his look promises abuse for either the phone or the owner.

"I'm a popular guy. Why don't you answer it for me?" Mulder rasps. At least my eyes and lungs aren't burning, he thinks, but those kicks to the kidneys and groin aren't helping. So help me, if you've ruined any future babies for me and Scully, it's on your head.

"Oh, I don't like talking on the phone. I have this thing about unsecured lines. When you feel like talking, let me know, though." The man turns around, apparently bored with his torture toy.

"Evidence," Mulder groans, "we've got evidence." And his eyes roll back as blissful unconsciousness reclaims him, freeing him from the pain.

* * *

At Fort Marlene, Scully bluffed her way through various security measures, thanks to Deep Throat's card and connections, but remembering the odd label on the Erlenmeyer flask brought her into a room full of cryogenically preserved specimens.

As she pulled the metal bracket, she had no idea what exactly Deep Throat meant by "evidence" until she saw the bizarre, inhuman fetus and her mouth hung open. What have we done? she thinks, her mind on the contents of the brown cardboard box sitting next to her in the car. What kind of men have kidnapped my husband? What kind of man is this Deep Throat?

Her car parked at the bridge, the redhead continues to have unsettling thoughts, several times debating whether she should just pull out of this insane scenario where she and Mulder are only pawns. Finally, a car pulls up behind her, and she recognizes the craggy features from her rear view mirror. Sighing, she gets out of the car and takes the box with her.

And after debating with him and herself, she finally surrenders the box and its contents over to the man calling himself Deep Throat. And after she gets back into her car, watching a van pull up next to Deep Throat's car, she second- and third-guesses herself as to whether or not she made the right choice. Yes, Mulder's life is at stake, but so are a lot of other things, she realizes.

She gets out of her car to take the parcel back, to take a lot of things back, and watches in horror as the man from the van pull out a gun as Deep Throat tosses the package over the bridge into the water.

"No!" She screams, bolting from her car. I'm not gonna make it, but I've got to make it, she thinks wildly, her feet moving towards danger of their own accord.

"No!" another voice yells from inside the van.

Various shots ring out, and Scully ducks instinctively behind Deep Throat's front bumper, holding her stomach protectively. Pulling out her gun, she squints against the streetlight at the small crowd of men, unsure who's friend and who's foe. Pistols continue firing, and she ducks again, until a hissed oath and the sound of a body hitting the ground causes her to peek out again.

"No!" She hears an anguished wail coming from one man cradling another. Then she sees the other men haul ass into their vehicle and drive off, the tires squealing against the pavement.

"Mulder!" she screams, recognizing the profile of her husband as he holds the bloody body of his source in his arms.

He looks up at her, horror and guilt written clearly on his face. "Help him," he begs her, his hand pressed against the other man's chest in a vain effort to stop the bleeding. It doesn't help that the Southern man's has been shot in the head as well as several times in the chest.

Quickly, Scully peels off her coat, but gives Mulder a look that speaks of no hope. She does what she can in these moments, but unless an ambulance arrives in seconds rather than minutes, she sighs, rooting around for her cell phone after wrapping the dying man with her coat. She puts a hand over Mulder's, and the blood continues to flow around and over their fingers.

"Mulder," the older man gasps, and the younger man leans over. "Trust," and he coughs, "trust no one."

And after exhaling sharply, the man only known to these two FBI agents as Deep Throat, dies.

* * *

Thirteen days later, Mulder stumbles into his apartment, still dressed in his work suit. Scully, hearing the sound, slowly cracks her eyes open. The digital display flips from 11:21 to 11:22, and she blinks sleepily up at him as he walks into the bedroom. "What happened?"

"They're shutting us down, Scully," he says in a monotone, sitting heavily on the bed.

Now she sits up, sleep forgotten with this new development. "What?" she says, eyes wide open. Her light blue gown looks almost ethereal in the semi-darkness, although her expression is very human indeed.

"They called me in tonight and they said they're going to reassign us to other sections." He peels off his jacket, then his tie.

"Who said that?" she says, temper already beginning to flare.

"Skinner," he says bitterly. His shoes and shirt have joined his jacket and tie on the floor, but she doesn't scold him. " He said word came down from the top of the executive branch." His tone says he clearly doesn't believe that, and, by the look on her face, neither does she.

"Mulder," she says, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's over, Scully." ::I tried,:: he thinks tiredly, ::Oh God, I tried to save him, but I couldn't. And they found my film and Deep Throat went off worse this time around. How the hell did I think I could protect Scully, or her sister, or mine…::

But she's in a fighting mood. "Well, you have to lodge a protest. They can't--"

"Yes, they can," he interrupts her, nodding a little.

She leans against him, her arms around him. "What are we going to do?"

"We?" He blinks, looking down at her. She looks at up him steadily, her body a reassuring on his. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, til death do us part. She really does mean it. "We... are not going to give up," He tells her, matching her steadiness to his voice. "We can't give up. I want to believe he didn't die in vain."

Her eyes mirror his. "He didn't," Scully says, watching the same look cross his face as it did when he first told her about his sister. "He knew the risks, Mulder. He said your life was important enough to risk others who might have been affected by the contents of that package." As he closes his eyes and exhales, she adds, "I know he didn't die in vain."

He doesn't answer her, but wraps his arms around her, pulling her close to him.


	11. Little Green Men

July 1994

Scully beats Mulder home, since her forensics class got out a little early, and takes a nap on the couch. It's already dark when Mulder comes home, and she sits up just as he walks through the door. The lights are still off.

"You know, Mulder, from... from back there, you look like him."

"Him?"

"Deep Throat." She blinks as he turns on the living room light.

Mulder sighs. "He's dead, Scully. I attended his funeral at Arlington through eight-power binoculars from a thousand yards away. "

"Are you ok?" Her voice is filled with concern, because the flat sound of his voice frightens her.

He nods. "Just a bad day, that's all. You know they've got me on electronic surveillance. White-bread cases, bank fraud, insurance fraud, health care swindles. I hate it." All day he's been wondering if there's any point to going on. Maybe he should have left the X-files behind him the first time around. Maybe it wasn't fair to continue now that he and Scully were going to have a family; God knows William suffered for their involvement in the X-files after his birth. The maybes have haunted his entire day.

"Mulder, I know that you feel... frustrated that without the bureau's resources, it's impossible for you to continue... "

"No, it..."

"Well, what then? When the bureau first shut us down, you said that we would go on for as long as the truth was out there. But I no longer feel that from you."

"Have you ever been to San Diego? "

"Yeah."

"Did you check out the Palomar observatory? "

"No."

"From 1948 until recently, it was the largest telescope in the world. The idea and design came from a brilliant and wealthy astronomer named George Ellery Hale. Actually, the idea was presented to Hale one night. While he was playing billiards, an elf climbed in his window and told him to get money from the Rockefeller Foundation for a telescope," Mulder explains, his face expressionless.

"...and you're worried that all your life, you've been seeing elves?"

"In my case... little green men."

"But, Mulder...they're gray, you've said so yourself. During your time with the X-Files, you've seen so much, how could it all be just in your mind? Our minds, I've seen them too."

"That's just the point. Seeing is not enough, I should have something to hold onto. Some solid evidence. I learned that from you. "

"Your sister's abduction, you've held onto that. "

"I'm beginning to wonder if... if that ever even happened."

"Mulder, even if George Hale only saw elves in his mind, the telescope still got built. Don't give up. And next time..."

It's all he can do not to sigh. He made her believe, so now he has to go on. Maybe things will turn out better this time around, his thoughts brighten, at least this time there's no doubt in his mind that Scully is behind him all the way.

"You're right. I can't let one bad day get me down."

"That's the spirit!" She grins at him. "Now that you're feeling better, what do you say to us doing a little grocery shopping? Rocky Road ice cream has been calling my name all day."

"Why sure, just let me warm up the car, Miss Daisy."

"You are asking for it, Mulder," Scully threatens, and begins to contemplate which of his ticklish spots to attack.

* * *

Though he realizes that Scully will probably be fuming when she finds out, he steals her car keys when he sneaks off to the airport before she wakes up. In their place he left a note telling her not to worry, but he knows she will. At least with no keys she'll be slower in her efforts to find him, which is what he wants. The last thing he wants is her in the truck during the get-away he knows is coming; she probably won't fit under the dashboard this time. Not only that, he changes his computer's password to "luvmy1stbrn"knowing it's something she'd never think of while trying to use the computer to figure out where he went. By the time he boards his plane, he's pretty sure that she'll be safe at home until he returns. Pissed, but safe. Lingering doubts still prompt him to buy a roll of Tums in the gift shop, however.

Now, in the Astronomy & Ionosphere Center, he's still puzzled as to why the machines are lit up despite the power being off. However, it's no surprise when he realizes he's not alone. This time he knocks on the bathroom door from a safe distance, so he's less likely have something heaved at his head.

"Necesitas ayudar?" he calls for good measure, hoping an offer of help isn't perceived as threatening.

The door opens slowly, an a timid looking man blinks and comes out. "No me lastime!" he demands.

"I won't hurt you," Mulder assures him, but the other man looks dubious. "Who are you? Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The man looks blank, and Mulder figures he's pretended to think he might speak English long enough. "Que es tu nombre?" he asks, although he already knows his name.

"Me llamo Jorge Concepcion."

* * *

Things go better this time, mostly because he knows more Spanish now. At least until storm starts and the voyager message plays.

"Son ellos! Han regresaron!" Jorge shouts, telling Mulder that the aliens are back.

"It's just a tape machine, Jorge!" Jorge is unconvinced, and tells Mulder that they need to leave immediately. "Where are we going to go?" Mulder asks. "There's a storm outside."

Jorge is wild with fear, and he resists Mulder's attempts to keep him in the building. "No Jorge! Es peligroso! Usted morirá afuera!"

Despite Mulder's proclamation that it's dangerous and Jorge will die outside, the man bolts. Gritting his teeth, he follows Jorge out into the storm, wishing he could ask Elsbeth why some people can be saved, and others seem determined to meet their deaths.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to call for him, but he's sure it's too late. Jorge's body is where he expects it to be, and he still looks frightened to death. As frightened as Mulder knows he'll feel when "They" return in just a short while.

* * *

When Mulder comes to on the floor, he thinks he hears Scully calling his name. Groaning in despair, he opens his eyes. No one is there. Not Scully, not the alien he thought he saw before he passed out… he's completely alone, except for the machines.

Grimacing, he stumbles over to Jorge's body. "I'm sorry, pal," he says as he takes the first aid kit off the wall. Pulling out one of his ever-present baggies, he uses the kit's scissors to snip a few of the man's hairs, and clips all of his finger nails. Though he knows they're less likely to provide any sort of definitive proof of what killed him than a skin sample would, he can't bring himself to hack at the man's body. Even if he could stomach it, there's no way to keep the sample cool…hopefully there will be cells under his nails, if he made any attempt to defend himself.

Without Scully there to delay him, he takes the time to gather up the printouts he'd been fooling with before his impromptu nap. He takes the reel anyway, even though it will probably still be blank. Glancing at his watch, he leaves the building five minutes before the Blue Berets Crash Retrieval Team. His five-minute lead gives him a gunfire free escape.

Although there's hell to pay when he gets home. Even though Scully won't admit that she tried unsuccessfully to break into his computer, she does rant a while about her keys, and doesn't accept his story of having grabbed them "by mistake."

As bad as it is to be defenseless in that sort of argument, he's blissful about the fact that he managed to keep her away from the line of fire. This time.

* * *

A week later…

Mulder crumples up the report he got on Jorge's hair and nail samples and tosses it in the garbage. It goes in on the first try.

"What was that?" Scully asks, having walked in time to witness its perfect arch into the can.

"Nothing."

"It can't be nothing, or you wouldn't have been able to throw it," Scully teases.

"Close enough to nothing to count," Mulder replies. The tape was also blank, but at least this time he's got the print out, not that he has any idea how to interpret it.

"Well…make sure you empty the trash before the 'nothing' overflows."

Mulder smirks and thinks of making a wise crack about her not being able to see the can past her feet, but thinks better of it. "No problem."


	12. Sleepless

On a balmy late July afternoon, Mulder, morose, sits and rewinds the tape, pen in hand. The man comes in from the wiretap again, "...Waitin' here like some stupid bimbo who ain't got nothin' better to do with her time than to sit around here waitin' for you." He wonders if he should just pull out his gun and get it over with, rather than having to suffer any longer.

"Agent Mulder?" a familiar voice asks.

"Yeah?" Mulder looks up. Damn. Wonder if I could plead self-defense. Maybe knowledge of premeditated on his part... nah. Damn.

He looks weird, and then Mulder remembers the guy's not in his trademark black leather jacket but a regular FBI-approved suit and tie. "It's your 302. Assistant Director Skinner just approved it." Krycek hands him the folder file.

Duh, Mulder's about to retort, but having prior knowledge does not help him in this case. In fact, he's stifling an overwhelming desire to strangle the little prick right now, and looks down at the folder in hand to calm himself. "There's a mistake here. There's been another agent assigned to the case." A big, big mistake here, ladies and gents.

"That would be me. Krycek, Alex Krycek," The younger man says, proffering his hand, which is ignored.

"Skinner didn't say anything about taking on a new partner," Mulder says, not bothering to hide his displeasure.

"It wasn't Skinner. Actually, I opened the file two hours before your request so technically, it's my case," Krycek says proudly, playing the part of eager young agent.

Mulder plays along, for now. "So, you already talked to the police?" he asks, knowing the answer, but lulling Krycek out.

The other man does not disappoint. "Yeah, just hung up on the officer in charge a few minutes ago. A detective named Whorton. Turns out Grissom called 911 to report a fire."

They play a little give and take for a couple of more minutes, and Mulder gives him the old heave-ho. "All right, I'll tell you what, I got a little work to finish up around here. Why don't you go down to the motor pool and requisition us a car and I'll meet you down there."

Krycek leaps eagerly, for once as naïve as he seems. "That's all. I mean you don't have a problem with us working together," he asks, a little doubtful about Mulder's intentions.

Mulder shrugs a little. "It's your party," he says, as if a little bored.

"Well, um, I'll get the car," Krycek says, walking off with a smug expression on his pretty face.

Gotcha, Mulder thinks, hightailing it out of there when the younger man's out of sight.

* * *

Later, in Quantico's autopsy bay, Scully is placing an organ on the weighing scale when Mulder and Krycek walk in. Mulder's admiration for his wife swells, seeing her working above and beyond duty while very pregnant, even as he fights off the twinge of guilt seeing her doing so. Not like he could have stopped her, Scully would fight him and half the bureau if she were placed on maternity leave at this point. He wishes he could have shaken Krycek off the case altogether, but it wouldn't do to tip his hand this early in the game, and gives Scully a look as he asks, "Spleen or pancreas?"

"Stomach," she says, her tone almost bored, but her eyes understanding. "I was just about to start on it."

"This is Alex Krycek. We're, uh, working the case together," he says half-heartedly. He doesn't bother to introduce Scully, as he feels it's self-explanatory. This is my *real* partner, my wife, the one person in the world you are not going to mess with.

Her hands still full with Grissom's body parts, she glances up at Krycek. There's something slick about the fresh-faced young man she doesn't trust, with or without Mulder's hint. "Good to meet you," she says blandly.

"You, too," he says, holding out his hand, but she ignores it. He looks a little put out, but not surprised.

"Notice the pugilistic attitude of the corpse," she says, walking over to the body, stained gloves waving over it. Krycek coughs, as if it's his first time up close and personal with a corpse. She almost smiles, wondering if she should do the brain pan trick for fun, but decides to keep things professional. "This condition generally occurs several hours after death. It's caused by a coagulation of muscle proteins when the body is exposed to extremely high temperatures."

"Like fire?" Mulder questions, as if he's expected it.

She nods, but doesn't exactly disagree with him, even though it's clear she wants to. "This degree of limb flexion is observed exclusively in burn-related victims."

"But there was no fire." Krycek looks from the tall man to the short redhead.

"And no epidermal burns to indicate as much but when I opened up the skull, I found external hemorrhages, which can only be caused by intense heat. Some how, this man suffered all of the secondary, but none of the primary physiological signs of being in a fire." She frowns slightly, poking through the dead man's brains curiously, relishing the slightly green tinge the rookie's face has.

"Any theories?" Mulder asks, also enjoying himself.

"I couldn't even begin to explain what could have caused this," she says, half-exasperated. "It's almost as if..." Her voice trails off, going where Mulder's prompting her.

"What?" he asks, almost ready to don gloves and join her in the brain pokes.

She looks at him, almost accusingly, as she puts to words what's surely going on in his devious mind. "It's almost as if his body believed that it was burning."

* * *

Later, after meeting with the steely black man whose moniker is the same as his files, Mulder debates his next moves. He knows Krycek will steal his and Scully's reports, and he knows there's no controlling what Cole will do. He'd like to talk to Salvatore Matola without Krycek, but that would only raise more suspicions, so, sighing, he trudges off and proceeds to let history replay itself without obstruction, for once.

After sharing his telepathic projection theory with Scully, which she, as usual, verbally shrugged off, their conversation goes to Krycek. "Sounds like your new partner's working out," she notes without rancor.

"He's all right," Mulder replies, aware of his "new partner's listening ears. "He could use a little more seasoning and some wardrobe advice But he's a lot more open to extreme possibilities than-" He grins, not missing a chance to take a dig at his wife.

"Than I was?" she asks. He can almost see her raise that infamous eyebrow.

"Than, say, your average Quantico recruit," he finishes.

"Must be nice not having someone question your every move, poking holes in all your theories," She smiles, saving her document and leaning away from her computer.

He almost rolls his eyes. Please, debunk me any day, just don't make me sit with this asshole much longer, he almost begs her. "Oh yeah, it's---it's great. I'm surprised I put up with you so long." He grins, playing with the ring on his finger.

She, on the other hand, does roll her eyes. "You'd better go before I wring your neck." She smiles when he chuckles. "I'll read over this report again and see what else I can come up with."

"Okay, love you," he says before hanging up.

Scully blinks as she hangs up. Wow, he must really hate that guy, she thinks.

* * *

Scully's relieved today is a day off, she doesn't feel like she can handle even one class today. It feels like she's been sleepwalking lately, but doesn't want to worry Mulder. Even though she's been sleeping her usual hours, it doesn't seem like enough, and the weight of the child inside her is reminding her that she can't quite go running after her husband's wild goose chases. She envies Krycek the time spent with Mulder, even if she doesn't quite trust the man.

Still sitting at her computer, she closes her eyes for what seems like a brief moment, then sits up, her eyes wide as she inhales sharply. "Cole," she breathes, wondering how he got into their apartment.

"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings as eagles," the tall black man says, still in military fatigues. "But I'm so tired."

"How," Scully starts, then tries again, "what are you doing here?" Her hand reaches for a gun that is not there, and she almost cries in frustration. Of course, she's wearing a maternity gown, she doesn't have her gun and holster strapped on like she would at work.

He smiles sadly, his eyes half-lidded with either sleep or sleeplessness, as he approaches her, "Blessed are the children who obey and revere their mothers, for they shall live long and prosperous in this world." Then he places a hand on her head, and she shudders, but that movement causes her to wake up, and she blinks in confusion.

"What the hell just happened," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the empty room. Dammit. I am just suffering pregnant hallucinations, she tells herself, taking a sip of tea before resuming her search on Gerardi. And frowns slightly, seeing the answer on the screen, then hits the speed dial.

"Mulder," he answers.

"I think I found the Francis Gerardi you're looking for. He's a professor of neurosurgery at Harvard," she says, keeping her voice steady.

"Do you have his number in Boston?" he asks.

"Yes, except he's coming to New York for Grissom's funeral, tonight. He's arriving at Bronx station on the 7:30 train." She's not going to tell him about her dream, it would only indulge her hysterics and she does not want to be indulged.

"Try to have a photograph waiting for us at the security desk so we know who we're looking for, okay?" He sounds excited, relieved, and on the chase. How she longs to be with him, but bites her lip.

"Got it," is all she says, clamping down on her desire to be on the hunt. Then she prays for his safety, and for her mental health.

* * *

At the station, Mulder and Krycek split up, each with a photo of Gerardi in hand. "What the," Mulder murmurs as he catches a glimpse of red hair darting past, and follows it.

"Oh my God, no!" Mulder shouts, as he catches up to see Gerardi knocking out Scully and retrieving her weapon. "Federal agent, drop your weapon!" He fires, scattering the other commuters, who scream and run.

"Mulder!" Krycek runs over, wondering who the hell he's shooting at, and seeing no one to blame.

Mulder shakes off the younger man impatiently, then stares, seeing no crumpled wife, no gun-waving old man. "Where's Gerardi?" he shouts.

Now Krycek looks like Mulder's lost it. "He's not here," he says quietly.

"I saw him!" Mulder shouts belligerently, pushing aside the other agent.

"Mulder!" Krycek's voice is sharp, tinged with the anger soon to color his future conversations. "You were shouting and waving your gun around, but Gerardi never showed."

Mulder shakes his head. "No, Gerardi was here, and so was Cole. We just missed them," he argues. He knows if a man and a woman could disappear just like that, it's gotta be Cole, but wonders why he saw Scully, too.

Krycek's voice is insistent, almost oily in persuasiveness. " Mulder, if they had been here, I would have seen it. I'm telling you Mulder, they weren't here."

Mulder nods, then hits a couple of buttons on his cell. "Scully?"

She answers groggily, and he isn't sure whether to panic or be relieved. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, and he can see her sitting up, forcing herself to be coherent.

"I just woke up, but I'm fine," she says, for once honest, "what's wrong?"

He shakes his head as if she can see it. "Just checking," he says, already walking to the security office to check the tapes, "sorry, go back to sleep."

She chuckles, then hangs up, the dream world claiming her as soon as her head hits the pillow.

* * *

Mulder wants to talk to her about Cole's murder and his suspicions on Krycek, but when he gets home, she's fast asleep, and he's loathe to wake her. Instead, they end up talking the next morning at her office, which looks like a hurricane's hit it. Subtle, Alex, real subtle, he thinks. He watches her pacing around the room in frustration and anger, and is thankful he's not the one to blame, although he's ready to offer up Krycek as the sacrifice to appease her.

"They broke into my office," she says again in disbelief. "Went through my files, my computer...I came as soon as security called but the report was already gone," she mutters, signing off document after document affirming the break-in, and the poor guy with the clipboard runs out, thankful to leave.

"Someone went through a lot of trouble stealing both our copies to keep this a secret," Mulder agrees, wanting to do his impression of Mr. Subliminal and say "Krycek" every third word. Sitting on her desk, he lets her work out her anger. Trying to calm her down now would only get her more agitated, which would probably not be good for the baby.

Scully sighs, raking a hand through her longish red hair. "Without that report as evidence, Skinner's not going to authorize an investigation."

Even with it, I doubt he'd be willing to do so at this point, he almost tells her. "He said it's never been more dangerous," he says, changing topics.

"Skinner?" Scully frowns, pausing in mid-stride.

"No, the man who leaked us the report. The one who's been helping us," Mulder answers, not willing to divulge more about the mystery man, since he doesn't trust Krycek not to have bugged the office while he was busy stealing their reports.

Crossing her arms over her belly, she says accusingly, "You actually met with him." She feels left out, again, through no fault of her own. Of course, secret double agents want to meet with him, he's the one with the quest dealing with the paranormal and conspiracies, not her. Still...

" He said that closing down the X-Files was just the beginning. That we've never been in greater danger." He wants to hold her to him, but she'll just misunderstand, thinking he's smothering her during her pregnancy. ::I'll keep you safe this time, Scully::, he promises. :: I'll keep you safe from Duane Barry, Krycek, and the Smoking Man.::

"Do you trust him?" she asks, waking him from his reverie.

He smiles mirthlessly. "We'll see," he says, and promptly changes the subject again. "Speaking of trust, are you finally gonna tell me what our baby's gender is so I can think of properly humiliating names?"

She shakes her head, a long-suffering look on her face. "If anything, I can trust you to think of some horrible names, no matter what. So help me, if you call our child Spooky-"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Spooky, Junior," he grins, "or Morticia if it's a girl."

And doesn't see her left hook coming, knocking him off her desk and on to the paper-strewn floor. "That settles it, *I* am naming our child," Scully declares in a huff, grabbing her bag and lecture notes, heading out the door.

"I'll pass your sentiments onto whoever trashed your office," Mulder says, rubbing his jaw as she leaves, picking himself off the floor.

"You do that," she says airily, not looking back.

::Damn, I love that woman::, he grins ruefully, making a note to grab an icepack before he leaves Quantico.


	13. Duane Barry

August 7th, 1994

It feels strange to deal with Duane Barry without Scully's influence, but Lucy Kazdin takes it upon herself to find out the same information that Scully had the first time, so the results are pretty much the same. He leaves unharmed, and Duane is rushed off to the hospital.

Later on, Mulder talks about the case with Scully. "Kazdin thought he was insane, but I'm not so sure. Everything he said sounds like classical signs of alien abduction."

The expression on her face says she doesn't believe that for a second, but she doesn't argue that alien abductions don't really happen. Instead she says, "If he was crazy, how could you tell what really happened?"

"I'd have to get proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"Physical evidence."

"That could be really hard to get, Mulder."

"True, since he could just be crazy like Kazdin thinks." He doesn't really believe that, but he knows that's what Scully would like to hear.

Of course, the fact that Kazdin is likely to soon call him about just that sort of evidence makes it much easier to pretend not to believe the man's tale until there's proof.

* * *

Mulder is seated across from Scully, who is seated at her desk. She is looking at one of the implants from Duane Barry put in a tiny glass vial.

"This could just be a piece of shrapnel. Duane Barry did a tour of duty in Vietnam."

"It was right where he said it would be, Scully. Along with the ones in his gums and sinus." He points to his gums and sinus as he says them.

" He could have felt where the shrapnel went into his body-" She starts to say, but Mulder shakes his head. Maybe he's right, people often don't remember the details of a traumatic injury. "You really think that this was implanted?"

"Well, if it was, that would mean Duane Barry is telling the truth."

"Or some version of the truth," she concedes.

Mulder rubs his eye, not wanting to look directly at her in case he gives himself away. "Look, I'll, I'll take this down to ballistics. First thing tomorrow, then it'll be all cleared up."

"Why don't you bring it there now? Then we won't be wondering about it all night."

"I'd really rather do it tomorrow-"

"Please, Mulder? I don't think I can take another night spent on wasted thoughts about things that aren't even possible."

He hoped his upset didn't show. "Ok. See you as soon as I get home."

Scully kisses his cheek. "You need to shave."

Gritting his teeth, Mulder rushes to his car, hoping he'll make it home before Duane pops by.

* * *

Mulder is on his way home when he hears the police APB that Duane Barry has just escaped Jefferson Memorial Hospital. Cursing, he pushes his the gas petal down harder, making his car lurch forward before racing down the wet street.

* * *

At the sound of breaking glass, Scully freezes, the glass of milk she's holding nearly falling from her nerveless fingers. She has just a second to lament that she left her gun on the dresser when she changed, before Duane Barry is in the apartment.

The water dripping from his clothes adds to his insane appearance. "Come on, Lady..."

"Mulder!" Scully cries, hoping that Barry will think she's not alone. She desperately wishes she wasn't.

"Come on!" Barry says, tugging her by the arm. "Wait, what?" He stares at her belly in puzzlement. She crosses the arm he hasn't got a hold of protectively across herself. "No one said anything to Duane Barry about babies."

"Who told you about me at all?" she asks, hearing a car pull into the driveway. Faint with relief, she pretends that she hasn't heard anything but the man's raving.

"Them!"

"Them who?"

"The aliens," he says, giving her a look like she was slow. "They made a deal with Duane Barry - if Duane Barry could give them someone else to go in his place, they wouldn't take poor ole Duane Barry anymore." Duane paces as he speaks.

"That does sound reasonable," Scully says. She catches Mulder's eye as he opens the door quietly, and puts her fingers to her lips.

"But they said one person, not two people. And babies are people," Duane says with a frown. "They wouldn't like that."

"Probably not. Especially if they were hoping to be gone long, because they'd have to take care of it once it was born. My baby is due in less than two months."

"They always take Duane Barry longer than that," he mutters.

"What if we could give them someone else?" Mulder asks, finally clueing Barry in to his presence.

"What, you want to go?" Barry asks, looking hopeful.

"No, not me. I want to be here for Scully and our baby." ::but if it comes to me or Scully, I will go:: "I know someone might find being taken exciting."

" Then they're crazy," Duane Barry scoffs.

Mulder shrugs.

* * *

"Why don't we talk about this outside?" Mulder asks. From the expression on Scully's face he can tell she's torn between wanting to tell him not to, and wanting the crazy man out of the house. In the end she doesn't say anything, which he likes to think of it as a show of trust in him.

Once they're outside, Mulder speaks to Duane Barry in a low voice. "The guy is kind of crazy, but he's got a major hard-on about the idea of seeing aliens up close and personal."

"Duane Barry could tell him it's no picnic," the other man mutters.

"You could," Mulder hastily agrees. "But you shouldn't. Let him go with them and see for himself what it's like. You know what people are like...no one takes advice these days, they have to forge ahead and make their own mistakes. Besides... better someone who thinks they want that sort of experience than someone who knows he doesn't right?"

"Sure."

"Ok." Mulder takes a pen and note pad out of his coat pocket, and scribbles down Alex Krycek's home address. Technically it was wrong to "borrow" his personnel file to get his address, but he thought it could come in handy, so he'd taken the opportunity when it had presented itself.

Duane Barry takes the scrap of paper with the desperation of a drowning man grabbing at a lifesaver. "Duane Barry will see this man tonight."

"Great," Mulder tells him. "He will probably tell you he doesn't want to see the aliens, but that's just because everyone that he tells about it thinks he's crazy, and he won't want you to think he is too. "

"He will go." Duane Barry's eyes gleam with something Mulder would prefer not trying to identify.

* * *

Scully was looking out the window as Mulder came back in. They both hear the sound of his car drive, and breath sighs of relief.

"Mulder, what did you say to him?" Scully asks, her eyes wide.

"I just tried to convince him that he shouldn't take someone against their will. There are a lot of people who would like to see aliens, and he should find one of them. That way no one gets anything they weren't looking for."

"He'll never find someone who wants to go visit 'aliens'."

"Maybe, maybe not. At least he'll have something to do that'll distract him from his fears of being abducted, right?"

"I guess so..." But she looked doubtful.

* * *

It isn't until three days later that either of them find out what Duane Barry did when he left their home. Since they're both feeling a little casual, they're in the middle of eating dinner, seated at the couch like millions of other Americans. A rerun of Roseanne is reaching its comedy climax when a newscaster breaks in.

"In late breaking news, kidnapping suspect Duane Barry has just been apprehended by state police-" Scully casts Mulder a questioning look that he pretends not to notice. "- As we reported earlier, Barry broke into the home of FBI agent Alex Krycek and forced him to leave at gun-point. Agent Krycek was able to make a frantic phone call to local police, but they arrived too late to help him."

A photo of Krycek is flashed on the screen before the newscaster continues.

"When Barry's vehicle was searched, they found a small amount of blood in the trunk, but officials say that they're not inclined to believe that the missing man is dead. Though Barry will not say where the man is being held, a search for him continues."

"Mulder, isn't Krycek the agent you worked with?"

"Um, yeah. Bad break, huh?"

"You don't sound very sorry for him," Scully accuses.

Mulder shrugs. "I don't like him, and the police seem convinced that he's going to be found alive, so..."

Scully looks less upset, but still suspicious. "How did Duane Barry find his house?"

"How did he find ours?" Mulder shoots back. "You weren't followed, he must have looked up the address in a phone book or something. You know how obsessed people are. When we buy a house, I want to get an unlisted number," he adds.

She nods. "Do you think Krycek will be ok?"

"Probably. The aliens probably won't kill him, they'd rather use him for genetics experiments."

"You have the most morbid mind."

"But you love it," Mulder teases. She doesn't contradict him.


	14. First Page

Tamblyn Museum of Natural History

September 21st, 1994

10:30pm

::You're supposed to be born in a hospital, not in a museum:: Mulder's brain insists. Resisting the urge to take out his cell phone and call Skinner again, he instead hits his shoulder against the door to the gift shop. Fortunately, since they don't really expect people already in the museum to attempt a break in, the lock is flimsy and gives way without causing him to bruise himself too much.

He roams the small store, frantically trying to think of something that will help in this situation. It finally dawns on him that if there were a first aid kit, it would probably be behind the counter, not on the shelves with the merchandise. Looking under the display case he comes up with a large blue box. A glance inside tells him that the most important thing, the scissors are indeed in there. He takes the whole kit, though, stuffing it under one arm.

Looking around for other things that could be considered useful, he spots a bin of beach towels marked "50% off" which isn't incredibly surprising given how few people are going to the beach this end of the month. He scoops up an armful, and for a second is glad that it's discount merchandise that he's taking, even if the manager was the one who suggested that he break into the gift shop.

Mulder nearly trips over his own feet in his rush to get back to Scully. He dumps his booty on the ground and crouches down beside her. She's gasping like a fish out of water. "Hold on, Scully, they said that the lock smith is on his way."

Her face is contorted with pain for a few seconds, then she replies breathlessly. "I don't think that'll be soon enough."

Mulder gulps, and hopes he's the only one that can hear it. "That's ok. They said that a 911 dispatch person will talk me through the delivery, if it comes to that. It'll be ok."

"It has to be."

As her labor progresses, he can't help but think that they got into this mess because he has no script for this event to refer back to.

He thinks he remembers people calling it the "butterfly effect," a butterfly beating its wings in Cleveland is somehow connected to an earth quake in Japan... cutesy new-age theory or not, he's beginning to realize that changing the past is setting of a chain reaction that he could not really anticipate. Scully never got kidnapped, so he didn't sleep with the vampire woman, and somehow this case landed on his desk instead. The only thing he can't figure out is why Scully is here.

Well, he knows that she's here because she came with him, but it just seems so improbable to him that simply accompanying him while picked something up would lead to her being here, instead of in a hospital where she belongs right now.

It was a weird case to begin with, and he can't help but wonder if karma is punishing him for messing with the natural order of things. The museum's curator got in touch with Skinner to tell him that he was convinced that one of the mummies in the displays was coming to life at night. Mulder had expected that the man would offer minor evidence, like the case being disturbed, or the mummy being in a different position, but no. The man held this conviction because he'd seen it moving.

* * *

At first Mulder was excited, since they'd never really had a case about mummy's before, but it turned out to be an exorcise in tedium. Three weeks worth of staking out the Egypt wing of the museum did little to improve his mood. Scully was on maternity leave before the case even started, so he quickly tired of not getting to see her while they were both awake.

The case's big break came not in the Egypt wing, but in the men's room shortly before the place closed for the night. There had been three of them in there- Mulder and a patron at the urinals, and the curator in one of the stalls.

Mulder and the other man were doing the typical eyes forward, don't speak to anyone order of operations when the shrieking in the stall began. It startled the patron so much that he peed on his shoes a little, not that Mulder made a point of making his noticing obvious. Zipping up quickly, they exchanged worried looks.

"The mummy! It's going to get me!" The curator's wails made them spring into action.

"Are you ok?" The patron yelled over the din, pounding on the stall's door.

The only response this got was another wail about the mummy.

Mulder looked around, wondering how a mummy might have gotten into the bathroom. "We've got to get him out of there," he told the patron.

He didn't even ask about the mummy. "But... what if his pants are down?"

The possibility of seeing the old curator in the altogether left Mulder horror-stricken, but he pushed that away. "We'll have to hope for the best. This could be life or death." He declared stoically.

It took three minutes to get the stall door open, and fortunately the curator was still fully clothed. Unfortunately he was shrieking and shying away from the thin air.

Later on, after the paramedics took the curator away, the manager of the museum apologized for wasting the FBI's time, specifically Mulder's, on a case of mounting mental illness, not the paranormal. Mulder grudgingly accepted the apology, but Skinner was less forgiving, and decided to bill the man for the wasted hours. Thoroughly cowed, the manager agreed to pay restitution. To Mulder's annoyance, Skinner ordered him to collect the payment in person.

* * *

Which is how he and Scully got to the museum three hours ago. He'd planned to drop by the museum quickly, and then go to the last Lamaze class with Scully. They were the star pupils in their class, but it didn't hurt that she was a doctor, and though she couldn't recall it, he'd done a similar class with her once before.

Everything would have been ok if she hadn't had to pee. But she did, so she accompanied him into the building. As they walked into the hushed building, Mulder found himself half wondering what it would be like to be there at a decent hour, with lots of lights and people. He wasn't sure that he cared enough to ever find out.

The transaction was fairly quick, quicker than Scully in the bathroom. The manager looked a little happier when he saw her, as if thinking a person with a lovely wife and a baby on the way wasn't the type to hold grudges. Shows what little he knew...

The three of them were on the way out when it happened. The manager set the door to lock behind them, and he got out the door before they did. Scully tripped over a bulge in the carpet, so Mulder paused to grab her arm. The door swung closed just as they reached it.

Speaking to them through the door, the manager said he'd just unlock it. Which he did. But the door didn't open. Frowning, he gave it a couple more tries, then resorted on yanking on the door. Finally he gave up and yelled against the glass that he was going to have to call a locksmith, don't worry.

Mulder nodded, but he noticed that this caused Scully's already fair skin to pale significantly. "What's wrong, Scully?"

"Remember I told you how badly my back has been aching?"

"Yes." He watched the manager talking on the phone. It was worrying that the man's face was turning red, and he seemed to be shouting. "Do you need another massage?"

She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure I'm in labor."

"So no Lamaze class tonight," he replied, before thinking out the implications of their situation. "Oh no."

"Maybe the locksmith will come quickly," Scully said bravely.

But watching the red-faced man jump up and down as he screamed into the phone, Mulder wasn't very hopeful.

* * *

The very upset manager wandered back to the doors a little while later, to do some more shouting at the glass. Apparently the locks on the museum's doors weren't just any locks, they were specially ordered from Japan, and had hardware that most locksmiths weren't equipped to deal with. None of the areas' locksmiths could get it open, but one did know a man who specialized in those locks. Unfortunately, he was in New Jersey. A few phone calls later, the manager admitted defeat, and called on the man in NJ. He'd be there as quickly as he could, but it would still take him hours to get there.

It's at that point that the manager suggests Mulder raid the gift shop.

Scully asks about the doors, but the manager explains that the museum had them all replaced with bullet proof glass after a rash of drive-bys, and he already called the fire department, who told him that they didn't think they could help either.

At least the 911 dispatch person is very helpful.

The locksmith eventually does arrive and fix the locks, but by the time he gets the door open, Mulder and Scully's daughter is already ten minutes old. The first people through the door, besides the nearly hysterical museum manager, are the paramedics, who load Scully and the baby into the ambulance.

At first Mulder is panicky, assuming that they think that something is wrong with Scully or the baby, and they're not telling him, but one of them explains that all moms and babies go to the hospital after emergency deliveries.

* * *

County General Hospital

An hour later

::This is more like it:: Mulder thinks approvingly, seeing Scully tucked into a bed with clean white sheets. It's the sort of thing he imagined all along, just with the baby in the crook of her arm having been born here, not on the floor of a dark museum.

His heart swells, seeing Scully look so happy. When they first got to the hospital, the doctors pushed him away so they could examine her and the baby - although one did look up long enough to compliment him on the neat job he'd done on the cord- but now it's just the three of them.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like all women do after this. Sore."

He still felt anxious. "But other than that? I'm sorry that you weren't here when you delivered-"

"You did a good job, Mulder."

"Really?"

"You were calmer than I was the first time I had to deliver a baby on my OB rotation in med school."

He has trouble processing that, since he can't think of anything he felt more nervous doing. "I'm glad it worked out ok. That you and the baby are both ok." She nods. "But let's do this in the hospital next time," he adds with a grin.

"Next time?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Grinning at her, Mulder looks down at the baby. The little girl has almost no hair, and she doesn't look like anyone he's ever seen before, but he's sure that tomorrow will bring a barrage of "she looks just like you!" comments to both of them from the well-meaning. Actually, she does remind him a little of his grandpa Mulder...

"I think Missy and Mom are a little put out that I don't want them to come until morning," Scully tells him.

"If they don't like it, I'll tell them that you and Page need your sleep. Today was a big day for both of you, and you're tired out. No one will get past me," Mulder threatens jokingly. Page opens her mouth to yawn, as if to empathize his point.

"My hero," Scully murmurs with a sleepy smile.

Mulder watches them sleep, tired himself. Little Page, the beginning of a brand new chapter in their lives, he muses, but he promises to never tell anyone he ever had such a silly thought.


	15. One Breath

November 2nd, 1994

3:13 a.m.

His eyes still closed, Mulder picks up his cell on the first ring. It's a talent he's developed, especially in light of Page's near-nonstop overnight cries and Scully's zombie-like development. Already walking out the bedroom, he's ready to curse the caller out, even if it is important. "Yeah?" he mutters groggily.

A familiar voice, that of his new informant, isn't amused. "Mulder," he simply says, and now Mulder's wide awake and in the bathroom.

"This better be good," Mulder says, unsure of what the news will be.

"Consider it a good news/bad news scenario," the black man tells him.

Now Mulder's curious. "What is it?"

"Krycek's in a coma at the Northeast Georgetown Medical Center."

Mulder runs a hand through his messy hair, making it stand up in weird places. "Does anyone else know about this?" he asks after a beat.

"If you mean the consortium, they were the ones who brought him," the black man says, not mentioning his role in the delivery, "if you mean the FBI and other officials, no."

Mulder exhales loudly, closing his eyes. "Much as I'd like a chance to chat with a former partner and returned alien abductee, I don't think Krycek would be in a talkative mood."

"You wouldn't have much time for small talk anyways, he's dying," X says, and with that, hangs up.

Great, Mulder thinks, just great. If Alex Krycek's personnel files are to be believed, the man has no living family, no close or casual acquaintances, nothing to tie him down to this world. It makes for a perfect double-agent, and a neater mess to clean up when dead. Except he's not dead yet and no official outside of himself knows that Krycek is lying in a hospital bed, dying of some unknown alien experiments. "Dammit." He sighs, and that's when Page kicks up a good-hearted wail.

* * *

Inside the sterile hospital room, a dark-haired man lies unconscious on the bed, dressed in the usual hospital gown that doesn't quite close up in the back. But it wouldn't matter, since he's not awake or alive enough to bitch about it. A machine is doing his breathing, other machines and tubes are making his heart beat and helping his other organs and body parts to function. A monitor beeps, keeping in time with the artificially-induced heartbeat and brain waves.

A man stands nearby, putting a lit cigarette to his mouth. "I'm terribly sorry," the smoking man says after a few minutes of puffing, "it wasn't supposed to happen this way. After Mulder, you hold the most promise, Alex."

As the dark-haired man makes no reply either positive or negative, the gray-haired man shakes his head, his half-lidded eyes betraying no emotion. "You do realize that you're the first one who's enjoyed being probed and suffering the indignities of being a sperm donor. I shall have to speak to the doctors about that." Another puff, another glance away. "Enjoyment does not preclude consequences, however. You're finding that out now."

* * *

Mulder walks into the room and frowns when he smells smoke. Looking around, he finds the butt of a Morley on the floor and snorts, disgusted. Under false pretenses, or, as he puts it, charm, he's gotten here without flashing his badge or making a scene. He wants to keep this as low-profile as possible, especially since he has no idea what Krycek would want, anyways.

Flipping through the coma guy's charts, he finds some familiar anomalies and sighs. "Krycek, I hope you know what a pain in the ass you still are," he mutters, grabbing the blank papers under the filled-in chart papers. Against his better judgment, he's going to bring this to the Gunmen and see if their diagnosis will come up the same as Scully's with branched DNA. If it's different, then there's nothing to be done. And he doesn't know whether that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

Krycek is lying on a metal table, dressed in a nice white dress shirt and slacks. He's still pretty out of it, despite a huge spotlight on him, and doesn't notice a middle-aged couple approaching from a dark hallway. The man is burly, his gray hair, beard and moustache neatly trimmed, and in a business suit. The woman is plump and her dark-dyed hair is piled on her head in a bun, the dark red dress only adding to her matronly appearance. Her hand is on his arm when they walk in, but seeing the sleeping man, she rushes forward with a cry.

"Aloysha!" she gasps, holding his head tightly to her ample bosom as if that would help.

The older man sighs, watching his wife rock their son. "I wish you hadn't followed me into the KGB, although I was so proud of you at the time," he says sadly with a thick Russian accent. " The path you are going will lead to an early grave, but you're not supposed to join us now."

"My boy, my baby boy," the woman croons, her own accent as strong as her husband's, stroking Krycek's hair. She pauses in her ministrations as she looks up at her husband, then resumes rocking her son. "I love you, but if you die now, I swear I will make your afterlife a living hell." She kisses his head and gently lays him down on the table. "You be a good boy," she says, squeezing his hand as she leaves.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," the older man says, and his wife socks him in the shoulder. Rubbing it, he adds, "Take care of our grandchild, or I will join your mother in making your death a living hell."

Satisfied, Krycek's mother nods and takes her husband's hand. The couple turns and leaves the spotlight and their comatose son on the table, returning to the darkness of death.

* * *

The next day, in the Lone Gunmen's lair, having taken the information off the "blank" chart pages with a pencil, Byers is raising his eyebrows at the results from the John Doe. "This is quite a patient," He comments, "our newest Gunman, the Thinker, reports the protein chains are a result of branched DNA." He looks at the tall man holding his wide-eyed baby, thinking that to be a stranger sight than anything they've ever published in "The Magic Bullet."

Mulder frowns. "Branched DNA?" he repeats. He's not surprised, and at the same time, he is. Page hiccups, and he pats her back a few times as she rests on his shoulder. He and the Gunmen run through theories and options, coming up with the same conclusions as they did when it was Scully in the hospital. But this time, there is nothing he knows of to tie the dying man to this world, nobody to fight for. His ruminations are interrupted by his cell phone. "Mulder," he answers.

" Mulder," his wife says, "what the hell did you give me?"

"No STDs, as far as I know," he deadpans.

Scully sighs noisily at the other end. "No, the blood sample. Where did you get it from?"

"An alien abductee," he grins.

He can almost hear her rolling her eyes at the other end. "Great, well, I've found some anomalies," she says, "but nothing screaming 'alien'."

"Like branched DNA?" he asks, and he can almost hear her jaw drop.

"Mulder, whoever you've gotten this sample from," she says after recovering her composure, "if they're not already dead, they should be."

He nods. "I know," he says, "but I'm hoping you can find something useful." Or something that explains why you came back from the dead with no other side effects other than what the implants did.

* * *

Back at the Northeast Georgetown Medical Center, Mulder makes his way to Krycek's room. He knows he's been sitting on this long enough, and pulls out his cell. His thumb hitting speed dial, he opens the door, only to find the bed is empty. "Hello?" Scully asks.

"Hey," he says, walking out to look for a nurse. "Anything on the sample?"

"Actually, I was just going to call you about that," she says, a little worried.

"What?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

"It's been stolen," she says flatly, absently bouncing her daughter as she hears the start of another crying jag.

"Great, hold that depressing thought," he says, then waves a hand at an orderly at the nurses' station. "Hey, could you tell me what happened to the patient in Room 42?"

The orderly looks at him blankly, then ruffles through some papers. "Oh yeah," he says finally after what seems like ages, "his dad took him home once he opened his eyes."

He's alive, Mulder thinks as he says, "His dad?"

The orderly nods. "Yeah, smelled like an ashtray," he says. "You want his number?"

What the hell, Mulder thinks. "Sure," he says, and somehow isn't surprised to see the FBI's general office number listed. "Sorry," he says to Scully's worried squawking, "John Doe just went home."


	16. Irresitable

November 13th, 1994

late at night

::I was wrong, and Scully was right. There is a God.:: Mulder thinks as he peers into his daughter's crib. Page is curled up, sleeping soundly. ::The fact that colic doesn't last is a proof of that::

Getting over the colic has transformed their little siren into a sweet natured-cuddly infant, like those they've been observing enviously in other people's carriages. The fact that she's gone three entire days without any extended bouts of sleepless screaming feels like waking up from a two-month-long nightmare.

And it's just about time too, since there's been more than one night lately that Scully has tearfully consulted medical books, only to end up ranting that the doctors are lying to parents, and there's nothing that can be done to comfort the unhappy baby.

All of which only serves to make it difficult to keep himself from telling her that maybe she went back to work too soon. But hold his tongue he does; it took over a month for her to go back to work, and he knows that Reyes had talked her into helping her and Doggett less than a week after William was born, so he shouldn't complain, especially since her going into the lab to look at Krycek's sample was the thing that got her mind on work in the first place.

"She's an angel," Scully says, joining him.

"You've got to admit, though, for a while there we were worried that we'd spawned a demon," he tells her with a grin.

"Yeah... thank God that not all babies get this. It's most common in firstborns and boys."

"Just girls after this then," Mulder teases.

"Ok, but you're having the next one."

"Aww... don't you want more kids? I always envied big families like yours."

"Brother Bill was nothing to envy," Scully snorts.

"Not a problem if we have all girls," he points out.

"I don't know, Mulder, a little boy might not be so bad." She suddenly looks serious. "I think Bill's problem was that Dad was gone so often. 'You look after your mom and the little ones' really went to his head."

"Good thing I'll always be right here."

"You better be," she says fiercely, drawing him away from the crib. He gives her a surprised look, but goes willingly enough. It's nice to know that not all women lose desire for their husbands after a baby.

* * *

"Mulderrr....Please," she pleads, something wild lurking in her eyes as her fingers dig into his shoulders, so possessively.

But he's nervous. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you." He's eager, but worried.

"It's been seven weeks. The recommendation is six," she points out.

"But that's just a guideline. Not all women are ready..." he trails off as she slowly unzips his pants. As her warm little fingers encircle him, he realizes that she's ready.

She gives him an impatient look as his hand reaches behind him, groping for the night stand drawer. "What?" she asks.

"Condoms," he says thickly. ::Oh God, do I even have any that I didn't "fix". Please please please-::

"Forget them," she tells him, giving him a squeeze that nearly obliterates all thoughts from his mind. Nearly.

"But-"

"I'm breast feeding Page. Women use breast-feeding as birth control all over the world, because it suppresses ovulation. We'll be safe."

If her explanation wasn't accompanied by feather light touches that make him throb, he might come up with a better rebuttal than, "Really?"

"I'm a doctor," she tells him, which would be more convincing if she weren't standing there buck-naked with her hand still on his proudly pointing member.

Convincing or not, it's only a couple of minutes before he lets the doctor test his stamina.

**

The next morning

Scully wanders into the living room and notices that Mulder is having what sounds like a heated phone conversation.

"...but Page isn't even two months old! Scully won't leave her with anyone but her mom, who's visiting Charlie and his family for the next two weeks, and I'm not sure that I like the idea much myself. There has to be another solution," Mulder insists, wishing he could see Skinner's face.

She watches with interest as he makes a strangled sound and his face takes on a purplish cast. It occurs to her to wonder if he's choking on something, maybe he'd had sunflower seeds in his mouth, but he begins to speak again. "I'm sure she'll love that solution... yes, we'll be there, no need for threats." He slams the phone down.

"Skinner?" she asks, making him jump.

"Yes. Get this. His solution to not leaving Page with a stranger is we can have special permission to bring her along with us. He says she ought to get used to it when she's young, since your mother isn't going to be at our beck and call her entire childhood." He sighs deeply. "We can't afford a nanny, so is there anyone that you can think of that you'd feel comfortable leaving her with? I tried to talk him into letting just me go, but he said that there needs to be two agents on our cases-"

Scully interrupts. " Skinner's right. We'll have to take her with us."

"Scully-"

"Like you said, we can't afford a nanny now, so this is what we'll have to do until we can."

"Some of our cases can be dangerous," he protests.

"What better motivation to keep ourselves out of trouble?" she asks.

There's no talking her out of it, and since she'll think he's a complete nutcase and leave him, taking Page with her, if he lets on what kind of trouble there's brewing in their lives during the coming years, there's nothing he can do but shut his mouth and grit his teeth.

* * *

Afternoon

Special Agent Moe Bocks is waiting for them in the graveyard.

Glancing at the sleeping baby strapped to Scully's chest, his only comment is "Couldn't get a babysitter, huh?" They shrug.

If having Page there bothers him, he doesn't let on. Instead he launches into a spiel that Mulder remembers almost word for word. "I got the call from Minneapolis PD, saying they wanted the FBI to come out and have a look. Anything slightly freakazoid, that's the drill: call Moe Bocks. As if I'm tight with all the nut cases in town. So I shoot on down here to see what's-the-what and I'll be damned if I'm not knocked on my butt by what they show me. Twenty two years, I've never seen anything like it. I get one look at the corpse and I'm on the phone to my pal Andi Schnider down at the Mutual UFO Network. You know Andi? "

"No."

"Well, he knows you."

"Why'd you call Mufon?" Mulder asks.

"I wanted to see if there'd been much UFO activity in the area."

"You think this grave was unearthed by aliens, Agent Bocks?" Even Mulder looks skeptical.

"It has all the telltale markings, don't you think? I mean, according to the literature."

"The literature?"

"Y'know. The way the hair and nails have been cut away. Sort of like they do in cattle mutilations."

Peering down at the casket, Scully is clearly disturbed by the sight of the body.

"I hate to disappoint you, Agent Bocks, but this doesn't look like the work of aliens to me," Mulder tells him, enjoying being able to demonstrate to Scully that he doesn't think all crime is alien related.

Bocks looks disappointed. "No? How can you be sure?"

"I've seen this kind of thing before. When I was with the Violent Crime Section. Whoever dug this up probably used a backhoe. If you took casts of the ground in the area, you'd probably lift some clean new tracks off the garage around here somewhere. He may work here, but it's not likely. Though he's probably worked at a cemetery or a mortuary at one time or another. Probably been busted before, but you're not going to find any record of it. Not real good for business when these stories get around."

"You're saying some human's been doing this?"

"If you want to call him that," Mulder agrees.

"Well, don't I feel like a dumb butt."

The guy doesn't seem like a bad person and he didn't put up a fuss about the baby, so Mulder decides to throw him a bone this time. "Don't. This sort of thing is really uncommon. If it hadn't been for my work on the VC I probably would have thought of aliens first too."

"Yeah... thanks." Bocks looks less embarrassed.

Scully ventures one last look into the grave, the image giving her a cold shudder.

As they go back to their car, he asks, "You okay, Scully?" knowing she isn't.

"Yeah... I've read about cases of desecrating the dead, but this is the first time I've seen one." She busies herself with strapping Page into the car seat, but clearly she's still thinking about the body.

"Nothing can prepare you for it. It's almost impossible to imagine."

"Why do they do it?" she wants to know as they settle themselves into the front seat of the car.

"Some people collect salt and pepper shakers. The fetishist collects dead things. Hair, fingernails... no one quite knows why. though I've never quite understood salt and pepper shakers myself."

She gives him a curious look. "Sometimes you surprise me, Mulder."

"Why?"

"How that didn't shock you back there."

"I've prepared myself for it before we left Washington."

"You knew it wasn't UFO related from the start?"

"I had suspected as much," he admits.

"Mulder, we flew three hours to get here. With a baby! Our plane doesn't leave until tomorrow night. If you suspected, why-"

He pulls two tickets from his pocket. "Vikings versus Redskins, in the Metrodome. Forty yard line, Scully. You, me and Page. I think it's a good time for her first sporting event. With all the fans screaming, no one will hear if she cries."

Even though he thinks it's unlikely that they'll get to this game, either, it's a nice dream.

* * *

To his shock, they actually do go to the game. He's not quite sure why, but Donnie Pfaster doesn't dig up the corpses until after the game is over. Maybe he was sick, or had car trouble, who knows. While it's nice to be at the game with his two best girls, it makes him feel uneasy too, knowing that he's not the only thing that can affect the outcome of the cases. With time restarted, anything can happen now, perhaps. It's almost a relief when Bocks calls their hotel not long after they get back from the game.

Other than the strange anomaly that allows them to actually catch the game, things continue in pretty much the same way they did in Mulder's memories, and that scares him. Things are going to happen all over again, and he's not sure that the outcome will be the same this time around. It had been bad, but it could have been much worse. He doesn't get much sleep that night, as his mind races, trying to think of how to keep Scully out of Donnie Pfaster's clutches.

* * *

They visit the jail, and it's all Mulder can do not to scream at Scully and Bocks that their man is right there in a cell for something else entirely. But he can't, not even though he wants to more than anything.

"Mulder, can I have a minute with you?"

"Yeah."

Bocks gets the message that she wants to speak to Mulder in private. "I'll be out front."

"I think I might better drive this investigation if I focused on the evidence."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That I take the body back to Washington. I'd like to run it through the fingerprint lab there. You know those guys, they can pull a print-"

"If you're having trouble with this case, Scully, I want you to tell me."

"I'm not having trouble, Mulder," she insists. He still doesn't believe her.

"I'd understand, Scully. This isn't exactly easy to stomach. We'll tell Skinner where he can stick his two-agents rule."

"I'm fine with it. Really. I just think we're a long way from catching this guy. If we could get a print, we'd have something to go on. Right now we're at a standstill."

He feels completely helpless. "I think it's a good idea. I just don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me, Scully. I've seen agents with twenty years in the field fall apart on cases like this."

"I'm fine, Mulder. I can handle it."

"Leave Page with me, though," he says impulsively.

"Mulder, I don't know-"

"Are you suggesting I can't take care of my own daughter?" He lets his voice rise with indignation. Better a fight than letting Scully take their baby home.

"No! I just-"

"If you're going to be doing work in the lab, you're going to need someone to look after her anyway, since you're not bringing her to the morgue. I may just be doing a lot of thumb twiddling here, anyway, so the two of us will get along fine." He addresses the baby for affect, "won't we, Sweetie?"

"Ok," Scully agrees. She looks apprehensive, but not half as much as he is, he's sure. At least without Page to worry about, she won't be handicapped by her need to protect their baby from Donnie too. If he can't make things better, at least he won't be making them worse this way.

* * *

Later on, he thinks that he might have a chance to change things, but he's foiled by her stubbornness. Though frustrated, he's hardly surprised, it's half of what he loves about her.

He's giving Page a bottle in Bocks' office when she calls. "Hi, it's me. We got a print."

"Scully got a print."

Bocks' is thrilled. "Fantastic!"

"I'm going to modem it out to you right away to see if you can run a match."

"Are you staying on there, Scully?" ::please please please:: he tries to send a subliminal message.

"No. I'm coming back tonight."

"Look, Scully. I know this is a pretty horrific case-"

"I'm okay with it, Mulder. You can use my help."

"Why don't you come back tomorrow? It's already late, and Page and I are doing fine-"

"I'd really rather be with you tonight, I miss you and my baby," she says, dashing his hopes. "Mulder? You or Agent Bocks didn't call here looking for me earlier, did you?"

"Did you call for Agent Scully?"

"No."

"Okay, I'll see you when I get there."

"Why don't I pick you up at the airport?"

"Don't be silly, I can rent a car. Bye Mulder." She hangs up before he argues any more about it.

Looking down at their daughter, he prays that everything will be ok.

* * *

Eventually they figure out where Donnie Pfaster is holding Scully, though Mulder gives into fear and recklessly makes a few "leaps" that might seem entirely illogical. Luckily no one is paying too close attention to how he comes to his conclusion. The ride to Pfaster's mother's home seems to take hours.

Mulder and the other agents break the door down just in time to see Donnie Pfaster get Scully's gun away from her.

"FEDERAL AGENTS! HANDS IN THE AIR!" Mulder shouts loud enough to make Page cry in fear. So fixated on helping Scully, he'd forgotten that Page was even with him.

Donnie slowly puts his hands in the air, and the other men take him forcefully. For one second Mulder is tempted to shoot the bastard in the head, so he'll never be able to hurt Scully again, but he knows that'd be a jail-able offense given the other agents already have him in cuffs. Still, his trigger finger itches. Finally, he holsters the gun and goes to Scully.

She's dazed, as she's trying to get up. "Let's get the paramedics out here!" he calls.

"I'm okay," she claims.

"Just stay there, Scully."

Being Scully, she insists on getting up, Mulder helps her. "I'm fine. Just help me get my wrists undone. How did you find me?"

"His Mother used to own the house, willed it to the sisters. I played a hunch. A patrolman spotted the car out front."

Her wrists untied, Scully rubs them. She doesn't want to meet Mulder's eyes. She's looking over at Donnie, who's being bound on the floor. "Why don't you sit down until someone can take a look at you."

"Mulder, I'm fine," she says, starting to reach for Page. But, probably sensing how shaken she still is and afraid she'd drop the baby, she lets her arms fall to her sides.

Mulder looks at her, and tips up her chin. She, then, meets his gaze, and that's all it takes. Her eyes well up, and she begins crying. Mulder's holding her now, though she keeps her arms crossed in front of herself. She, then, allows herself to hold him, to fully let her emotions out. Scully continues to cry in Mulder's arms, while he holds her tight and strong. They only loosen their grip when Page squawks, probably feeling squashed.

"It's ok, you're ok," he mutters, unsure which of them he's addressing. Maybe he's trying to reassure them all. "We're all ok now."

Scully gives him a misty look. "I bet this isn't how you expected Page's first case to turn out."

Shocked that she's making a joke he just lets his mouth drop. Then he laughs until tears come to his eyes. Page just looks from one parent to another with her still slightly unfocused baby gaze, and they swear her look suggests that she thinks her parents have lost their minds. That just makes them laugh harder.


	17. Aubrey

November 1994

"Chaney's a legend," Mulder says on a late November afternoon, picking up a file and hands it to his wife, who opens it and starts flipping through pages. "Forty years before the Bureau started profiling violent criminals, Chaney and his partner Tim Ledbetter would work on their own time investigating what were then called "stranger killings"-- what are now called serial murders. They disappeared while investigating three murders in Aubrey, Missouri in 1942. Chaney's body wasn't found until two days ago by local detective, B.J. Morrow," he pauses, "a woman."

"What's your interest in this case?" she wonders, thinking the mystery's solved.

"During their time, Chaney's and Ledbetter's ideas weren't very well received by their peers. Using psychology to solve a crime was something like, um..." He shrugs a little.

She grins, filling in the blank. "Believing in the paranormal?"

"Exactly." He pauses, knowing she wants something deeper, something a little more substantial, and, dare he say, a little more paranormal for this decades-old case, or at least a decent reason why it would even be considered an X-File. "There's another mystery."

As usual, she bites. "Which is?" Ooh, infamous eyebrow raise. Yes!

"Well, I'd like to know why this policewoman would suddenly drive her car into a field the size of Rhode Island and for no rhyme or reason dig up the bones of a man who's been missing for fifty years. I mean, unless there was a neon sign saying 'Dig Here,'" Mulder deadpans, already knowing the answer to this particular mystery, even as he's dangling the question for his partner.

"I guess that's why we're going to Aubrey," Scully finishes, answering her husband's question. Even though she's feeling a little under the weather, but there's no way she's telling him that. Besides, her mother has already threatened to come to the Hoover building with baby pictures of herself if she wouldn't let a proud grandmother spend more time with her granddaughter.

He leers melodramatically, "Yes, and also I've always been intrigued by women named B.J."

She snorts. "Intrigued by BJs, nothing, I'm pretty sure you enjoyed it the other night," she says, sailing out the room with the x-rays and leaving him chuckling.

* * *

Later, sitting in front of the computer waiting for the images to load at the coroner's office, Scully and Mulder eat cookies companionably, although she's a bit more ravenous than her partner. "Mulder, I don't think B.J. was in the woods that night because of engine failure," she says, popping another cookie in her mouth.

He answers with his mouth full, "What are you talking about?"

She gives him a look, swallowing her own mouthful before answering with clear diction. "Well, the Motel Black would have been the perfect meeting place - away from town, away from his wife..." his look is unhelpfully blank, so she fills it in. "It's obvious BJ and Tillman are having an affair."

He doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she's right. "Let me guess, women's intuition?" He smirks.

She gives him a smug look right back, and is about to reply when the computer beeps, giving them their answer from the FBI. As she's moving things around onscreen, Detective Morrow comes in. "Agent Mulder? Have you made any progress in the investigation?" she asks, looking as brisk and professional as she can manage.

"Uh, we may have. It seems Agent Chaney might have been a victim of the killer he was trying to catch. We're trying to determine if the cuts on his ribcage spell out a word right now," he says, and they watch the detective almost sleepwalk into the room before staggering at something only she can see. "You all right?" he asks, worried.

"Must be something I," she begins her apology, swallowing hard. "'Scuse me," She mumbles, fairly running out of the room.

It seems Scully's own stomach turns sympathetically, and she also rises, although leaving with less haste, so Mulder wouldn't worry.

* * *

The detective is washing her mouth out as Scully empties the contents of her own stomach. Quickly, the redhead leaves the stall as soon as she can. "You're pregnant, too," she notes washing out her mouth, having just come to the same conclusion about herself after adding up her symptoms.

Detective Morrow's eyes seem a little wild, worried. "Does it show?" she asks, her body posture signaling flight.

Scully shakes her head. "No, not yet," she says in as calm a tone as she can manage, considering the recent queasiness of her own stomach, her hands under the running faucet.

The longhaired woman seems to sag with relief at a fellow law enforcement officer in somewhat the same predicament. "Now I know why my mother only had one child. She told me about the nausea, but not about the nightmares."

Scully brushes her hair back from her face, careful not to look at the other woman. "Nightmares?"

The other woman seems to take her cues from the petite agent. "It's always the same," she says, arranging her hair, "I'm in a house, it feels familiar. There's a woman that's been hurt. There's a mirror...I see a man's reflection. I recognize his face, but I don't know it. What I remember most is the blood. There's a lot of blood."

"Have you talked to anyone about these nightmares?" Scully asks, not giving away her worry that the detective might need psychiatric help. She still hasn't told Mulder yet about seeing Cole in their apartment, chalking it up to something like a pregnancy hallucination. Morrow seems to be confirming her worst fears, however.

There's a quick shake of the head, then the fingers resume tidying the long, dark locks. "I'm sure it's something about the pregnancy," she says, sounding eerily like Scully's inward self-justifying voice. "If anyone else knew I was pregnant...Brian would kill me if I told anyone." She sounds defiant and relieved not to have to have the burden of this knowledge alone.

"What are you going to do?" Scully asks.

Now it's the detective's turn not to look at the agent. "I don't know," she says, leaving the restroom without another word.

Scully stares after her, knowing both the pain of being in an extramarital affair with a coworker, and being pregnant in a high-pressure job, but not at the same time. She sighs. At least she has Mulder, and her family. B. J. Morrow doesn't seem to have anyone if she's willing to confide in a perfect stranger, especially not Tillman. And with that sobering thought, she decides to share her suspicion about her own state with Mulder soon.

* * *

Scully had left on the pretense of going back to take another look at the x-rays, to see if she can make any sense of the rib cuts, but when Mulder's cell phone rings, he realizes that's not really where she'd gone.

"Mulder, it's me. I'm at the e.r. at county hospital."

"Are you ok? What happened? Was there an accident?" Mulder's mind is frantic, because this isn't supposed to be the dangerous part of this particular case.

Hearing her take a long shuddery breath, his fear rockets up. "I'm not hurt, Mulder. I, um, came for a blood test. To be sure."

"Of what?" he asks blankly.

"I'm pregnant." There's a lot of static on the line after that. "'amn bridge. We'll alk when I ge bac, k thi lin breaki up."

"Ok," he replies, wondering if she can even hear him.

Sinking onto the bed, Mulder's mind seems to be filled with a lot of static too. ::No, this is not happening! We can't have another baby before Page is even one. And especially not now, not with the trouble with the alien bounty hunter and the Samantha clone lurking just around the corner. How can an unborn baby survive that sort of abuse? I don't know if can keep Scully safe, dammit!::

He throws himself onto his back and covers his eyes. ::Safe...Page kept Scully safe from Duane Barry, didn't she? Maybe this baby will keep her safe too. I don't know. Or maybe the baby will force her to take less risks, and accomplish the same thing. This could be a good thing, perhaps.::

Getting back up, he puts on his shoes. :: If she's happy about the baby, I'll play happy too. It's just as easy to believe that this will turn out to be a good thing, not a bad one. Why do I have to be so negative? Oh yeah, because I'm paranoid. But not this time. I'll try not to be this time.::

A couple of minutes later, he leaves the hotel room, intent on buying a bag of sunflower seeds and a quart of Rocky Road ice cream.

* * *

Later, in Mulder's motel room, Scully carefully makes her way through the mess of sunflower seeds and papers on the floor. "Mulder, if you don't learn to clean up after yourself, how will our children learn to do that?"

"Aren't kids supposed to be messy?" he asks, grinning in the face of danger as he casually spits out another sunflower husk on the paper-strewn floor.

Either he's daring her to kick his ass, or he intends to remain something like an untrained puppy or typical bachelor, whichever. She really doesn't want to think too hard about his motivations, especially since that'll only throw her precariously balanced hormones into God knows where.

Sighing, she pulls out the results of her recent forage through time and the Aubrey police archives. She proposes Cokely as the killer, due to the recent rash of killings with his M.O., but Mulder's inclined to choose another suspect for reasons she isn't aware of. "Are you saying Cokely's grandson attacked B.J.?" she asks, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

He leans forward, alight with his theory, albeit a little inelegant. "It would make sense, Scully. Genetic traits often skip a generation. And that would explain the test results of the blood found under Verna Johnson's fingernails. PGM subtypes are similar among relatives. Did Danny call back with the adoption records yet? Did you get 'em?" He grins with a I-know-I'm-right smile, which makes her dial faster.

"I don't think Mendel had serial killers in mind when he developed his theory on genetics," She rolls her eyes, " and unless you can prove that hypothesis outside of a single anomaly, that's all it is, an anomaly, *not* God-given proof." She flicks a sunflower seed shell at his head.

As Mulder begins his story about sunflower seeds and his father, he looks back with twenty-twenty hindsight. Perhaps some things were more nurture versus nature, he muses, and Dad was trying to get me to avoid turning into a chain-smoker like a certain conspiracy-related chimneystack.

She snorts, recalling him to her. "What does that have to do with Cokely?" she asks, as if waiting for a line of priceless bull and humoring him anyways.

Fine, then, he thinks childishly, "Well, on a basic cellular level, we're the sum total of all our ancestors' biological matter. But what if more than biological traits get passed down from generation to generation? What if I like sunflower seeds because I'm genetically predisposed to liking them?" and no matter what Cancer Man says, I'm Bill Mulder's son, he thinks.

She rolls her eyes, both at the sunflower seed-chewing man on the bed and the man at the other end of the phone putting her on hold. "But children aren't born liking sunflower seeds. Environments shape them; behavior patterns are taught," she says reasonably. "Traits like eye and hair color are passed down, but I doubt our children will be born with a fear of clowns or an inclination towards sunflower seeds." Please, please, let them take up a less messy habit, like physics, she prays.

"You're afraid of clowns?" he asks before remembering the whole Ethan/circus debacle, and he holds his hands up in surrender to her glare. "Okay, but you can't dispute the fact that there are countless stories of twins separated at birth who end up in the same occupation, marrying the same kind of people, each naming their child Waldo."

"Waldo?" She arches that eyebrow again. Boy, is he making her give that eyebrow a workout or what?

"Jung wrote about it when he talked about the collective unconscious. It's genetic memory, Scully," he says earnestly.

She shakes her head, hoping to hear some sanity from Danny. Instead, she's given a shock. Hanging up the phone, she tells her husband, "Danny tracked down Mrs. Thibedeaux's son. He was a policeman named Raymond Morrow."

"B.J.'s father." and of course, Mulder goes on beyond zebra in his hunches. "She's responsible for the murders. Grab your coat, let's go."

She stares at him, but gets her coat nonetheless. "Do you honestly think she's capable of murder?" she asks, looking up at him.

He looks down at her. " Scully, this is what I think. I think that Cokely's memories, his compulsions have been passed on genetically to his granddaughter B.J. That's what's driving her to kill."

Now she looks at him like he's grown another head. "So you're saying that B.J.'s nightmares are real? That, that she's out there killing these women and carving "SISTER" on them?" The look on his face tells her yes. But she refuses someone can simply go nuts for no reason, granddaughter of a serial killer or no. There's got to be a logical explanation for this. "Well, then how do you explain the cuts on her own chest?" she demands.

"I can't explain everything," Mulder replies, pouting a little. "Maybe she carved them on herself, or maybe it's some kind of weird stigmata. Whatever it is, B.J. is not herself."

"Or perhaps it's not B.J.," she argues, but they can both tell it's a half-hearted argument, as the evidence seems to be piling up against the detective. Besides, Scully hates the idea that B.J.'s feeding into the widespread-idea that pregnant women go nuts. In jobs like theirs, they need all the respect they can scrape together. "Mulder, wait up."

"Why?" He turns around, but seeing her fleeing into the bathroom gives him a pretty good idea of the answer. Hoo boy.

* * *

Later, back at home, Scully is breastfeeding Page, her daughter held up by a cloth sling while she types at the computer. "We are continuing with genetic testing on Detective Morrow. Evidence suggests the presence of a mutator gene that has activated previously dormant genes, but the results so far are inconclusive." She sighs, then shifts her daughter a little to make it easier for her baby and a little more comfortable for herself.

Resuming her report, she goes on. "Detective Morrow has not demonstrated any further physiological changes. Extensive blood work and psychological testing has been conducted in order to determine whether the pregnancy could have been a catalyst for the transformation. We have yet to determine the effects on the fetus."

"Amniocentesis results show no genetic abnormalities. Chromosome testing has determined the child's sex to be male. B.J. is on her second week of suicide watch after an unsuccessful attempt to abort her son. Lieutenant Tillman has petitioned to adopt the child, and the case will soon be presented to the courts."

She looks down at the child suckling on her breast. "Will you be a doctor like Mommy? Or will you be," she pauses, "imaginative, like Daddy?" She makes a mental note to check on Mulder's parents, remembering them vaguely from the wedding as reasonably sensible, if a little cool towards each other. Her own parents, she knows, are grounded, if somewhat nomadic, people, and misses her father intensely with a pang of remembered loss.

I just hope they don't take after Melissa, too, she thinks suddenly, when the phone rings. "Scully," she answers automatically. "Melissa," She smiles, "I was just thinking of you. No, nothing like that." She shakes her head, thinking her sister is more incorrigible than Mulder sometimes. "I was thinking of what Page might be like when she grows up, and, no offense, but I hope it's not like you."

The rest of the afternoon is filled with shared remembrances, future plans, and peals of laughter.

* * *

Maggie Scully's Home

December 25th 1994

"I would have thought you'd celebrate Hanukkah, Fox," Bill Jr. says, making Scully cringe.

Mulder, however, takes it in stride. "My mom's Protestant, so I grew up celebrating both holidays. Hanukkah began just after Thanksgiving this year, so I visited my dad that week to celebrate that then." It's the first time he celebrated it in a decade, because he'd given up acknowledging the season after his father's death. Though it's nice that they got to do it one more time, every time he lit a candle, he wondered if it would be the last menorah his father would ever see.

Bill Jr. seems to relax a little. "That's good. I'm glad that Christmas doesn't make you uncomfortable, then."

Mulder grins, and plucks Page out of Scully's lap. "Nah, it just means more presents, doesn't it sweetie?" Page looks faintly bewildered. Even Bill Jr. laughs at that.

Scully wanders out to the kitchen, looking for either her mother, or something to eat. Both would suffice.

She finds both. Maggie is piling Christmas cookies onto a tray. "It's too bad that Page can't have any," her mother says wistfully.

"I'm sure today is like any other day to her, Mom. She'll be able to eat cookies with us next year."

"I know. Even though babies don't know any better, there's something magical about baby's first Christmas. Maybe because they happen so infrequently."

Scully blushes hard, and looks at her feet. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Mom. Next year will be baby's first Christmas too."

"You're not..?" Once the shock leaches from Maggie's face, she looks pleased. "You _are_. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm not sure." Scully shrugs. "I...I was worried what you'd think, since it's so soon."

Maggie gives her arm a squeeze. "Oh honey, you know that Bill and Melissa are just a year apart."

"I know. But I never did figure out how you felt about it."

"I loved it. You'll love it too, you and Fox both will."

Scully grins crookedly. "I'm sure we will. If only we knew how Page will feel about the whole deal."

Both women laugh.

"What's going on in here?" Mulder asks suspiciously, carrying Page over one shoulder.

"Congratulations, Fox," Maggie tells him with a knowing look.

"Oh boy," Mulder says to Page. "You're not going to help them gang up on me when you can talk, are you?"

"Of course she will," Maggie replies.

"Then the next one better be a boy," he grumbles to their giggles.


	18. Colony

January 3rd, 1995

Skinner looks grim, and it's all Mulder can do not to squirm in his chair as the ex-Marine stares him down.

"Agent Mulder... I didn't say anything when you impregnated your partner. I even bent the rules and let you continue to work together after you married her. But this is too much."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think there's any law that says one must get the approval of their work place before having a second child." ::And it's not as if I planned this! Just the last time.::

Skinner sighs deeply. "I know that, Mulder. But it does put stress on this office, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Of course I am. But it's not as though I'm incapable of going on without Scully in the short time she'll be out."

"Granted. But this job is very dangerous-"

"-and it's up to Scully to decide if she feels comfortable on cases or not. You are her boss, and I'm her husband, but she's the one living in her own body. She's the only one who can properly gage how much stress she can deal with."

Skinner just stares at him with an angry glint in his eyes. Then he reaches out and grabs Mulder by the shoulder, shaking him.

"Mulder?" Hearing Scully's concerned voice, Mulder opens his eyes. "Having a nightmare?"

"Yeah, a nightmare," he says thickly. He sits up thinking the dream was odd considering that he and Scully had already married before Skinner came on board as their supervisor. Daytime worries about Skinner haunt his nights. "When are we going to tell Skinner about-" He places one hand on her still flat belly. "-this?"

She gives a helpless shrug. "I'm not sure I want to tell him right away."

He's not sure either. "He is going to figure it out, though," he points out.

"So we let him figure it out."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"It's not, but it'll give him a shorter time to worry about it."

"That's my girl," Mulder wraps an arm around her, drawing her onto his lap. "Always concerned with causing people as little grief as possible."

She grins at him, but her voice is pious. "Someone has to look out for the mental health of people like Skinner."

"Amen."

* * *

A half hour later Scully frowns as she looks at the prenatal vitamin sitting in the palm of her hand. She'd hoped they were in her past, since she hated how they had a lingering...tastes, but here they are again. She gets a tumbler and fills it with water, swallowing it quickly.

Once she does, she wrinkles her nose. "Mulder, the water tastes terrible."

Mulder doesn't look up from reading in the next room. "It's tap water, what are you expecting?"

"I'm buying bottled water when we go grocery shopping."

"None of that fancy crap for me. You're paying for the label, you know."

"I know, but some times you have to splurge a little."

"That's what the bottled water companies want you to believe, Scully. Next they'll be charging you for air."

"Would you rather I not buy the water, and get sick to my stomach more often?" she asks archly, returning to the living room.

Mulder looks up from shaking a rattle for Page. "God no."

"Then shut up," she says in a sweet tone.

"I don't think the plumbing could handle any more acidic contents going through it without eating right through the plastic," Mulder mutters, to himself. He thinks...until Scully glares at him. "So, um, I'll buy a couple of gallons of water when I go to the store in a few minutes. Do we need anything else?"

"A large pack of diapers," she says promptly.

"For the Cue ball, got it."

"Mulder, don't call her that! Her hair is starting to grow, you know." She sounds indignant. Page, blonde and oblivious, doesn't seem to care that her mother has sprung to the defense of her short, almost colorless locks.

"I know. I mean it in an endearing way, you realize," he says, giving the baby's head a fond pat. ::I wonder if I could get away with calling her Asbaldas? If I say it quickly...Is it any odder than Starbuck? Hmmm.:: "Hey Scully, do you realize that it's been exactly a year today?"

She looks blank for a second, and disappointment begins to build in him. Does she really not remember? The date is pretty meaningful to him.

"Wine is a dangerous thing," she says, giving the baby a fond smile. Mulder's smile is even broader. "No wine today, though."

"No, but that wine was the best $50 I ever spent," he tells her happily. "Look how it changed my life. How many people can say that?"

"Well, not the people at AA."

::Not my Dad either. I think we'll have to stick to drinking only on special occasions:: he thinks as he looks for his car keys so he can go to the store.

* * *

Jan 20th, 1995

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Mulder follows up on the e-mail with the three mysterious deaths. He and Scully talked to the federal marshal, then the ever-militant Reverend Sistrunk, and just now, the helpful lady from " The Globe and Mail" paper. I just hope I don't turn into an icicle this time, he muses, as Scully interrupts his thoughts with, "I've got a bad feeling about this case, Mulder."

You and me both, he thinks, but feigns ignorance. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, shifting Page to her other shoulder. Scully had brought their daughter along, thinking there wasn't much to the goose chase at first, but now it seems they are dealing with Mulder's mysterious sources, and her motherly instinct wants to keep her daughter and themselves safe. "Well, nothing about it makes sense. We've got three deaths of identical victims, no bodies, a virtual non-suspect..."

He interrupts her with a grin, "Sounds like an X-File."

She holds a warning eyebrow up at the interruption. "You don't even know who sent you that information. I mean, we've been set up before."

Looking at a map, Mulder shoves aside the same doubts. Maybe this time, they can save his sister. Or his cloned sister. Whatever. "If somebody really wanted to set us up, would they give us this little to go on? There's something bigger here, Scully. I'd be willing to bet there are more of these guys out there."

Now her eyebrows are up in full force. "More victims?"

He's not looking at his wife, but at the map, not wanting to give away the previous outcome of this little jaunt. Who knows, they could change everything this time. "Unless we get to them first. The deaths follow a pattern... New Jersey, New York, Scranton," his finger moves on the map on each city, " and then an ad is placed here in Binghamton looking for a man exactly like the others. The killer's moving in a northernly direction." Then he remembers and goes back to the woman behind the desk. " The number in the ad, would that be a voice mail?"

The woman nods. "Yes, it is."

"How would you access that?"

The woman almost smirks. "You'd start by paying the bill." Okay, so some things haven't changed, he thinks, pulling out his wallet and handing the ad to Scully. "Dial the number, then press twelve-thirty six."

Scully does so, and as she listens in to the messages, she hands Page over to Mulder. Mulder paces around a bit, even more impatiently because he knows what's coming up next. Maybe amnesia wouldn't be so bad, he thinks, until his wife hangs up. "There's twenty four messages responding to the ad. The first caller has seen the man in the photo in Syracuse," she says, taking a pen and pad out to write it down.

Mulder nods. "That's north." Page takes that moment to soak her father's shoulder with drool. "Page, I hope you've got money in the bank to pay for dry cleaning. God, this is gross. Are you sure you're not related to Tooms?" he deadpans.

Scully shakes her head and takes their daughter as he attempts to dry off his coat. "That's what this is for, Mulder," she says smugly, pointing to the folded waterproof cloth on her shoulder. Then she remembers his earlier comment about more victims and the smirk disappears. "Maybe Mom should look after Page while we check this out."

* * *

When Mulder calls Agent Barrett Weiss, he remembers what happened last time, and his tone is more urgent. "I'm heading your way with Agent Scully. We have reason to believe a man in your area may be in danger. His name is Doctor Aaron Baker, he's living somewhere in Syracuse. We need you to find him and sit on him..." and frowns as he tries to think of the most diplomatic thing to say. Difficult, because it's not often he is diplomatic, so he says what he wants to anyways. "This is top priority, so get some backup," he lies smoothly, "we've already got three bodies and I'd hate to see the body count rise," he says, ignoring his wife's curious look.

He can almost see the other man nod. "You got it. I'll call you back with an address as soon as I track him down."

As Mulder thanks the man and hangs up, Scully frowns. " Mulder, there are no bodies. Neither is this officially a case. Why backup?"

He shakes his head as Page starts fussing. "Call it a hunch. I don't think we're dealing with a simple arsonist, or serial killer, for that matter." He's grateful when she leaves it at that as they drop their daughter off at her doting grandmother's place.

* * *

Despite backup, and despite all of his best intentions, Special Agent Weiss is on an autopsy table, with other agents in serious, and mysterious, medical condition. Scully is at her wits' end trying to frame an argument that would even sound plausible, as well as help the other agents in the ICU. She types in her findings at the computer, "There's no penetrating knife or gunshot wounds. No ligature marks or abrasions from strangulation. The toxicologocial is clean... and the blood work," She pauses, taking a look at the results, "shows evidence of polycythemia, excessive production of red blood cells." She frowns, remembering what the lab doctor said about the blood curdling like jelly. "Possibly a coagulating agent was introduced into the body to produce the curdling effect, but it would've shown up on the toxicological."

But that strange blood coagulation continues to bother her, and as she opens her net connection, an e-mail message blinks at her. And speed-dials her husband. " Mulder, it's me. Check your e-mail, there's another scanned photograph," she pauses, taking off her reading glasses, "and he's right here in Washington." She inhales again, then looks at the late Agent Weiss on the table, wondering what the hell is going on.

"I'll be right there, Scully," Mulder says at the other end of the line, "don't move."

"I won't," she says, and reminds herself to tell Mulder about the strange blood work once he gets there.

* * *

Unfortunately, she doesn't have a chance, because they meet up with the mysterious CIA man Ambrose Chapel outside the autopsy bay. His talk about a Soviet clone project by the name "Gregor" as well as a Russian bounty hunter intrigues her, but she's not sure how that fits in with Agent Weiss' mysterious death, nor the suffering of the men in Bethesda Medical. Am I starting to draw lines where there are no connecting dots here, she thinks, why am I starting to think like Mulder? And with that sobering thought, her skepticism rears its head. "What makes you think we've been contacted by these Gregors?" she asks, folding her arms.

"Your inquiries into their deaths," Chapel responds, pulling out a piece of newspaper, "and your response to the ad I placed." He looks at both of them, "We're talking state-sanctioned murder. If we can find them first, maybe the truth can be known."

Mulder doesn't blink. "Well, if we have any more leads, I'll let you know," he says.

Chapel nods and hands them a plain business card with seven numbers. "I'd appreciate your help," he says, and walks off.

Scully looks at the card, then at her husband. "Mulder," She starts to say, but he drags her off.

"Let's go," Mulder says, "and hopefully, we won't have any company." To his relief, she simply nods and follows.

* * *

Once they're pretty sure they've lost the CIA man, they head to Doctor Dickens' apartment. "Doctor Dickens," Mulder says as he knocks, "it's Agents Mulder and Scully of the FBI."

The door opens partway, and, in unison, they flash their badges. "May we come in, Doctor Dickens?" Scully asks.

The doctor blinks nervously behind his glasses and opens the door, letting the agents inside. "I'm sorry, I," he starts, and his eyes widen as another shadow darkens the doorway. Quicker than a jackrabbit, he runs across the room, and the agents are bowled over by a seeming force of nature.

"What," Scully wheezes as she catches her breath, " Mulder?" She looks up to see Chapel chasing after the doctor. To her astonishment, the doctor jumps through the glass window as Chapel swears under his breath. Stalking away, the CIA man glares malevolently at the FBI agents, and Mulder rushes to the window. As he steps away from the window, he asks, "You okay, Scully?" She nods as he pulls her to her feet. "Good, because so is the good doctor."

"What?" she asks, her cell phone out and ready to call 911.

"Let's try to catch Doctor Gumby before Chapel does," he says, and they race to the elevator and out the door.

Unfortunately, Chapel was about as quick on the uptake as they are, and the two agents see the edge of the doctor's white jacket disappear into an alley, followed by the CIA man. "Dammit," Mulder sighs under his breath, forcing his long legs to sprint faster -- and running into and nearly over a car.

"Mulder!" Scully screams, automatically squinting for the hit-and-run driver's license plate as she rushes to his side.

"Don't lose him," he wheezes, holding his side. "Go!"

She takes off in her impossibly high heels, only to see Chapel walking wearily out of the alley. "Where is he?" she asks, only slightly relieved to see there's no blood, nor any scent of gunpowder.

Chapel shakes his head. "Lost him up the fire escape. I'm gonna see if there's a roof entrance," and he glares at the redheaded agent as if to say, It's your fault he got away.

Still not trusting him, she waits until he's gone, and walks into the alley. No sign of any living creature bigger than a rat, and she walks over to the fire escape ladder, then checks the dumpster next to it. The dumpster is full of everything she didn't want to see or smell, but no sign of Doctor Dickens. As she walks away, disappointed, she steps in a puddle of green goo and hurriedly wipes her shoe. She doesn't notice the green puddle bubbling and fizzing, since she wants to check if her husband's all right.

* * *

"Dammit!" Scully sighs angrily, looking over the two bodies in the autopsy bay. "I don't understand this!"

According to their blood work, they died of the same mysterious blood coagulation, despite everything done for them. She's tired, frustrated, and hasn't seen her daughter in three days. When Mulder brought up Chapel's credentials, that only made her more wary of the so-called CIA agent. She'd remembered to bring up the strange blood work, but Mulder seemed to have tunnel vision regarding the clones they were inadvertently killing.

She's glad that Page wasn't around to see them fight, but she wonders if her mother's getting the wrong idea about her relationship. The last time they talked, her mother was thinking they were on the out-and-outs, rather than on a case. "A case that's got Skinner in a twist and me and Mulder twisting in the wind," she mutters darkly. "and it's not even a real case, but now six men are dead and one is missing, possibly dead." She sighs. "What the hell is going on?"

Then she sits down heavily, and her eyes fall on the doctor's bag she confiscated, albeit illegally, from Doctor Dickens' apartment. She opens it up, and finds nothing. However, there's an address on the tag that doesn't match the address of his apartment. She picks up the phone and dials Mulder's cell. " Mulder," she says, and pauses, since the connection seems lousy. "Where are you?"

"My dad's place," is all he says, "I gotta go."

"You're," she sputters, since his father is in Massachusetts. The line is dead, and she hangs up. "What the hell are you doing in Massachusetts?"

"Guess I'm on my own, then," she says, making another call to someone more receptive. "Mom, it's me," she says, "sorry, could you hang on to Page for one more night? Yeah, no, we're okay, I just have to check out this lead," Scully explains without really saying much. "Okay, love you, too. Bye."

* * *

In Martha's Vineyard, Mulder gets reacquainted with his father, who has gotten reacquainted with smoking, and his mother, who is getting reacquainted with a familiar stranger. "Who is Mom talking to?" Mulder asks, as if by rote.

Bill Mulder doesn't notice the deadness in his son's voice. "Your sister," he says, and watches a series of emotions flicker over the younger man's face that he wishes were on his own. As he turns away, Mulder races into the house, despite his knowledge of what she really is, and his heart is still pounding. The woman has lighter brown hair than the Samantha he remembers, but it's still long and wavy, and his gut tightens when she says, in a calm yet unsure voice, "Fox."

He watches as his mother, in between bouts of weeping and hugging, as if to reassure herself this is real, tells the young woman about their family, about their search for her, about her fears and how glad she is that Samantha is finally home. All he can do is watch, really, since he isn't quite sure what to say, and doesn't want to join his father in the smoke-athon outside. And he watches as the woman calling herself Samantha alternately nods and hugs the tearful older woman, listening attentively and answering what few questions there are.

In the morning, after he tucks his mother in bed, Mulder finally gets a chance to talk with his sister, reappearing after all these years. As before, she's open, but up to a point. "I started having trouble several years ago. It was diagnosed as free-floating anxiety. Nothing worked for me. I hit rock bottom... until I underwent regression hypno-therapy. And it all started coming back..." Her large eyes well up with tears, " The abductions, the tests," and before he knows it, he hugs her as if she's his long-lost sister. She pulls away a little. "I'm in danger, Fox."

She looks away. "There's a man hunting my father and others like him. My adoptive father, I mean."

He looks at her sadly. "The Gregors."

She nods. "Actually, they're what most people would call 'aliens'." Samantha, or a clone just like her, looks at him straightforwardly now. "A bounty hunter's been sent to kill them. You've met this man. His lies to you have caused others like my father to die. He won't stop until he's killed them all and anyone who tries to stop him. He'll come for me soon."

Then he remembers. "Oh crap, Scully!"

* * *

Scully, in the meantime, is breaking into 3243 Edmonton Street, and sees a lab in shambles. Squashing down that feeling of dread, she splashes through the green liquid covering the floor, thankful that these are only work shoes, and hoping this gunk won't eat through her heels like that other green crud did. Then she sees a bag still attached to some tubes and picks it up. It looks like a sea monkey, or at least, something more human-like than the brine shrimp advertised as sea monkeys, and starts as it moves within the bag. "Oh my God," She breathes, and wonders if it's God or someone else she should be commenting on.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices someone watching her, and puts down the bag when she turns to see it's one of the Gregors. "Stop right there!" she shouts, pulling out her weapon.

The Gregor turns slowly, putting a hand on the wall, which slides away. "It's all right," he says, as three more Gregors join him from the other side of the hidden door. "We are the last remaining. Unless you protect us, we are already dead."

After her jaw drops, she calls for the FBI, who promptly swarm the area, and for Mulder. She frowns when told the line is busy and to try again. "Mulder, where are you?" she says, watching as the Gregors are taken away to protective custody.

* * *

Mulder switches off his cell phone in frustration. "It won't even let me leave a message," He complains.

"She may not be able to recognize him," Samantha says. The apartment seems too strange, too unfamiliar, without Page, without Scully. And Samantha's presence only serves to underline the strangeness. "He has the ability to disguise himself."

Got that right, Mulder thinks sullenly, debating whether throwing the phone would improve the service. "Disguise himself how?"

"As anyone," she says simply.

"Anyone. Okay." He sighs. "So how do we find this chameleon killer?"

"You can't recognize him, but I can," Samantha replies, which ordinarily wouldn't help, but he takes some small comfort in that.

Rather than wearing a hole in the floor pacing, Mulder decides to try another number. Please, please, please be there, he prays, and he exhales when a female voice answers. "Hi, Maggie? This is Fox," he says, shaking his head at his sister. "No, she's not with me, I was hoping she was with you. No, we're fine, we're just having cell phone problems." He runs a hand through his short hair, "No, I'll try her on her cell again. Um, how's Page?" he asks, and his heart constricts. "Yeah, I miss her, too. Once I get a hold of Scully, we'll take her off your hands. Okay, bye." Mulder's hung up on a lot of people, but Maggie Scully's one of the few he wouldn't dare not saying "goodbye" to.

"Page?" Samantha asks.

"My daughter." ::Jeez, I remember to tell her about me and Scully getting married, but not about Page!:: "And Scully's expecting another baby." And now his throat is dry. Oh God, maybe she's in that crappy motel, and his finger almost misdial as he tries her number again. "I hope she's okay."

* * *

Scully is rescrewing the gas cap on her car when she sees a familiar, tall figure loping towards her. "Mulder," she says. She doesn't know whether to hug him or slug him, so she does neither. "Where have you been?"

He nods. "Things have been kinda crazy," he says, when her phone rings.

Just to show that she hasn't entirely forgiven him, she answers. "Scully."

"Scully, it's me, where are you?" Mulder asks from the other end of the phone. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks at the Mulder in front of her. "Scully?"


	19. End Game

"Where is he?" the man looking like Mulder demands when she hangs up, grabbing Scully by the throat and shoving her against the cement pole next to the gas pump. Then his eyes narrow. "You're pregnant."

If she wasn't so damn scared, Scully would roll her eyes at him. "Now I *know* you're not Mulder," she hisses, clawing frantically at the iron grip the man has. It seriously freaks her out how much like Mulder he looks, save for the apathy in his eyes. She knows he's got a poker face, but he'd never look at her like that, like she's an insect that could be crushed.

Any more thoughts are wiped out as he slams her head into the pole again, and as she slumps into unconsciousness, the man morphs into the face and shape of an alien bounty hunter. He picks her up and puts her into his car, and drives off.

Only twenty minutes later, and Mulder's car squeals to where Scully's is parked. Leaping out, Mulder tries to calm the hysterical gas attendant, despite his own fears. "So you're saying a guy looking like me slammed this woman," he holds a photo of Scully, "into a pole, picked her up, then drove off in his car?"

The attendant nods, still shaken. "I swear, he looks like your twin," he says, "although I think there was another guy with him. Also tall, build like a linebacker, slicked back hair. He was the guy who hauled the lady off and drove away."

Mulder looks at Samantha, who looks as if she has been expecting this. "Thanks," he says and walks towards his sister, the lump in the pit of his stomach growing, to be joined by a burning anger. Impersonating a federal agent was the least of that shape-shifting bastard's crimes.

Inside the car, Samantha tells him, "He's going to use Scully and the child as leverage, their lives for mine."

Once, Mulder thought, in hindsight, if he ever had the chance, he'd willingly trade a clone's life for his partner's. But now, seeing and hearing this flesh and blood woman, he isn't so sure. Maybe blood really is thicker than water, at least when it comes to siblings. Or maybe it's the fact that he's still spent much of his life and part of this next one looking for her, that he doesn't want to give up on her so easily. Either way, it's hard to let go, and it's just as hard thinking the alien bounty hunter has his wife and unborn child in its clutches. "Oh God," he mutters involuntarily.

"If only God would kill him," Samantha says mirthlessly, and Mulder wonders if deadpan delivery is also genetic. "Unfortunately, you must pierce the base of his skull to do it. I think."

"That would kill anyone," Mulder says, that feeling of déjà vu never having left since he first laid eyes on his sister. Or his sister's clone.

She shakes her head briefly. "He's got powers I've never seen before. If it doesn't work, there's a chance you could die," she answers his questioning look. "Their blood is toxic, human exposure to it is fatal." She sighs, looking away, "I know this must sound crazy to you...."

"The crazy thing is," Mulder also shakes his head, "it doesn't. So how do we find him?"

Now she looks at him with those same solemn eyes. "We don't. He finds us."

* * *

At the Old Memorial Bridge in Bethesda, the trade seemingly goes off without a hitch. Aside from a couple of goose-eggs on her noggin, Scully seems to be shaken but fine, and Mulder holds her close to him. He watches with his heart in his mouth as Skinner and a sharpshooter train their rifles on the man holding his sister. She's just a clone, he tells himself, that's all. But his heart tells him otherwise as he watches the bounty hunter get shot and drags Samantha into the icy waters with him.

"Samantha!" he screams, running to the edge of the bridge.

He doesn't realize how far he's leaning until a pair of hands drag him back. "Mulder," Scully says sounding panicky, "don't!"

He reluctantly allows himself to be pulled away. "She's down there, Scully," he says, "Samantha could still be alive."

She nods, then pulls him close. "Why didn't you tell me it was your sister?"

"I was afraid you'd try and talk me out of it," he says sadly.

"Are you sure that was your sister?" she asks quietly.

He pulls away from her. "Why?"

"I," She pauses. "There was a man who looked like you. Even talked like you. But he wasn't you."

He says, just as quietly, "Well, it was her." Reconstituted DNA and all, but she's my sister. He starts to walk away, even as ambulances pull up and a Coast Guard boat makes its way over with a huge floodlight.

"Where are you going?" Scully asks his retreating back.

"To tell my parents I lost my sister again," he says.

Dammit, Mulder, the redhead seethes inside, even as well-meaning paramedics bundle her up into the ambulance. She could've been my sister, too.

* * *

Scully opens the apartment door, hoping it was Mulder on the other side. We shall have to get a lower peephole, she thinks as a smile crosses her face. "Dana, honey, are you okay?" Maggie Scully envelopes her daughter with a hug. "The hospital called-"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm okay," Scully hugs her mom back, "I'm fine, the baby's fine." Her voice trails off as she takes the fussing baby from her mother's arms. "Oh, Page," she coos, "I missed you so much." She almost smothers her daughter, so happy and relieved to see at least part of her family alive and okay.

"Where's Fox, I mean, Mulder?" Mrs. Scully corrects herself, seeing nobody else.

"Mom, sit down," Scully says, walking over to the couch. "This is going to sound incredible. I'm awake and I lived through it, but it still seems incredible to me."

Mrs. Scully sits, an expectant and concerned look on her face. "What is it, Dana?"

"He found his sister," She starts off, thankful to have Page in her arms to distract her from the hard news. As she goes on, she sees her mother's face becoming more and more distraught, and stands to make them a pot of tea.

"I'll get that," Scully says when the phone rings. Then her face darkens. "Are you sure you found her?"

* * *

Meanwhile, having dealt the news a second time to his father, Mulder had walked away with an address in hand, hoping and praying he can change things this time around. So far, nothing has, except for Scully being pregnant and worrying about her this much more. Let me do something right, he prays as he walks into the Women's Health Services Clinic in Rockville, Maryland. "Mulder," he answers, walking down seemingly empty sterile hallways.

"Mulder," Scully says at the other end, "They found your sister."

"I see," he says, which makes him walk that much faster. "Did they find a second body?"

"No," she says regretfully, "Mulder, please. It's time to come home."

"I'll be there," he says, and hangs up. Just not yet. Just let me save my sisters this time. Please, he thinks, as he sees a familiar figure ahead and calls out, "Federal agent! Hands where I can see them and turn around slowly!"

* * *

"After being treated for smoke inhalation, Agent Mulder was released from Samaritan Hospital in satisfactory condition." Scully purses her lips as she types, then pauses to look at the mobile spinning over her daughter's crib. "My report on this case remains incomplete. Many aspects continue to defy explanation including the identities of the identical men. Agent Mulder's claim of alien origins cannot be substantiated."

Page gurgles, she shakes her head. "Your daddy may be a nutcase, but Mommy still loves him," She smiles at her daughter. "Mommy would love it more if Daddy would say more than two words to her, too, you know." Then she sighs, resuming her report.

"The man suspected in their disappearances is still at large and has now been charged with the death of F.B.I. Special Agent Barret Weiss and Agents Carman Licciardello and Dino Kartsanakis, whose bodies have been quarantined at the U.S. Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Their cause of death involved a thickening of the blood. It is now believed that they were subjected to a virulent strain of virus whose origin and behavior are also unexplainable. It is my hope that further analysis of this contagion will aid in the solution of this case."

Scully exhales, then cracks her neck before adding, "It is my hope that further analysis of this contagion will aid in the solution of this case." She saves her document, then goes over to her daughter's crib. "Come on, big girl," she cooes, lifting her daughter out, "let's go check out some dead bodies and plasma samples. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She smiles. Page gurgles back happily. "I knew you would!"

* * *

Later, when they meet at the U.S. Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases with Doctor Able Gardner, who looks somewhat disapprovingly at the child, Scully asks, "This is a retrovirus?" She double-checks the view in the microscope. Weird. In fact, Mulder-weird.

"Yes, but none of us here have ever seen anything like it. Do you recognize it?" he asks, eager in a way that he hoped she'd say no.

"Was the thickening of the agents' blood an immunological response to the virus?" she asks, not quite willing to give him the satisfaction yet.

Gardner walks to a computer. "Apparently. When the body's exposed to it, it triggers a massive production of red blood cells. Now, take a look at this." He clicks the mouse, and another picture comes up onscreen. "We took a second culture and were able to control its growth."

She looks at him, then at the picture. "How did you do that?"

He beams. "It was surprisingly simple. All we did was lower the temperature by five degrees Fahrenheit. For some reason, this retrovirus goes dormant at cold temperatures."

"I see," she says, remembering what Samantha Mulder's body looked like minutes after it was pulled from the freezing water. "If you find out anything else, you let me know as soon as possible," she says, already hauling her baby girl out of the room when she sees a man in a decontamination suit walk in.

* * *

After Scully reads the e-mail her erstwhile husband left her, she swears, then remembers Page might repeat it someday, and simmers. She confronts Skinner, even asking him to utilize "unofficial channels," but that came to naught. "Dammit, Mulder, stop trying to protect me," She glares, even as her common sense reminds her of her current pregnancy and their small daughter. Then an idea comes to her and turns his desk lamp on, shining it on the "x" in the window. If Skinner isn't up to the job, she might as well be the one to contact Mulder's contact.

She dozes off, only to be woken up by a knock at the door. Not wanting Page to be up, she answers it, to see a well-groomed black man in a beard and mustache at the door. "Sorry, I must have the wrong apartment," he says, walking away.

She runs after him and grabs his trench coat as he's waiting for the elevator. "Where is he? Dammit, we're losing time!"

He easily pulls her fingers off his clothing, "I'm sorry, you've mistaken me for someone else," he says evenly and steps through the open elevator doors, to watch her disappointed face disappear as they close on her.

Scully drags her feet back to the apartment, tearing off the stupid masking tape. "Fine, I'll try again," she mutters, dialing his cell number and getting the same retarded voice message about not being in the area. She's about to throw the phone at the wall when there's another knock.

And steps back in shock when her supervisor, looking for all the world like he's been in a street fight, leans against the frame and tells her, "Agent Mulder took a commercial flight to Tacoma, Washington. From there, he caught a military plane to Deadhorse, Alaska." As she goes to the sink to get some towels and ice, he goes on. "He used his F.B.I. credentials to charter a Rollagon all-terrain vehicle. It's still a ten-mile hike across the ice." As she applies an improvised ice pack to his head, he writes Mulder's coordinates to his final destination. "Get him back, and kick his ass for me when you do."

She smiles, reminded of her dad for some reason. "Aye, aye, sir," she says, grabbing a cell phone and a bag of baby things at the same time.

* * *

On board the submarine of dead men, Mulder comes across the man calling himself Lieutenant Terry Wilmer. He pretends to play along, and for the first time, wishes he brought some kind of backup with him. ::How did I manage to stay alive all those years?:: he thinks as he hustles the cowardly crew member ahead of him, his gun trained at the base of the "man's" neck.

Unfortunately, things repeat themselves as "Wilmer" morphs into the Alien Bounty Hunter, and Mulder gulps. "If I wanted to, I could've killed you many times before," the no-neck alien declares, and inwardly, Mulder wholeheartedly agrees.

Still, for the sake of his wife and kids, he plows on. "Where is she?" he bellows.

As if picking up a small child, the bounty hunter hauls him up and throws him to the floor. "Is the answer to your question worth dying for? Is that what you want?" it asks implacably.

"Where is she?" Mulder wheezes, as if a broken record like Inigo Montoya facing the Six-fingered Man. "Just tell me. Where is she?" For his troubles, he's picked up and thrown again.

"She's alive," the alien lies to him. "Can you die now?"

Mulder tries his damndest to shoot the bastard in the base of his neck, he really does, but misses, and screams as the green blood hisses out. The bounty hunter drags him to the top and leaves him on the ice, while Mulder continues to writhe and turn colors from the cold and poison in his bloodstream. Just in time, he sees the wing coming down as the sub sinks, and rolls out of the way. Then everything goes black, even the ice, as he passes out.

* * *

February 4th, 1995

At Eisenhower Field's ICU, Scully types in the last of her report on her laptop. Or what she hopes is the last. There are so many things she wants to ask, but so many things she doesn't want to hear. "Transfusions and an aggressive treatment with anti-viral agents have resulted in a steady but gradual improvement in Agent Mulder's condition. Blood tests have confirmed his exposure to the still unidentified retrovirus whose origin remains a mystery. The search team that found Agent Mulder has located neither the missing submarine nor the man he was looking for." She sighs, looking down at the man who'd go chasing after a kidnapper and killer, for what? she wants to yell at him.

"Several aspects of this case remain unexplained, suggesting the possibility of paranormal phenomena, but I am convinced that to accept such conclusions is to abandon all hope of understanding the scientific events behind them. Many of the things I have seen have challenged my faith and my belief in an ordered universe, but this uncertainty has only strengthened my need to know, to understand, to apply reason to those things which seem to defy it. It was science that isolated the retrovirus Agent Mulder was exposed to, and science that allowed us to understand its behavior. And ultimately, it was science that saved Agent Mulder's life." If only it would save his sense of self-preservation, she thinks wryly, her thoughts interrupted as he groans.

" Hey." She smiles in spite of herself. "How are you feeling?"

::Like the luckiest man alive,:: he thinks. ::Like I did something right this time.:: "Like I got a bad case of freezer burn," he whispers hoarsely instead. "How did I get here?"

"A naval reconnaissance squad found and choppered you to Eisenhower Field," she says evenly. "Thanks for ditching me."

He winces as he hears her knuckles pop. "Sorry," he wheezes. "I couldn't let you risk your life on this."

So you risk yours? she wants to yell, her fingers itching to strangle him. But he looks sorry enough. Damn him and his puppy dog eyes. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks instead.

"No." He turns away slightly. "But I found something I thought I'd lost. Faith to keep looking." She smiles, and he smiles back, but for an entirely different reason. Faith to keep looking for the grown-up clones of his sister, who, unlike the Gregors, are still out there and for now, still safe.


	20. Fearful Symmetry

February 14th, 1995

6:30pm

Even before Scully opens her eyes, she's deep in thought, thinking about something that has been on her mind a lot the last couple of days.

She used to hate Valentine's day.

When she and Missy were just little girls, they would argue every holiday about whether or not the holiday was romantic, or stupid. She, of course, thought the latter, but Missy - filled with the arrogant sureness born of being two years older- would insist that it was a day filled with love and romance. These arguments never ended with either of them convinced of anything new.

All of which served to make her reluctant to pick Valentine's day as their wedding day, but Mulder seemed so charmed by the idea, so she gave in. And now it's an entire year later.

It startles her a little to hear her sister's voice. "Is she awake?"

"No...she decided she needed a nap after work. You know how tired being pregnant makes women at the beginning." Mulder seems to be trying to keep his voice low, but Scully can hear clearly, so they must be in the next room.

"From observation, yes." Melissa's voice floats back. "She must enjoy being pregnant as much as mom did to have another one so soon."

For a second Scully hears Page fussing, but before she decides to get up it stops abruptly. "Well, I hope she doesn't hate it, anyway. I think it's worth it, but she's the one who has to lug the little monsters around so..."

"You're not a monster, are you Page? Nooo..." Scully smiles, picturing her sister making faces for the baby. There's a gurgle in reply. "I'll bring this one back by before you leave for work tomorrow. We're going to let Daddy get on with his plans, yes we are!"

"I really appreciate this, Missy. Now if only she stays asleep until I'm done..."

Melissa chuckles. "I bet you'll have to wake her. If I recall, there's few things my sister likes to do more than sleep." Scully pouts in the dark room. "Congratulations, Fox. Who knew my little sister would actually find her match?"

"Bye. Bye baby, be good for your auntie."

The door closes, and Scully stretches. She has no idea what Mulder has planned, but she doesn't want to ruin it, so she curls back up, resting her hands on her belly. It's too soon to feel anything from inside, but it's comforting, since it reminds her that the baby is there. Sleep soon reclaims her.

* * *

When she wakes up again, she sees than about an hour has passed. She'd been having a dream, something about Mulder and the kids a couple of years into the future. It had been strange, but kind of nice too, so she was reluctant to let it go.

"You're awake."

"Yeah...guess I was really tired."

"That's ok." He leans down and kisses her forehead. "Why don't you get dressed? I made dinner."

He's turning on the cd player as she comes into the room, fully dressed.

_Come to my window_

_Crawl inside, wait by the light_

_of the moon_

_Come to my window_

_I'll be home soon_

"It's been a whole year, can you believe it?" He tickles her nose with a long stem rose she didn't even know he was holding. She smiles, but pulls away. "Do you regret that moment of insanity, Scully?"

_I would dial the numbers_

_Just to listen to your breath_

_I would stand inside my hell_

_And hold the hand of death_

_You don't know how far I'd go_

_To ease this precious ache_

_You don't know how much I'd give_

_Or how much I can take_

_Just to reach you_

_Just to reach you_

_Just to reach you_

"What moment of insanity is that, Mulder?"

"Actually, I'm not sure. Maybe it's the moment you stepped into the basement office and didn't run away screaming. Or when you visited me a few days after New years, and didn't pull away when you could have. Or when you said you'd marry me."

_Come to my window_

_Crawl inside, wait by the light_

_of the moon_

Come to my window

_I'll be home soon_

_Keeping my eyes open_

_I cannot afford to sleep_

_Giving away promises_

_I know that I can't keep_

_Nothing fills the blackness_

_That has seeped into my chest_

_I need you in my blood_

_I am forsaking all the rest_

She pretends to consider this for a moment. "Nope, I don't regret any of those moments. Not a bit."

_Just to reach you_

_Just to reach you_

_Oh to reach you_

"Ah, I see. Then we're talking about years of insanity, then, not just a moment. Though it obviously dove headfirst into sheer madness a year ago."

"You're right, Mulder. I am crazy. Crazy in love." It sounds silly to her ears as she says it, but his face lights up, so she knows it was an okay thing to say.

"Good, since that makes two of us." He pulls a small box out of his pocket. "This is a small thing, but I want you to always remember that you have my heart."

_Come to my window_

_Crawl inside, wait by the light_

_of the moon_

_Come to my window_

_I'll be home soon_

_I don't care what they think_

_I don't care what they say_

_What do they know about this_

_love anyway?_

Inside the box is a silver necklace with a heart-shaped locket. She fumbles with the clasp for a moment, and he takes it from her, handing it back open. There's a tiny picture inside of the two of them at their wedding reception. "Oh, Mulder..." Her eyes brighten with unshed tears.

He decides that means she likes it, and he suddenly becomes embarrassed. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold. You know I'm not a great chef, but I asked my mom for a few recipes than even I can't screw up. Oh, and I got us sparkling grape juice, since we can't have alcohol this year." The words leave his mouth in a nervous rush.

_Come..._

_Come to my window_

_I'll be home_

_Come to my window_

_Crawl inside, wait by the light_

_of the moon_

_Come to my window_

_I'll be home soon_

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" she asks, throwing both arms around his neck.

"Something terrible, I'm sure," he jokes, but she doesn't mind. She needs to get his gift too, but it can wait. Being in his arms is what she wants most of all.

_I'll be home soon_

_I'll be home_

_I'll be home_

_I'm coming home_

*a/n _ "Come to my Window" by Melissa Etheridge_

* * *

Late February 1995

Scully wonders what the hell she was thinking when she decided to bring Page along for the case. Oh yes, something silly about visiting the zoo, how that might be educational and entertaining. Yeah, sure, right. Instead, it's become another case of "When Hysterics Attacks," featuring uncommunicative zookeepers, wild-eyed witnesses and now this. I'm sorry, Page, she murmurs inside, I really wanted you to have some fun. And once we solve the case, we'll go through the zoo like regular tourists, she promises her child, pointing out the animals and resisting the urge to lock Mulder up with them.

In the meantime, she really hates the way this so-called animal liberator, Kyle Lang, is practically smirking at her, as if being a mother makes her less of an FBI agent. Scully simmers inwardly as she pats Page absently on the back, wondering if her husband is as oblivious as he pretends. "Whatever Willa Ambrose's intentions, she's too preoccupied to really know how Meecham operates." The scruffy man folds his arms, and gives Mulder a look that infuriates the redhead.

"Preoccupied with what?" Scully asks coldly as her husband crosses his own arms and leans back.

The activist sighs, then condescends to answer. "A lawsuit she's fighting against the Malawi government over a lowland gorilla named Sophie. Willa rescued her from a North African customs house ten years ago. Raised her like a child. Now the Malawi government wants her back." He sets his jaw, clearly unhappy with the disclosure.

"Will they win?" she asks.

The man is now on fire, in his element, baby or no baby in the room. "This is a perfect example of man's imperialism over the animal kingdom - this craven impulse to turn animals into objects for our own selfish pleasure." He stalks the room, as if ready to turn the agents into new converts.

Scully shifts Page to her other shoulder. "I thought you said she rescued this gorilla."

Lang sneers. "Yeah, rescued her so she could spend a life behind bars. Her obligation should have been to return the gorilla to the wild. All animals should run free." He waves his arms to illustrate.

"Even if that means trampling a man to death?" she asks, raises her eyebrow.

"Maybe he should have gotten out of the way," Lang answers obstinately.

"I'm sure he would have if he'd seen it coming," Mulder says, ignoring the question on his wife's face. "Thanks for your time, sir, and we'll get back to you soon." On their way out, they notice a video camera on the shelf, but say nothing until they're out of sight and sound from the animal rights leader. "It's all happening at the zoo, Scully," Mulder grins, and pats his daughter fondly on the head. "Isn't that right, Page?"

Scully is not amused. "Well, we found our suspects," she says, relieved that things are taking a turn for the better, and, who knows, they might even have a pleasant day at the zoo. Yeah, right.

They continue exchanging theories, which quickly deteriorates into an argument, and finally she snaps, "Fine, you know what?"

"What?" Mulder says in the same "I'm going to humor my pregnant wife" tone he's been using for their argument. He's surprised when she practically throws their daughter into his arms, followed by the blanket and the bottle.

"You take Page, follow whatever insane ideas you have. I'm going to stake out W.A.O. and get things done right."

"Scully!" He calls out, but she's already turned her back on him. With the abrupt change of bodies, Page hiccups, then starts to cry. "Aw, sorry, honey, Mommy just got mad at me," he says in a reassuring voice, bouncing her in his arms. "But we'll be okay. We're gonna be just like Batman and Robin, Page, fighting crime with the help of some shadowy informants." His daughter looks up at him, her sobs slowing down to a sniffly inhale. He grins, a goofy look on his face. " The Mulder charm never fails."

He could almost swear she raised her eyebrow just like her mommy for an instant.

* * *

At a local Xerox shop, Mulder opens up communication once he gets Page settled in her baby seat. "Hey, guys, try to keep it down for the kid's sake," he says, putting a finger to his lips as two of the three conspiracy theorists show up onscreen.

The short balding man sighs dramatically, wiggling his fingers at the sleeping baby. "She could've been mine," He murmurs as his compatriot suppresses an eye roll. With a glare at the real father, he asks, "So what are you doing in potato country, Mulder?"

"I'm in the town of Fairfield." He grins. "What do you know about it?"

"They have a little zoo there. Lots of strange lore - animals escaping, disappearing without a trace," Byers says in a faintly interested tone.

Mulder leans forward. "Any idea why?"

Frohike stares at him suspiciously. "You're not far from the Mountain Home Air Base. Major UFO hot spot."

The man in the business suit gives him a glance, then adds, "Weird fact, Mulder. No animal at Fairfield Zoo has ever brought a pregnancy to term."

"Not a cub or a chick," Frohike chimes in.

"The woman who runs the zoo has a gorilla that knows sign language - supposedly with a vocabulary of 1,000 words," Byers continues, "a remarkable accomplishment-"

His praise is cut off by Mulder's cell phone, and Frohike steps closer to the camera. "If that's the lovely Agent Scully, let her know I'm willing to look after Page if you're ever out of the picture."

Mulder grins and shakes his head. "Mulder," he answers in a hushed voice.

"Mulder, it's me. I was right. I just followed the kid from the W.A.O. to the zoo. He's just about to make it over the fence," she says, excited, but keeping her volume down.

"I'll be right there, Scully," he says, and hangs up. Then he shrugs at the two Gunmen before bending down to pick up his daughter. "Shhhh, shhhh," he says, "we gotta give Mommy some backup." Jostled from her nap, she starts to wail wholeheartedly.

"Good luck, Mulder." Byers grins and Frohike merely shakes his head as they sign off.

"Yeah," Mulder sighs, trying in vain to calm her down, then gives up as he hauls ass to the car.

* * *

Later, Mulder, Scully and their daughter walk into a dark room labeled "Sick Animal - Restricted" led by an agitated naturalist. "About six weeks ago I had to take Sophie out of her public habitat," Willa Ambrose says, sitting on her haunches as she looks at the caged gorilla. "She'd become so withdrawn and depressed, she'd curl into a ball in the corner of her cage and just shiver."

"Did you ask her why?" Mulder asks, looking from the woman to the animal.

"All the time," Ambrose says, still facing the gorilla.

"What'd she say?"

"'Light afraid.' Literally, she's afraid of the light," she says, standing and facing the agents.

"She speaks to you?" Scully asks, both eyebrows up.

The naturalist nods briskly. "Over 600 words using American sign language. She understands over a thousand. I'll show you her vocabulary list," she says, going over to her desk.

Scully steps closer to her partner. "Is this who you wanted to talk to?" she asks, letting one eyebrow drop.

Now he nods. "It's basic investigative procedure, Agent Scully - interview all possible witnesses." He looks down to the baby strapped to his chest. "Got that?"

Scully is about to retort when Ambrose comes back, handing them a paper. "Gorillas are highly sensitive creatures, and Sophie's use of language skills makes her even more so," she says.

"Why would she be afraid of the light?" Scully frowns.

"Well, you've obviously heard about the trouble with the Malawi government. There's a chance that Sophie could be taken away from me, and I think that she knows that," she says, but Scully isn't quite satisfied with the answer.

Page gurgles and waves at the drawings on the wall, and Mulder nods. "Are these Sophie's?" he asks, wondering if Page will have Mulder-leaps like her dear old dad. Ambrose nods briefly. "What do you think they mean?"

"Well, until recently Sophie desperately wanted a baby," she says, turning to look at the scribbles. "The brown object in the center," she points to one of the drawings, "is her expression of that."

"Have you tried to mate her?" he asks, and now Scully looks at him, wondering where he's going with this.

Ambrose sighs, looking at the moaning gorilla. "We were looking for a partner but under these stressful conditions I didn't want to put her through it."

For a moment, he thinks of Scully and the stressful situations he's put her through, pregnant or otherwise. "Do you have a veterinary facility here?" he asks, shoving the guilt to the back of his mind. Again, Ambrose nods, so he goes on. "All right, this may seem like a rather strange request, but it might help explain what's been going on here." He spins to his wife. "I'm gonna need your help on this, too, Scully." He grins, and she gives him a "What the hell are you getting us into now?" look, but says nothing.

* * *

And about an hour later, Scully voices her question, if not her recurring doubts about his sanity. "I hope you know what you're getting us into, Mulder," she says, as they stand on a scaffold overlooking Ambrose hacking into the remains of Ganesha the elephant. She's wearing a hardhat with a flashlight, as well as gloves and coveralls, while her husband is still in a suit with a baby strapped to his chest.

"Don't worry about it." He nods, then tilts his head down, "Look, Page, Mommy's gonna bungee jump into elephant guts and hack into it. Can you say 'elephant'?"

She glares at him. "Mommy's gonna hack into Daddy if he doesn't watch out," she says sweetly to her daughter, ignoring the look of mock horror on his face. Tilting her hardhat back, she kisses her baby's forehead. " and if Daddy continues to be an ass, Mommy's gonna make his life hell, yes, I will."

From below, Ambrose calls out, "Okay, the elephant's cavity is clear. I'm ready for you!"

"Saved by the bellow," Mulder mumbles under a grin, "do your thing, G-Woman."

She glares, but doesn't want Page to hear certain words, and turns away in a huff. Rather than bungee jump, however, Scully makes her way down the scaffolding slowly until her feet are solidly planted on firm elephant innards. Ew. Helpfully, Ambrose hands over the butcher knife. "Thanks," Scully nods, making her way through elephant guts, no, they're the rib cage, lungs, heart, intestinal tract... Dammit Mulder. I hate you.

Overhead, Mulder sits down on the scaffold and says, "I've been told there's never been a successful pregnancy at the Fairfield Zoo."

"Sounds like you've been talking to Kyle Lang." Ambrose makes a sour face.

As his wife disappears from sight, boldly going where no man's gone before, he asks, "Is it true?"

"Yes," Ambrose finally says. "But I don't think for the reasons Kyle claims - not because Ed Meecham has done anything to these animals."

"Why, then?" Mulder asks.

"Because bringing a pregnancy to term in captivity is always difficult." She sighs noisily.

"But a perfect failure rate?" He frowns.

"I know," Ambrose says impatiently. "It's one of the things I was determined to change when I came to the zoo."

"Was an attempt ever made to mate Ganesha?" Mulder asks, swinging his long legs. Page also swings her own legs, and fortunately, doesn't kick as hard as her mother does.

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Mating an elephant out of the wild is rarely successful. There have only been six elephants born in captivity over the last ten years."

Scully emerges with a nasty bit of business in her hands. Ambrose looks at it, then tells her, "It's uterine tissue, but I'm not clear on what you expect to find."

From a pocket in her coveralls, Scully produces a magnifying glass and is inspecting it. Then she squints up at Mulder with an accusatory look. "You're right, Mulder. The signs in the uterus and ovaries are unmistakable."

"What did you find?" Ambrose is curious, and steps closer to the redhead.

She looks at the woman. "Ganesha was pregnant."

"What are you talking about?" Ambrose stares at her.

" There's evidence of hyperplasia and the corpus luteum is ruptured," Scully says calmly, thinking, there's got to be a reasonable explanation for this. There has to be. Perhaps someone with W.A.O. introduced artificial insemination to Ganesha, or Ambrose had incomplete records, or....

"We never," The naturalist stops, shaking her head stubbornly. "That's not possible." She frowns.

"Neither is an invisible elephant," Mulder comments.

No comments from the peanut gallery, Scully is also frowning, looking at the tissue in her hand. She almost feels sorry for the zookeeper as the taller woman stares at the exposed elephant's innards with disbelief. "What is going on here?" Ambrose wonders aloud, voicing the very same thing Scully has thought over and over every since working with Mulder.

"Whatever it is it's been going on for some time, and I think you'll find evidence of the same thing when your tiger returns," Mulder says from above.

* * *

Later, after Ambrose has been fired by the board of directors, Mulder confronts her with information about the tiger's pregnancy. Page is back on his chest after a diaper change and bottle feed, and her mood is significantly brighter than the woman facing him. If her disbelief with that fact hasn't been enough, he adds, "What do you know about alien abduction?"

She laughs, the first reaction that comes to mind. "You're ... you're ... you're kidding me." He gives her his patented poker stares. "You think these animals were taken aboard some spaceship?"

"I don't know where they're being taken but there's obviously some problem getting them back. Due to what is probably an astrological variation, a trouble with the time-space continuum - these animals that are being taken from locked cages are being returned roughly two miles west-southwest of the zoo," he says, delivering his theory as if it's gospel truth.

She scoffs, "Aliens impregnating zoo animals? I didn't realize FBI agents read tabloids."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Aliens are also harvesting the embryos."

Ambrose is staring at him like maybe *he's* the one that should be in the tabloids. "Why?"

He shrugs, and Page giggles. "Maybe their own Noah's ark? To preserve the DNA of these animals that we're depleting to extinction." He holds out his hands. "Whatever it is, that's probably the reason why you've never had a successful birth at this facility."

"I think that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard," she says, unsmiling.

Mulder nods. "I understand that you might think it's ridiculous. Maybe you should ask Sophie."

"You think this is what she's so afraid of?" Ambrose asks, clearly humoring him.

But he doesn't care. He knows about the aliens' callous disregard for human life, how they'd harvest and engulf it as only unfeeling parasites would, but there's something seriously weird about impregnating animals. Or maybe we're just animals to them, he thinks, and suppresses a shudder. "I believe she's pregnant, and she's afraid of them coming for her baby."

* * *

In front of Sophie's cage, Ambrose leans forward and signs to the gorilla as she speaks, "Sophie, come here. I want to ask you a question. It's okay, Sophie. Come here."

Sophie seems to be waving wildly, and Mulder wishes he'd brushed up on ESL as well as Espanol. "What'd she say?" In front of him, Page gurgles, her eyes wide on the hairy creature behind bars.

Ambrose turns to face him. "She says, 'man - hurt baby.' She thinks you are going to hurt her or the baby." She frowns at Page before turning back to the gorilla. "Sophie ..." She signs again, "man, here to help you. They want to know about your baby."

Mulder squats down, as if it would ease the fears of a gorilla of unknown intelligence. "Can I ask her a question?" he says, as Page waves to Sophie.

Ambrose nods. "Go ahead."

"Ask her if she wants to leave here."

"Sophie," She repeats, signing, "do you want to leave here?" After a pause while the animal communicates with her hands, Ambrose translates, " She says 'light afraid.' "Not looking back, she signs again, "Sophie, what are you afraid of? Tell me."

"What did she say?" Mulder squints at the gorilla, then the woman.

She turns around, a frown on her face. " She said, 'baby go flying light.' "

Mulder protectively puts a hand over his daughter, and is surprised to see Sophie protectively holding her stomach before doing more hand waving. She knows, he thinks, she really knows. But before he can say the words, Scully comes in with a warning, followed by the deputy himself.

* * *

Later, nursing a helluva headache, Mulder sits in the back seat with Page and her baby seat, with Scully driving and Willa Ambrose practically biting her fingernails off. They make their way through a herd of police cars, flashing lights, curious bystanders and all.

"Where is she?" Ambrose practically mauls an officer.

"Over there." He points, and quickly straightens out his uniform when she lets go.

As she runs off, Scully, baby in arms, asks, "What happened here?"

Relieved to see she's more stable than the previous woman, the officer replies, "Animal got hit by a car. Ran off in the field."

With the barest of glances at each other, Mulder and Scully run after Ambrose across the field. They find her, cradling the dead animal in her arms, as a mother would her child. "Sophie," the naturalist cries, rocking back and forth, "no, oh, Sophie, no, no...." She lays her head on Sophie's, continuing to sob.

Wordlessly, Scully holds Page closer, and Mulder wraps his arms around them both. None of them turn away, but stand silent as witness to a loss that could have, or might have, been prevented.

* * *

Less than a week later, Scully looks up from her reading to hear Page gurgling happily. "Page?" she asks, smiling as she takes off her reading glasses. "Whatchya doing, honey?" Thankful for a break from reading about animal insemination, she stands and stretches, and walks over to the crib.

The baby continues to smile, and waves her hands. "What's that, Page? What's that?" She smiles back at her daughter, and waves. Page drools, still repeating the hand motions. She tries to imitate her daughter's gestures, since it's really nothing like a wave, or a clap, it's something else...

And then she remembers and opens her laptop. Quickly, she types in a few words, then scrolls through her options. After some time of staring at various images, she finds what she needs. "Love," she reads, "baby."

Dialing familiar numbers, she smiles when he picks up. "Mulder, you'll never guess what Page's first words are. Yes, plural," She nods, watching her daughter repeat the signs. "I think she picked it up from Sophie."


	21. The Calusari

Mid-March 1995

Mulder wishes they didn't have this case. Teddy Holvey's death had seemed a sad waste the first time around, but this time it's a fear inducing tragedy. He could tell that Scully felt the same way as they stared at the picture of the smiling blond toddler. It won't be more than six or seven months before Page is old enough to toddle herself, and the thought of anything happening to her is almost beyond imagining.

All of which serves to put them both in a very dour mood when they go to talk to the Holveys. Scully is still reluctant to consider the idea that someone helped Teddy to his death, but her objections are subdued, so she doesn't protest much when they speak to the boy's family.

Maggie Holvey seems bewildered by their presence, so Mulder tries to explain. "We're here apart from that investigation. We have reason to believe something may have been overlooked."

"Like what?"

"The possibility Teddy may have been helped onto the tracks."

"Oh my God," Maggie gasps, then covers her mouth.

Steve Holvey, however, is not as affected. "There were over a hundred witnesses. We saw Teddy ourselves." The fire in the fireplace suddenly flares up, making them all flinch. "He was chasing a balloon. There was no one else around..."

Mulder and Scully notice the Holvey's older son, Charlie, standing in the doorway.

Steve doesn't and keeps talking. "... It was an awful accident. But that's all it was - an accident."

Charlie looks up and to his left, then runs away as if called by someone. Scully wanders over to the door.

"Do you have any reason to suspect someone may have wanted to hurt Teddy?" Mulder asks gently.

"He was just a baby. Why would anybody want to hurt him?" Maggie cries out.

Steve looks upset too. "Look, I don't know what you're getting at. We loved Teddy. If you're suggesting that this is anything like that woman who drowned her kids in the lake, you're way out of line."

Scully sees that Charlie has gone to the old woman, Golda, who is on a landing midway up the stairs. She is drawing a symbol on the back of Charlie's hand - a reverse swastika with four dots around it.

"Mrs. Holvey, did you hear anything in the bathroom right before Teddy disappeared?" Mulder asks. He wants to tell them that he doesn't mean them, but it won't make things easier to hear.

"I already told the inquest. I heard nothing."

Scully returns to the others. "Mrs. Holvey, at the time of the accident, did you have any

hired help?"

"No. My mother came to live with us once Teddy was born."

"Around the time of Teddy's death, had you noticed anything strange happening around the house, uh, things moved, odd objects appearing, anything like that?" Mulder asks.

A loud, shrill alarm sounds. "It's that damn smoke detector. I'll be right back." He walks out. As he exits, the lights go out.

Mulder looks around the room. "Ah ... does this happen often?"

"It's an old house. We have a problem with the wiring." Maggie's tone is defensive.

The lights come back on and Golda is standing in the doorway with Charlie. "Diavol lol ... diavol lol ... nu ieste el cauza." The woman shrilly proclaims in another language.

"Mother!" Maggie admonishes.

"Diavol lol."

"Mother, it was just a false alarm."

"No. Asea este problema ta baiatul este blestemat. "[We must perform the ritual or the killings will continue.]

Mulder notices the reverse swastika on the back of Charlie's hand and a red string tied around his wrist. The two women continue to argue, one in English one not.

"Mother."

"Ye dracul!" Golda shouts.

"Stop it!" Maggie shouts back.

"What is she saying?" Scully asks. Mulder shrugs.

"Maggie!" Steve calls as he returns to the room.

"You marry a devil. You have devil child!" Golda proclaims. She leaves pushing Charlie in front of her.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, making them wonder who he's apologizing to.

* * *

The next morning, Mulder shows Scully reverse swastika in a book. He would have done it at home, but it had been a rough morning, since they'd over-slept because Page had kept them up. Scully's thoughts were more on the possibility that their daughter was teething than the book until he waved it in front of her.

"You recognize this?" he asks.

"Sure, it's a swastika."

"It's also known as a gammadion or a fylfot. It's an ancient symbol used for protection or good luck. It's been used by various cultures since the middle ages. The Holvey's child had one on the back of his hand last night. My guess it was drawn there by the old lady, to protect the boy."

"You're right. I saw her drawing it."

"And you didn't think that was strange?"

"Well, I think this boy needs as much protection as he can get- but just not from ghosties or beasties. Take a look at this. " Scully hands him a folder. "Have you ever heard of Munchausen by Proxy?"

"Yeah, my grandfather used to take that for his stomach."

She doesn't even roll her eyes. "It's when a parent or caretaker brings harm to a child by inducing medical symptoms, usually as a way of getting attention or status. If you take a look at Teddy Holvey's medical history, you'll see that he was admitted to various hospitals ten times during the two years that he was alive. That's once every three months."

Mulder reads aloud. "Projectile vomiting at three months. Diarrhea at four months. Vomiting ... diarrhea ... diarrhea...yikes, and I thought Page's constant drooling was bad."

Scully shoots him a 'don't start' look before going on. "Each time they were unable to determine the cause of the illness."

"And no one questioned this?"

"Well, the family moved around a lot because of Steve's job, and records take time to transfer from hospital to hospital. But this kind of abuse is not limited to just one child, so I checked out Charlie's history as well." She hands him a second folder.

"Charlie had medical problems, too?"

"Since his brother was born, which is right when Holvey's mother-in-law moved in. Often the perpetrator of Munchausen by Proxy will view the child as evil. The old woman would be a likely candidate, but it could be any family member."

"Do you feel like taking a walk over to the State Department, Scully?"

* * *

State Department

Washington, D.C.

"Things have been strained since Golda - my mother-in-law - moved in with us. I met Maggie in Romania in 1984. Golda forbade our marriage - said I was the devil. After I transferred back to the U.S., things got somewhat better, until Teddy was born and she came to live with us. That's when the strangeness really started," Steve tells them.

"What kind of strangeness?" Mulder asks.

"Superstitions rule Golda's life. She'll spit when anyone compliments the kids. Once she moved in with us, she started pouring hot water over the threshold to ward off demons, tying red strings around the kids' wrists. One day I caught her throwing chicken guts on the roof. Then Teddy and Charlie started getting sick- a lot."

"And you suspect Golda?" Scully asks.

" She'll call Charlie evil right to his face. But at the same time, she dotes on him like she's afraid of him."

"Afraid of him or for him?" Mulder questions.

"I just don't know."

"Are you familiar with Munchausen by Proxy?" Scully asks.

"Are you accusing us of child abuse?"

"Teddy's medical records have raised some questions."

"I can never say this to Maggie, but I've wondered if it wasn't Golda who snuck in and let Teddy out of the bathroom that day." Steve sounds more tired than anything else.

"I'd like to interview your son Charlie, Mr. Holvey, but with a professional counselor."

She hands him a card on which is printed "Karen F. Kosseff, L.C.S.W., Psychiatric Social Worker, FBI "

"Oh boy. This is gonna be hard." Steve says, but he takes the card.

As they leave, Mulder takes Scully's arm. She looks up at him. "That didn't go as badly as I feared. I know I wouldn't have taken the thought of your mother abusing Page so calmly."

"Like my mother would spend ten minutes alone with her." He smirks. "This case is far from over."

* * *

Mulder knows Scully believes he was right just a few days later, when both Golda and Steve are dead. She doesn't bother to ask him how he knew, and he's just glad that she's willing to chalk it up to one of his "hunches."

They are looking around the room where Golda died when they hear shouting coming from the floor below.

"I told you before. Get out of my house!" Maggie shouts as they approach her voice.

A man says something in Rumanian but Maggie cuts him off. "I am not interested in your superstition. Now get out. Now!!!"

The men go out the front door as Mulder and Scully enter the room. "Mrs. Holvey?" Scully asks, concerned.

"It's all right."

"Who are they?" Mulder asks, looking out the window at the men.

"They are the Calusari. In Romania, they are responsible for the correct observance of sacred rites." Maggie explains.

"What did he say?" Scully asks.

"He said it's not over. The evil is still here."

Mulder excuses himself and goes out the front door and runs to catch up with the Calusari. He speaks to the first man, who is the head Calusari.

"Sir? Can I have a word with you? Sir, I'm with the FBI. I'd like to ask you some questions." He flashes his badge but the Calusari continue to walk toward their car. "You were trying to protect the family, weren't you? You said there was still evil here. Sir?" He grabs the head Calusari by the arm as he reaches the car. "I can arrest you if I have to."

"The evil that is here has always been. It has gone by different names through history - Cain, Lucifer, Hitler. It does not care if it kills one boy or a million men. If you try to stop us, the blood will be on your hands."

When he goes back in, Maggie explains that Golda thought they were being plagued by evil because they didn't keep up the old ways, and protests the idea that her son could be evil because he's just a little boy. Mulder wishes that being a child really meant one was innocent. Unfortunately, he's seen too much to believe that.

* * *

St. Matthew's Medical Center

Arlington, Virginia

Karen Kosseff is talking to Charlie in a playroom in the center. Charlie sits quietly, playing with an Etch-a-Sketch. Mulder, Scully and Maggie Holvey are in an adjoining room, watching and listening.

"Charlie? I was told they found you in your grandmother's room yesterday. Can you tell me about it?" He shakes his head. "Do you remember how you got there?"

"No."

"Your mother said you were there. Don't you remember?"

He speaks sharply. "I wasn't there." He gets up and walks away from Karen.

"Many people saw you in the room."

"It wasn't me! I wasn't there! It wasn't me!" He kicks some toys across the room.

"Who was in the room?"

"No!"

"Was there someone else in the room?"

"No! I didn't hurt her!"

"Charlie? Charlie? Who hurt your grand ... Charlie?"

"It was him!" Charlie shrieks.

"Who? Charlie, who?" Karen asks urgently.

Charlie continues to shriek. "It was Michael! Michael! Michael!"

Mrs. Holvey gasps and turns away from the window.

"Mrs. Holvey?" Scully walks towards her.

"We never told him. It was agreed upon. It was our secret."

"What secret, Mrs. Holvey? What are you talking about?" Mulder asks, mostly for Scully's benefit.

"Michael. He was Charlie's twin. He was stillborn. Steven and I agreed never to tell Charlie about it. My mother, she wanted to perform a ritual of separation when she heard of Michael's death, to divide their souls. She said if we didn't, the world of the dead would follow Charlie. But it was just a superstition."

Scully's eyes widen, and her hand goes to her belly without forethought. The baby gives a reassuring kick when it feels the pressure of her hand, so she breathes a little easier. But only a little.

In the other room Charlie is on the floor and Kosseff is trying to help him. They determine he's having a seizure of some sort, and call for an ambulance.

* * *

Mulder walks up the stairs to Scully, who is on the same stairway landing as earlier. Something out the window catches her attention.

"What are you looking at?"

"Is that Mrs. Holvey?"

"Where?" he asks, peering out.

"There. I think she's got Charlie with her."

Down below, Mrs. Holvey is getting into her car. Charlie is in the front seat as well.

Mulder and Scully pull the curtain in Charlie's room to see that Charlie is still in his bed. They hear Nurse Castor, who is lying on the floor in the corner of the room.

Scully steps out into the hall to summon help while Mulder helps her up.

"Are you all right?" Mulder asks the nurse, noticing the blood on her forehead.

"He hit me."

"Who? Charlie?" Scully asks as she comes back in.

"No ... not him, the other one. There were two of them, two boys."

Another nurse arrives to help Nurse Castor. Mulder and Scully walk out and down the hallway.

"You gotta get to Mrs. Holvey's house." Mulder tells her.

"Why?"

"That boy you saw leaving with Mrs. Holvey - that wasn't Charlie."

"You're saying Mrs. Holvey left here with a ghost?"

"A spirit, a ghost - I'm not sure but it's what we saw in the photograph. It's what the old woman was trying to protect the family from."

"But, Mulder...Don't you think it's possible that Golda told Charlie about his twin, and that's where the idea of someone else came from?"

Mulder shakes his head. "It wasn't an idea that just drove off with Mrs. Holvey. Whatever it is, it's killed three people, and you've got to get to Mrs. Holvey's before it happens again." She starts to walk away, but he grabs her arm. "Be careful, Scully."

She shakes her head and kisses his cheek, totally unconvinced of the danger. "What are you going to do in the meanwhile?"

"Get help."

**

Mulder waits in the hallway outside Charlie's hospital room. Four Calusari enter the hall and walk toward him. He motions toward Charlie's room and they enter the room. Mulder follows.

"Guard the door," the head Calusari demands. Mulder closes the door.

**

Scully enters the Holvey's house. It is dark.

"Mrs. Holvey?" She steps in, turning on a flashlight. She tries the light switch but the lights don't come on. She walks into the foyer and hears a noise from upstairs. "Hello?"

**

At the hospital, the Calusari surround Charlie's bed and chant in Rumanian and pray. The head Calusari tears open Charlie's pajama shirt. Charlie seems to be asleep. As they continue to chant, one of the Calusari sprinkles a powder on Charlie's chest, and he awakens suddenly and hisses at them. The Calusari restrain him, two holding his arms while a third holds his head. The fourth, the head Calusari, sprinkles a herb into a bowl of liquid and it bubbles. Charlie continues to hiss and starts to thrash on the bed.

Charlie shouts out, "Fie newt, avet a plaratariat. New potex ... new potex ... new potex. Suffragettes agitaball. Pulley tot allso puritay from freeditay. Suffragette a agitaball. Ohh saaa ... pu chette ... agitaball ... boy gotz." Mulder can't figure any of it out.

The head Calusari adds a red powder to the bowl of liquid. The liquid turns red and bubbles more violently, emitting smoke. Charlie continues to thrash about, while the other Calusari continue to chant. He turns to Mulder. "Come. Hold him down."

Mulder comes to the foot of the bed and holds Charlie's feet. Charlie continues to struggle, growls and gives Mulder an evil stare. "Don't look at him. Look away, or it will recognize you," the man tells Mulder. Mulder turns his head, seeing an orange liquid now covering the walls.

**

Back at the Holvey's, Scully opens the door to Golda's bedroom. The stained glass with the reverse swastika shakes, and both windows then blow in. Scully steps back and shields her eyes, then enters. A strong wind howls through the windows. She enters and pans the room with her flashlight. A glass object breaks at her feet.

She hears faint chanting in Rumanian, and as she walks along the wall, her head is suddenly touched by a pair of feet. Startled, she spins away and looks up, seeing Maggie pinned against the ceiling by an unseen force. Maggie is chanting. Scully sees a shadow move across the wall and turns quickly back toward the window, but she sees no one. The door to the room suddenly slams shut. She gasps and turns toward the door.

Scully gasps. "Charlie?"

Charlie's voice comes from Maggie. "Mommy?"

Scully shines her flashlight up at Maggie, who resumes chanting in Rumanian. Scully is picked up by an unseen force and slammed into the corner of the room, next to the window. She falls to the floor, and is then slides, along with some furniture, into the other corner.

**

Back at the hospital, the head Calusari unsheathes a large knife over the bowl of bubbling red liquid. Charlie now screams at them in Rumanian. Mulder continues to hold his feet. The bed starts to shake and rises several feet off the floor.

Charlie screams. "It hurts!" Mulder lets go of his feet.

"Do not let go," the Head Calursari admonishes. "He tricks you."

Mulder grabs Charlie's feet again. One of the Calusari squeezes a liquid into a small cup and hands it to the head Calusari. He adds the contents to the other bowl of liquid and picks up a white feather. As Charlie continues to scream, the head Calusari dips the feather into the red liquid and starts to paint a reverse swastika on Charlie's chest. He continues to scream, as the rest of the Calusari continue to chant.

**

At the Holvey's, Michael also screams and picks up the large knife from the floor. He advances toward Scully, the knife held high over his head. Scully shields her head with one arm, her belly with the other, and tries to twist away.

**

At the hospital, the head Calusari completes the reverse swastika on Charlie's chest. Charlie's body relaxes and the bed falls back to the floor with a thump that's sure to draw attention to the room.

Mulder quickly plans to say he clumsily upset the screen and knocked it over it anyone asks.

**

At the Holvey's, the knife falls harmlessly to the floor next to Scully. The wind stops. Maggie falls to the floor as well. Scully goes to Maggie's aid.

"Are you all right?"

" Charlie?" Maggie asks, looking confused.

They look across the room but no one else is there. There is gray ash on the floor and a small wisp of smoke drifting across the floor.

**

At the hospital, Charlie lies quietly on the bed with his eyes closed. He is covered with perspiration, as well as the reverse swastika painted on his chest in red.

"Let the boy rest. We must find the mother. The boy needs her," the head Calusari declares. The Calusari step away from the bed, leaving Mulder staring at

Charlie.

* * *

Later, Mulder stands in the hallway outside Charlie's room. Scully and Maggie come off the elevator and run toward him.

"Scully, you all right?"

"We're OK. How's Charlie?"

Maggie runs past him and enters Charlie's room, brushing past the head Calusari. It is now daylight outside.

"Charlie! It's OK! Charlie!" Maggie cries, running to his bedside. Charlie is still sleeping but seems OK.

"It is over, for now. But you must be careful. It knows you," the Head Clusari tells Mulder.

Mulder and Scully stare at each other for a moment. "Let's go down to the e.r. Mulder." Scully tells him, putting an arm around his waist.

"Why, did you get hurt?"

"I don't think so. But I...fell. This will be more of a peace of mind sort of check up."

"Ah, as opposed to a 'Mulder does something stupid and ends up in the hospital sort of visit'?"

"Something like that," she agrees, but then feels bad when he looks hurt. Of course then he breaks into a grin.

An hour later they're on the way home with the good news that neither Scully and the baby have been harmed, though Scully is to expect a sore back and a few bruises.

They're on the way to Mrs. Scully's to pick up Page when Mulder laughs.

"What?"

"This case brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'evil twin.'"

She gives a crooked grin, too overwhelmed still to be really amused. "That's one way of looking at it."

He gives her a suddenly worried look. "The ultrasound did show just the one baby, right? I mean, I only saw one, but I'm not really good at figuring those things out..."

"Yes, Mulder, just the one. One little baby who refused to turn the right way for us to see if it'll be a boy or a girl."

"You wouldn't just say that would you? So I wouldn't keep asking like last time?"

"Nope." She lets her hand rest on her belly. "This kid is a mystery."

::It sure is.:: he thinks. ::Our little wildcard.::


	22. Anasazi

April 13th 1995

It's been a rough week for everyone. First a neighbor shoots her husband, then the gunmen call, Mulder gets an encrypted document he blows up over, and worried about the associate who gave it to Mulder before suddenly going missing. To top it all off Mulder gets into a fistfight with Skinner in the hallway. So Scully is more than a little apprehensive to be meeting with the directors; she can't tell if the roil in her stomach is morning sickness or nerves.

An unfamiliar director asks the first question, almost before she's fully seated. "Agent Scully, you heard about the incident here, in the hallway yesterday."

"Yes, sir." She's tempted to ask him how he thinks Mulder could have kept something like that from her, but decides to keep her mouth shut. As satisfying as sarcasm might be, it's not going to improve anything.

"Do you have any explanation as to Agent Mulder's bizarre behavior?"

"No, sir. Agent Mulder has been having trouble sleeping."

One of the directors raises an eyebrow at this, and Scully bristles. They're married, it's not like her knowing this is illicit knowledge.

"Do you think Agent Mulder confides in you, Agent Scully?"

"Of course, he's my partner. And my husband as well," she adds.

This raises another eyebrow. Clearly the depth of their "partnership" isn't as well discussed as they assumed from all the tittering that went on before they announced their engagement. The director doesn't seem to want to discuss that aspect of her relationship to Mulder. "Your partner. Weren't you originally assigned to agent Mulder to debunk his work?"

"Yes, sir. Three years ago. I've been writing regular reports stating the validity of Agent Mulder's work on The X-Files."

The other director asks, "Would you lie to protect him?"

Saying "of course I would" doesn't seem wise, so instead she asks a question in return, "Am I accused of lying?"

A third director gives her a bleak look. "Agent Mulder has been advised of a disciplinary hearing. If there's something we learn at that meeting that you haven't stated today, you could be subject to the same summary action."

"What action is that?"

Skinner too looks grim. "Dismissal without chance of reinstatement."

She narrowly holds onto her temper. "Is that all, sir?"

"Yes, Agent Scully, thank you," Skinner dismisses her.

Hurrying away, Scully finds the basement office empty. She wishes she could go home and talk to Mulder, to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with him. The X-Files are his baby as much as Page is, so she can't for the life of her figure out why he'd be putting them at risk.

* * *

6pm

Page is yawning in Scully's face as she brings her to her crib. Lying on the bed, Mulder is sleeping. Just as she walks by him he wakes up and reaches for his gun. Scully sticks out her hand to calm him.

"I thought you'd hear me come in."

"Oh. I took a sleeping pill."

She frowns, it's not like him to take medication for his insomnia; it's seemed to have gotten better since they began sleeping together. "I couldn't find you at work. I was worried about you."

"I came home. I must be running a fever. Maybe it's the threat of being burnt at the stake."

"They called me in today."

"What did you tell them?"

"That nothing was wrong." The expression on her face makes him think she's worried that she inadvertently lied.

"Well, you told them the truth then."

"Mulder, you opened the door for them, they're just looking for a good reason now."

He doesn't sound contrite. "Okay, I'll say I'm sorry."

"Mulder, these files. Who knows you have them?"

"Why?" Mulder gives her a suspicious look.

"Because I had to lie today. And I put my job in jeopardy in order to do so. If they find out about those files...."

"How would they find out?"

"Maybe they already know. The question is, is it worth it? Is this cassette worth risking everything?"

"I'll tell you when I find out what's on it. Now just tell me who I can talk to about breaking that code."

"I'm meeting with someone in an hour. I might know something later tonight, I just need some kind of assurance that they're not going to let us hang ourselves with this. That I'm doing the right thing. Are you going to be ok to look after Page, or should take her with me?"

"She's sleeping, we'll be fine. I promise not to cough on her." He gives her a small grin that quickly fades. "...and I'll try to give you the reassurances you need." He gets out of bed and tapes an X to the window

"I need to know one more thing, Mulder. Why did you attack Skinner?"

"I've thought about that, Scully. I honestly can't say."

After she leaves he tries to remember why he hit Skinner, but his head feels so damn strange he can't even begin to figure it out.

* * *

Scully has been gone an hour when the phone rings. Sighing, Mulder reaches for it. "Mulder."

"Fox, this is your father, I need to see you right away. "

"Where are you?" Something wiggles at the back of his mind. There's supposed to be something significant to seeing his dad tonight, but what is it? He begins to worry. ::What happened last time?::

"I'm at home. How soon can you be here? Fox, it's very important."

"Scully's not home, and I have the baby." He glances over at Page. Is she the significant thing? ::No, no, there was no baby last time. Think, dammit!:: "I'll have to drop her off at Maggie's before I come over."

Bill Mulder sighs. "I wish I could see her...but come as quickly as you can."

* * *

Later

Scully arrives home to an empty apartment, and it brings an unpleasant déjà vu of that afternoon in the office.

"Mulder..." Just then she notices a note taped to the TV "Gone to see Dad, brought Page to Maggie first."

She walks to the window, a gunshot is fired and the bullet grazes her head. Trying not to panic, she gently touches the wound, grateful that there wasn't more blood.

* * *

Bill Mulder's House

Bill answers the door a few seconds after Mulder begins to knock.

"Fox." His father looks half-relieved, half-surprised to see him.

"Dad. What is it?"

"Come in. " Mulder enters and Bill shuts and locks the door.

"It's... It's so clear now. Simple. It was so complicated then. The, the choices that needed to be made."

"What choices? Dad?" ::That's it isn't it? Something about his choices.::

"You're a smart boy, Fox. You're smarter than I ever was."

"About what?" ::What's going to happen? I remember it's bad.::

"Your politics are yours, you've never thrown in. The minute you do that, their doctrines become yours and you can be held responsible."

"You're talking about your work in the state department."

"You're going to learn of things... Fox, you're going to hear the words and they'll come to make sense to you."

"What words?"

"The merchandise. Look I, I've been taking some medication. You'll have to excuse me for a moment." ::No Daddy, don't go!::

"Dad! Hold up!" All at once, Mulder remembers. ::He gets shot!::

Bill hesitates a fraction of a second, but goes to the bathroom anyway and opens a medicine cabinet. Mulder hears a gunshot even as he's racking to the bathroom.

Bill Mulder is lying in a pool of blood. "Dad? Dad. Dad? " Outside, tires screech. Mulder puts his hand under his father's head. "Oh, Dad."

"Forgive me..." Bill says, then his eyes roll back. Mulder thinks he's dead that very second, but grasping at the older man's wrist, he feels a faint pulse.

"Don't die on me, Dad. Not this time."

He puts a folded towel under Bill's head and whips out his cell phone. "Hello, 911? This is Fox Mulder with the FBI. There's been a shooting, I need an ambulance." ::Please God, don't let him die again. Please, please please...::

* * *

Mulder watches as the load his father in the ambulance. Despite his pleadings, they won't let him ride along with them. He's a little bit hopeful, given his father never got a hospital visit the last time around, but he's too confused to do anything but call Scully.

"My father's been shot, Scully."

"Where are you?"

"They shot him and now he's on the way to the hospital, and they wouldn't let me go with him."

"Mulder, where are you? Just tell me where you are."

"I'm at Dad's place."

"Who shot him, Mulder?"

"I don't know."

"Mulder, were you arguing?"

"I didn't do it, Scully, he was trying to tell me something You gotta believe me, Scully." His voice sounds broken, like a little boy's and her heart breaks.

"Mulder, I believe you, just listen to me, you've gotta get out of there, you have to leave immediately."

"I can't leave the crime scene, it'll look like I'm running, make me look guilty."

"Mulder, they're gonna suspect you anyway, you've got no ID on the shooter, you, your behavior has been irrational recently, Mulder, can't you see that everything is pointing directly at you?"

"He was shot with somebody else's weapon."

"Damn it, Mulder, you're an FBI agent, you have access to weapons other than your own."

"All right. I'll come home."

"No. No you can't come home. Someone shot through our window tonight, they almost killed me, they might be trying to kill you."

::Or you.:: He thinks, slumping into a chair.

* * *

Maggie Scully's House

Maggie opens the door as Scully struggles to get Mulder inside. The pallor of his skin shocks her, and she can't help but blurt out. "Fox...My God. Look at you. You're sick."

::Hey, that's Scully's line!:: He's filled with a compulsion to giggle, but doesn't. "I'm okay. I'll just get some coffee, ok?"

"No come on," Scully insists. "I want you to lie down on, woah, come on I want you to lie down, let me take your coat off."

"Dana, let me help you get him to bed. I don't want you to exert yourself."

"I'm pregnant, not an invalid." Scully snaps, then immediately looks sorry. "Sorry."

"You gotta find them, Scully," Mulder protests as the pilot him into the living room.

"Right now you have to lie down. Come here." She and Maggie manhandle him until he's sprawled on the pull out bed in the living room. Upstairs had a comfortable guest room, but neither of them felt they could get him up there.

"We gotta find out who hurt my father," Mulder says, his eyes heavy. "Promise me."

"Well, right now you need to rest okay, rest. It's okay. Okay. "

* * *

"What's wrong with him?" Maggie asks not long after Mulder has fallen asleep.

"The flu, I think."

Maggie nods. "If you need to look for his father's shooter, I can look after him and Page."

"You're too good to me, Mom," Scully says, getting up to give her a hug.

"Family is important, Dana. I never told you this before, but I used to have these dreams that you'd let work take over your life, and never find anyone. " She glanced towards the doorway, where she could just barely make out Mulder's sleeping form. "I'm so glad I was wrong."

"Do you...like Mulder?" Scully asks, wondering why it's never come up before.

"I do. He adores you, that makes him a good man in my book."

"He is a good man," Scully agrees softly.

* * *

Unfortunately, Mulder tests the limits of her patience the very next day when he calls her up ranting about how she doesn't trust him and is always taking her little notes. It's his strange paranoia that leads her to wonder if he's really sick with the flu after all. A perusal of her medical books, suggests that something sinister might be at work, and there's only one way to know for sure.

Going back to their apartment she someone delivering water filters and is suspicious enough to go to the basement and snag one to analyze. To her complete exasperation, she sees Mulder jump out of a cab, and run around behind the building. Tucking the filter into her coat, she dashes after him.

Mulder grabs Krycek as he walks by and punches him in the face.

"I'm gonna kill you anyway, Krycek, so you may as well tell me the truth. Did you shoot my father? Did you try to kill him... answer me." Mulder punches him again as Scully skitters onto the scene.

"Mulder, don't shoot him. Just back away. " She points a gun at Mulder.

"He tried to kill my father, Scully."

"I have him, Mulder."

"No, Scully..." ::It's different now. You wouldn't really shoot your husband.:: He doesn't let up his aim at Krycek, so Scully shoots him, Krycek runs off. ::You would.:: He thinks, crumpling to the ground.

A woman's voice cries out, "Oh my God. Somebody call the police." Scully grits her teeth and wonders if pointing out she _is_ the police would do any good.

* * *

When Mulder wakes up, an older native American man is peering down at him. "He's awake," he says before leaving his side.

Scully comes to Mulder's side." Mulder, Mulder it's me. Here drink some of that, you haven't had any water in over 36 hours. Your shoulder's going to be fine. The round went through nice and clean."

Mulder drinks, then looks up at her accusingly. "You shot me."

"Yes, I did. You didn't give me much choice, you were going to shoot Krycek."

"You say that like it's a bad thing...Why'd you shoot me? He's the one."

"If he is, then his weapon is probably the same one that shot your father."

"What are you talking about?"

"If you killed Krycek with that weapon there would have been no way to prove that you didn't attempt to kill your father. I'm sorry about your father, Mulder."

"Oh, God, is he dead?" Mulder cranes his head to look around. "and where's Page?"

"Page is with my mom. And your father is doing ok. They don't think there will be any permanent damage to his heart, but it was touch and go for a while."

Mulder slumps back, looking relieved. "How'd you know Krycek was the shooter?"

"I didn't. I went back to the apartment to pull the slug from the wall, and I noticed an unmarked van delivering soft water and I found this in one of the tanks servicing our building," she tells him, glossing over the fact that she was already suspicious about his symptoms not adding up. Then she holds something out for him to see.

"What is it?"

"It's a dyalysis filter. It's a device used in the transmission of substance to solution, considering the level of psychosis you were experiencing, it was probably LSD, amphetamines of some kind of exotic dopamine."

Fear stabs through him. "Oh my God. Did you or Page-"

"No. They seem to have only changed it within the past few days, and you're the only one who'd drink that nasty tap water. The babies and I are just fine."

"Thank god. Who knows what that crap could do to an infant or fetus."

"Mulder, these men are quite possibly the same ones who shot your father and who systematically tried to destroy you by turning everyone you could trust against you. I don't think I have to tell you why."

"I'd gotten too close to the truth." He looks around in puzzlement, suddenly aware that he had no idea whose home they were in. "Where are we?"

"We're in Farmington, New Mexico."

"New Mexico? How'd you get me here?"

"We've just driven two days across country, I had to put you out to let the side effects of the psychosis abate. This is Albert Hosteen, he's been translating your files."

Mulder snorts. "Someday you're going to tell me how you managed to care for me alone for two days in the car. With a bullet wound."

"You're lucky she's a good shot," Albert opines.

"Or a bad one," Mulder retorts, making Scully grimace.

"Albert was a Navajo code talker during World War II. He helped encode the original government documents."

"How'd you find him?"

"Through a woman in Washington. But he claims he knew you were coming."

Albert speaks up, "Last week we had an omen."

Scully changes the subject. "Most of these files are written in jargon but apparently there was an international conspiracy of silence dating back to the 1940's. Albert says that evidence of these secrets are buried on a Navajo reservation not far from here. He says that he'll take you as soon as you are able."

Mulder's a little wobbly on his feet when he gets up. "What about you?"

"I'm afraid you're on your own with this. Page and I have doctors' appointments I don't want to miss, not to mention that I didn't show up for a meeting with Skinner the day before yesterday and I don't know what the repercussions will be. "

"You've taken a big risk."

"I was certain they would have killed you, Mulder." She stares at him. "Thirty-one is far too young to be a widow."

"Thank you. Thank you for taking care of me."

"Someone has to." She smiles at him. "There's something else. Krycek's name is in those files. It appears in the latest entries with Duane Barry's."

"In what context?"

"It's not clear, but it has something to do with a test. I think we should find out why."

"Hopefully it's something bad," Mulder mutters. :: Wonder if Alex is going to get a visit from the cancer fairy.::

She gives him a reproachful look for the suggestion, but hugs him too. "Try to stay out of trouble while you're here."

"Me?" He adopts an innocent expression. Scully just sighs, and Albert gives her a sympathetic pat on the back.

* * *

Navajo Nation National Reservation

"You said you knew I was coming."

"In the desert, things find a way to survive. Secrets are like this too. They push their way up through the sands of deception so that men can know them. Here, this is my house."

"But why me?"

"You are prepared to accept the truth aren't you, to sacrifice yourself to it."

"I don't understand."

"There was a tribe of Indians who lived here more than 600 years ago. Their name was Anasazi, it means ancient aliens. No evidence of their fate exists. Historians say they disappeared without a trace. They say that because they will not sacrifice themselves to the truth."

"And what is the truth?"

"Nothing disappears without a trace."

"You think they were abducted."

"By visitors who come here still." Albert gets out of the car, Mulder follows him.

"What's buried out there?"

"Lies. You will see for yourself."

Albert's grandson agrees to bring him to where they'd found the body, so Mulder gets on the back of Eric's bike. Eventually Eric brings the bike to a halt and points to a spot.

"It's through these rocks. It's down there."

Eric makes no move to go with him, so Mulder climbs down the rockface. His cell phone rings.

"Mulder."

CSM sounds detached. "You're a hard man to reach."

"Not hard enough apparently."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the Betty Ford center, where are you?"

"I need to talk to you, Mr. Mulder, in person. There are some things to explain."

"Funny, I'm hearing that a lot lately. The trend is that phrase a bad omen. I'll save the government the plane fare, I just need to know which government that is."

"Your father may have told you things, Mr. Mulder. I should warn against taking those things at face value."

"Yeah, which things are those?"

"He was never an opponent of the project. In fact he authorized it. That's what he couldn't live with."

"No, he couldn't live with it because you had him shot. "

"We weren't involved in that."

"Now listen to me, you black-lunged son of a bitch, I'm gonna expose you and your project, your time is over. And so help me God, if my father dies..."

"Expose anything and you only expose your father." Mulder hangs up on him.

Bending down in the red pit, Mulder uncovers a plaque in the dirt which reads Sierra Pacific Railroad RTC - 567 480.

"Over here," Eric calls.

"This is a boxcar." Eric nods, and he and Mulder open the hatch into the boxcar.

"Refrigeration car."

"You're a man of few words, Eric." Eric just shrugs.

* * *

Washington, DC

Scully's cell phone rings while she's in the middle of spooning baby cereal into Page's unusually willing mouth. With a feeling of regret, she puts the spoon aside, hoping that Page will still be hungry after the call. Weaning Page before her little sibling's birth is high on Scully's list of priorities.

"What do you bet it's Daddy?" Scully asks before grabbing the phone. "Scully."

"Yeah, it's me."

"Where are you?"

"Nowhere I ever expected."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm in a boxcar buried inside a quarry. There are bodies everywhere."

"Bodies?"

"Stacked floor to ceiling."

"What happened to them?"

"I don't know." Mulder looks at the hybrid bodies piled in a corner one on top of the other.

"Mulder, in these files I found references to experiments that were conducted here in the US by Axis Power scientists who were given amnesty after the war."

"What kind of experiments?"

"Some kind of tests, on humans. What they referred to as merchandise."

"But these aren't human, Scully. From the look of it I'd say they were alien."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty damn sure. Wait a sec..." Mulder looks at the arm of one of the merchandise. "This one... has a smallpox vaccination scar."

"Mulder..."

"Oh, my God, Scully, what have they done?" The hatch closes.

A couple of minutes later a incendiary device is thrown into the box car and it bursts into flames.


	23. The Blessing Way

Navajo Reservation

Moments after the smoking man leaves, Scully arrives, and is horrified to see Albert's son tending to the older man's wounds.

"What happened?"

"There were men," Hosteen says simply. " They were looking for your husband."

"Where is he?"

Albert shakes his head. Scully runs down to find the boxcar Mulder called her from with smoke still pouring out of the opening. She looks around.

"Mulder!"

Seeing no one, she looks ready to cry.

* * *

Navajo Reservation

Northwest Of Los Alamos, New Mexico

Scully is driving along when a bright light approaches from behind her. A helicopter circles in front of her and flies along beside her, shining the searchlight in her face. Scully stops the car, unable to see. The helicopter lands and three troopers get out. One points her gun at Scully while another opens the door and pulls her out.

"Out of the car! Come on! Hands on top, spread your legs!" a trooper barks at her.

He forces her to do so while a female trooper gets in the car. She looks back at him while he frisks her.

Even though she's frightened, they give her hope. "Where's Agent Mulder?"

"Turn and face away!" The man takes her gun. "Where are the files?"

"In the trunk." Scully is very thankful that Page is with her mother. The baby would be terrified by the shouting.

He motions to the female trooper, who gets out of the car and goes to the trunk. She opens her bag and finds a file but no tape. She shakes her head and puts the file in her jacket.

"We need the DAT copy," the trooper growls at her.

"I don't have it!"

"Who has it?"

"Agent Mulder."

He motions to the female and the troopers run back to the helicopter. "Let's go!" The troops file back in and the helicopter takes off.

Watching them leave, her hopes slip away. They don't know where Mulder is either. She fights tears, knowing that crying will only make her a danger on the roads. Sniffing, she decides she has to be strong, if not for her own sake, but their children's sake.

* * *

The night of her suspension, Scully twists and turns in bed, unable to sleep. Not only is she worried sick about Mulder, she couldn't find the digital tape everyone thinks that Mulder died for. Everyone but her, that is. Though she outwardly agrees with those who say he's dead, she has a firm conviction that Mulder will be fine. He has more lives than a cat.

As she stares at the ceiling, the doorbell rings twice. She turns on the lights and looks through the peephole. Perplexed, she unlocks her door and looks at Frohike.

"Frohike?"

"I know it's late but I heard the news." She looks down at the bottle of wine in his hand.

"Maybe I should go. Pardon my presumptuousness."

"How much have you had to drink?"

He holds up the near-empty bottle. "Do you recycle?"

She smiles. Afterwards, he sits at her table. She pours him a cup of coffee.

"He was a good friend. A redwood among sprouts." He takes a sip of his coffee as she pours herself a cup. "I guess this means he's passing you the torch." She knows that it's as close as he can bear to admit she's been widowed.

She sits down and looks at him. "Uh, I'm afraid not. I'm soon to be out of a job."

"Those sons of bitches. They're rigging the game." He looks furious.

"And like rats, they just scatter back into the woodpile."

She takes a sip as he pulls a newspaper article out of his jacket. He hands it to her. The headline reads: "Homicide Victim's Body Discovered at City Dump."

"The rats that killed the cat."

"What's this?"

"A news item about Kenneth Soona, a.k.a. 'The Thinker.' The man who hacked the MJ files. The ones he gave to Mulder."

"'Kenneth J. Soona was killed execution style in what appears to be a professional murder. His body found in the Trenton City landfill.' What's the date on this?" She scans down the page and comes across 'The body was discovered April 16.' This was the day before yesterday. This is after Mulder disappeared. How could they be so stupid?"

* * *

Mulder drifts, imagining that he sees people in the shadows, but they're too far away for him to see. Until one steps out towards him and stands over him. Deep Throat.

"I was first struck by the absence of time, having depended on it so completely as a measure of myself and my life. Moving backwards into the perpetual night that consumes purpose and deed, all passion and will. I come to you, old friend, with the dull clarity of the dead not to beckon you but to feel the fire and intensity that still live in you... and the heavy weight of your burdens which I had once borne. There is truth here, old friend, if that's all you seek but there's no justice or judgment without which truth is a vast, dead hollow. Go back. Do not look into the abyss or let the abyss look into you. Awaken the sleep of reason and fight the monsters within and without."

Somehow Mulder sees something. It's some time ago. Aliens run inside the boxcar screaming as canisters of hydrogen cyanide are thrown in. They pound against the walls, desperately trying to find a way out of their damnation as the lid is closed and they are being slowly killed by the gas. One can make out small words.

A hybrid begs. "Help me, please! Let me out! Please, let me out!"

Soon everything fades, the scene and Deep Throat both. He's not alone long, another man steps out to him. Mulder doesn't know him.

"Who are you?" Mulder croaks, his voice weak.

"I'm your great-uncle Saul," the man tells him. All Mulder knows is that he looks like his father would have, if he'd seen a century.

"I didn't know I had family other than my parents."

Saul just gives him a gentle look, and changes the subject. "The lies your father told are a pox and poison to his soul and now you are here because of them. Lies he thought he might bury forever, a truth he could not live with. He confided in me, Fox. He's ashamed of the choices he made so long ago, when you were just a boy. You are the memory, Fox. It lives in you. If you were to die now, the truth will die, because your father is too weak to act, too broken. And only the lies would survive us."

Mulder looks about, frantic. "My sister? Is she here?"

"No. You must find the truth Fox, for both your sakes."

Saul winks out, and Mulder looks back up at the stars.

* * *

Mulder and Scully's Apartment

Baby on lap, Scully distractedly pets Page's thin blond hair. At seven months, the girl no longer looks bald as a cue ball. Tears prickle the corners of her eyes as she thinks about how Mulder said they should teach their daughter to play pool.

"Ummm, mumumum," Page whines fretfully, and not even at her most imaginative can Scully convince herself that the noises are meant to mean "Mama." She picks Page up and puts her on the couch, which she can now perch on unaided, given it's not too long.

"It's ok, baby," Scully calls, going to the freezer. Maggie swears that frozen waffles soothe sore gums, but this is the first time that teething seems to give Page any trouble.

" Here you go." Page snatches the waffle from Scully even before she's back on Scully's lap, and stuffs it into her own mouth with both fists. "That's better. It's too bad your Daddy isn't here right now. An April heat wave in DC? He'd never believe it." She picks up a magazine off the coffee table and fans them both. Page laughs, which sounds odd since the waffle muffles the sound.

Just then there's a knock at the door. Figuring it's Frohike or one of the other gunmen, she calls, "Just a second." Holding the baby, who in turn is holding the waffle with a death grip, she goes to the answer.

To her surprise, it's Skinner at the door. "You said you needed to see me concerning the investigation?"

She blinks. "Yes sir. But I thought that I'd be stopping by the office."

"I was in the neighborhood- " Skinner's voice trails off and his eyes drop to her waist. It's only then that she realizes how revealing the thin white t-shirt she's wearing is. With nothing to disguise her five-months-pregnant belly, she can nearly predict his next words. "Is there something you and Mulder have neglected to tell me?"

His stern voice makes her blush. "I guess it slipped our minds," she answers defiantly.

"When?"

"Late August."

Skinner nods, then dismisses the subject without further comment, which makes her nervous. "Your message said you have something to show me?"

"Yes, sir. I came across a news article. A man's body was found in New Jersey and I have reason to believe that he was killed by the same man responsible for Agent Mulder."

"Can I see it?"

She unfolds the article and hands it to him. " The date of death postdates Agent Mulder's disappearance. Now, you already have the ballistics data from Agent Mulder's father on file. I would like you to run it against the ballistics from this man's case."

"Trying to prove what?" Skinner asks.

"Well, if both men were killed by the same weapon, we could prove that Agent Mulder didn't kill his father and it could also help us find the man who did.

"You've been relieved of your investigative function."

"Yes, I know that, sir. I just thought this might be helpful."

Skinner tears up the article. "I'm afraid not." She stares at him in disbelief and takes back the crumpled and torn article. "This case would have been handled by the Trenton P.D. They're on our drugfire ballistics database. If there was a match in the two slugs, all the bells and whistles would have gone off by now."

"You don't want to check?"

"Agent Scully, I think you underestimate the duties and responsibilities of my position as assistant director."

"I was just trying to cooperate with your investigation, sir."

"To mitigate your situation and then add to your chances of reinstatement, isn't that right? I suppose that's more important now that you're a single mother." He sneers and she wants to slap him.

"No. I just want answers. I love him, you know I need to know what happened."

"And so do I." Scully looks at him, and he looks slightly embarrassed. He hurries to clarify his answer. "I want to know what happened too. I want to know why I was asked to execute a search warrant on your apartment to look for a digital cassette. He the warrant down on the kitchen counter.

"I don't have it," Scully insists.

"Is this tape what Agent Mulder died for?" Skinner barks.

She wants to scream at him that Mulder isn't dead, but she doesn't. "I believe so."

"You want to bring me a smoking gun, Scully? You bring me this tape. Otherwise, I would ask you stay home, sit tight and let us do our job."

She looks wounded. "If you think it's best, sir."

"I do."

Skinner leaves then, leaving Scully to watch him go. Once he's out of sight, she closes the door. "Don't worry, sweetie, Daddy's fine, no matter what the mean man said."

Page's only response is to stuff her fist into her own mouth.

* * *

The Cigarette-Smoking Man walks up to Skinner's car and takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth.

"Did you ask her about the tape?"

"She says she doesn't have it."

"Is that what she says?" He lights the cigarette.

"Yes, that's what she says."

"Well, that's unfortunate for everyone."

* * *

Navajo Reservation

Two Grey Hills, New Mexico

Mulder sits in a congregation of the Navajo. He is still draped in the blanket. Albert walks over and sits down across from him.

"You must be careful now to end the ceremony properly. If you leave, you must not do any work, change clothes or bathe for four days."

"That's really going to cut into my love life." Everyone laughs.

"The boys have a gift for you."

The youngest boy walks up to Mulder and hands him a small pouch. Mulder opens it and pours out sunflower seeds. He smiles.

"You asked for them during your worst fevers."

"During my fever, I... I left here and traveled to a place."

"This place. You carry it with you. It is inside of you. It is the origin place."

"It wasn't a dream?" Mulder asks.

"Yes." Mulder stares at him, perplexed. A man stands and wipes out the design on the board that had been drawn on before. Albert stands. "We are done now."

Everyone else stands and starts to leave, except Mulder, who remains seated as the morning sounds ring in.

* * *

Boston General Hospital

To distract herself, Scully brings Page to see her grandfather in the hospital. Just as she's arriving, she sees Mrs. Mulder leaving Bill's room. It surprises her a little, since she knows they're divorced.

"Mrs. Mulder?"

"Dana, hello." Mrs. Scully musters up a faint smile for Page, but the baby twists away.

"Um... I know what you may have heard from the F.B.I. but I have a very strong feeling that Mulder is going to be found."

"You call him Mulder." She looks as surprised by that as the news that he might be alive.

"Force of habit," Scully explains. "I think he's still alive."

"How do you know?" Mrs. Scully demands to know.

"I just have a very strong feeling." She shrugs. "I don't feel like he's gone."

The Well-Manicured Man walks down the hall towards them.

"I promise I'll let you know as soon as I do," Scully tells her mother-in-law.

"Thank you. Thank you very much." Teena gives her an awkward hug, one that makes her feel bad for Mulder. Did the woman have no idea how to show affection? Teena hurries away.

Scully is about to go to Bill's room, but the Well-Manicured Man is standing there, staring at her.

"Hello. I see you know Bill Mulder. So do I. Do you think we might find a moment to speak?"

"About?" Scully tries to shift Page to a more comfortable position. She and Mulder have talked about getting one of those backpack carriers now that the baby is getting too big for a chest one - or maybe it's Scully who is getting too big- but they haven't bought one yet.

"A very serious matter. Please... can we find someplace quiet?" They start to walk away. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. You think the son is still alive?"

Scully gives him a suspicious look. "Who are you?"

"I'm a member of a kind of consortium. We represent certain global interests."

"What kind of interests?"

"Interests that would be extremely threatened by the digital tape that you are no longer in possession of."

They stop.

"Threatened enough to murder?" she asks, feeling dread.

"Oh my, yes."

"What do you know about my..." she trails off, suddenly wary. " Mulder?"

"That he is dead. Quid pro quo."

"You're lying."

"I'm not here to tell you lies."

"What are you here for?"

"To tell you your life is in danger too." He pauses, giving Page a pointed look. "Yours and hers."

She stares at him, then starts off. "Leave me alone."

"They'll kill you one of two ways."

She turns back and looks at him. He walks back up to her.

"They'll send someone, possibly two men. They'll kill you in your home or in the FBI parking garage with an unregistered weapon which will be left at the scene. Using false documents supplied by associates of mine, they'll be out of the country in less than two hours."

"You said there were two ways."

"Yes. He or she will be someone close to you. Someone you trust. They'll arrange a meeting or come to your house unexpectedly. They might spare the child, they might not. I'm sure her fate won't be pleasant one way or the other. Do you have someplace else you might stay?"

"Why, why kill me?"

"You want something they don't. Justice. And because they are now quite certain you don't have the computer copy of the files they're looking for, just close ties to the one who does."

"Why are you protecting me?" she asks, not sure that he is.

"You daughter reminds me of my grandchildren." When he sees that she doesn't buy it, he goes on. "I feel my colleagues are acting... impulsively and your death will draw unnecessary attention to our group."

"You're not protecting me, you're protecting yourself," she accuses.

"Why should that surprise you? Motives are rarely unselfish."

"What kind of business are you in?"

"We predict the future and the best way to predict the future is to invent it."

Scully stares at him, a look of both disdain and respect on her face.

"Good day, young lady." He walks away.

* * *

Later

Bill Mulder almost chokes on his water when he sees who's at the door this time. "A lot of people came to see me, but I never thought I'd see a ghost," he says, his baggy eyes bugging.

Mulder shifts his feet self-consciously at the doorway, "Well, I used to be dead. Does that count?" He's just so relieved to see his father is alive, he doesn't mind giving the old man a little scare. Well, he figures it's just a little scare compared to the other stuff his dad used to be involved with.

"Come here, Fox," The elder Mulder says, reaching out an arm connected to an IV drip.

Mulder walks over and holds his father's arm reassuringly. "So, aside from a dead man walking, who else stopped by?"

"Your mother, your wife with my granddaughter, too many doctors and nurses." He squeezes Mulder's hand on his arm, "and now my son, who was dead and now is alive again."

"They must give you a lot of meds if you're quoting the Bible, Dad." Mulder half-grins, then his brow furrows. "Mom came by?"

"I was just as surprised seeing her here as I am seeing you here," Bill chuckles, then coughs. After taking a sip from the cup his son hands him, he goes on, "She's a good woman, your mother. She raised you right." He nods, fighting the sleepiness of the sedatives kicking in.

"Dad, you mentioned something about merchandise," Mulder says, seeing the medication taking effect, "what did you mean?"

"Merchandise," Bill repeats, "yes." He starts to reach into a nonexistent pants pocket, and remembers where he is. "I was going to give," he frowns, trying to concentrate and stay awake. "My wallet," He finally says.

"Right here, Dad," Mulder says, picking up the plain-looking black leather wallet from his father's overnight bag. Guess his mom did stop by after all.

"1973," Bill sighs. "The photo."

Mulder pulls out a familiar photo folded up between the dollar bills. "This?"

The elder Mulder nods. "Answers are there," he says, yawning mightily. "Fox."

"Yes?" Mulder asks. Odd how, after all these years, he still wants to please his father somehow, despite what he knows now.

Bill smiles, about to say something, then yawns. "Damn meds." He sighs, his eyes drooping despite his best efforts.

"It's okay, Dad," his son says, pulling up the bed sheets, "get some rest. You need it."

Bill Mulder watches his son leave, wondering if this was all a dream, wondering if he's doing the right thing. But Fox will always do the right thing, he thinks sleepily, he will do what his mother and I never had the guts to. Just like his Uncle Saul. And with that thought, he falls asleep, sleeping the thoughtless sleep of the heavily sedated.

* * *

Washington, D.C.

Scully walks in. Her phone is ringing. She picks it up.

"Hello?"

"Dana? It's your sister."

"Hi Missy."

"Hi, where've you been?"

"Mulder's dad is in the hospital in Boston, Page and I were just visiting him."

"Oh, well, I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't heard from you since Mom told me Fox is missing."

"Missy, something strange happened to me today. I'm... I'm a bit freaked out by it."

"Okay, well, I, I want to come over. I want to talk to you. Are you going to be there for a while?"

"Yeah, yeah, I will."

"I'll see you in a bit." Melissa promises.

* * *

Washington DC

Hertz Rent-A-Car

Glancing at the wall clock in car rental place, while waiting for the keys to his rental, Mulder pulls out his cell phone, hoping it's not too late. He has to get through in time.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Melissa, it's- Fox." He grimaces, remembering her instance on calling him Fox.

"You're home." She sounds very surprised.

"Yeah, just got back this very minute, and I was hoping to catch you. Listen, Scully said you were going to come over. Do you mind waiting until tomorrow? She and I have a little catching up to do..." He lets his voice trail off suggestively.

"Oh, no problem. Thanks for calling before I left."

"You're welcome. I guess we'll see you tomorrow."

And he guesses that she's really going to see another tomorrow now.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Scully hangs up and walks off. The phone rings and Scully walks back over and picks it up.

"Hi."

The person on the other end hangs up. She hangs up and thinks. Scully realizes that her killers wanted to make sure she was in the apartment and frantically calls Melissa. The phone rings.

"Come on, come on, come on..."

The busy signal howls in her ear. Sighing, she hopes to see Missy on the way over, and flag her down.

She hangs up and is about to rush out the door when she thinks of something. Going to her drawer, she pulls out her gun and checks the clip. She pockets it, turns off the lamp and leaves. Outside, a car pulls up, nearly hitting her.

Skinner swings the passenger side door open as Scully looks at him warily. "Scully, get in the car. I need to talk to you, it's very important."

"I was just going over to my sister's."

"I'll drop you by there, right now, I need for you to come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To a place we can talk in private." Scully stares at him, not trusting him. She zippers her purse and gets in the car.

* * *

Mulder spots Skinner's car a long ways off, and realizes he must have already picked up Scully. Since they don't have separate apartments this time around, Mulder can think of only one other place Skinner and Scully might talk. He figures a short cut will save time, given he knows where they're going. He doesn't notice a car entering the parking lot to the apartment complex as he drives off.

* * *

The Basement Office

"After you." Skinner walks in and Scully cocks her gun. Skinner looks back slightly. "Eyes forward. Put your hands where I can see them. Don't turn around or I'll blow your head off." She turns on the lights. "Don't think I won't do it, you son of a bitch."

"No, I believe you. Just stay cool, I'm with you."

"Take two steps forward." They do, allowing Scully to step inside the office. She closes the door. "Now move slowly towards the chairs."

Skinner, hands clearly visible extended at his sides, walks towards a chair. Scully follows him tightly and turns on the lights. She is breathing heavily. Page, not thrilled to be in the baby carrier, whimpers.

"Turn around and sit down on your hands."

He does so very slowly. She throws down her purse and stands across from him. "Are you going to let me tell you why I'm here?" he asks.

"I know why you're here. I want to know who sent you. Whose errand boy you are."

"No one sent me."

She glares at him and sits down in the other chair slowly, gun still aimed. "You got the rest of your life to give me answers. How high does it go, Skinner? Who's pulling the strings?"

"You can kill me, Scully, but you'll only be doing their work for them. Forget about your job and family. You'll spend the rest of your life behind bars, there isn't a federal judge that they couldn't persuade."

"What's the alternative? Let you kill me and Page now?"

"I didn't come here to kill either of you. I came here to give you something. I've got the digital tape."

"You're lying."

"I've got it in my pocket. I took it out of Mulder's desk."

Scully hears footsteps approaching and turns to see a shadow covering the light shining under the door. Skinner looks back at her and pulls out his gun. She looks back at him quickly and they both have their guns fixed on one another. Neither member of the stand-off is willing to flinch. They stand up.


	24. Paperclip

"Drop your weapon! Put it down, Scully!" Skinner demands.

"No way."

"I said put it down!"

"I said no! You're setting me up!" Scully shouts. Page begins to cry.

"I'm trying to help you."

"Then put your weapon down and sit down."

"Not a chance."

"You said you weren't here to kill me, Skinner, now prove it."

"I didn't come here to have a gun shoved in my face by a pregnant woman either."

"Damn it, Skinner!"

Mulder kicks the door open and aims his gun at Skinner. Skinner is shocked, Scully is even more so. Skinner points his gun at Mulder.

"Drop your weapon! I said-" Mulder warns Skinner.

"Back off!"

"I said put it down!"

"What the hell is this? What are you pulling here?"

"You okay, Scully?"

"Yeah. We're both fine."

"Get his gun." She reaches out for his gun. "Give her the gun. Give it to her!"

"All right." Faced with no other choice, Skinner hands her the gun. Mulder lowers his weapon.

"Now, I want an explanation."

Scully keeps her own gun trained on Skinner. "I was warned that somebody would kill me...someone I trusted."

"I'm going to reach into my coat pocket and end this charade...all right?" Mulder nods. Skinner pulls out the DAT tape. "I assume you both know what this is? Now, I want an explanation."

"Your cigarette-smoking friend tried to kill my father for that tape, and then he killed me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was a dead man. Now, I'm back."

"What is on this tape?" Skinner asked, ignoring Mulder's nonsensical response.

"Defense department files that weren't supposed to exist. The truth about our government's involvement in a global conspiracy of silence about the existence of extraterrestrial life."

Scully reaches out for the tape. "Give me the tape."

"Uh-uh, this tape stays with me."

Mulder cocks his gun and aims it. "Give her the tape."

"If what you say is true, the information on this tape is valuable enough to kill for. Then it's the only leverage we've got to bring these men to justice. It's not going to do us any good if it falls back into their hands!"

"Then you better make sure it doesn't." Mulder uncocks his gun and lowers it. "Come on, Scully, let's go."

"Where?"

"There are truths out there that aren't on that tape."

He walks out. She glares at Skinner, then puts his gun on the desk and walks out. Skinner looks at the tape and puts it in his pocket. Down the hall, Mulder presses the down button for the elevator and looks at Scully, who walks up to him. She stares at him for a second, then looks down, smiling.

"Mulder, I am..."

"Scully, whatever you're going to say..." His arm goes around her waist reflexively.

"I saw your mom at the hospital. I told your mother that you were going to be okay."

"How did you know?"

The elevator dings. "I just knew." The door opens and Scully walks past him into the elevator. He follows and presses a button. The door closes.

* * *

The Lone Gunmen's Office

Washington, D.C.

Byers is making a CD catch light, spilling rainbows for Page's amusement. She gurgles happily. Langly, Scully and Mulder are all looking at the consortium photograph under a magnifying glass. From left to right, the men lined up are the Cigarette-Smoking Man, William Mulder, Victor Klemper, the 1st Elder, Deep Throat, the 3rd Elder, the 2nd Elder and the Well-Manicured Man.

"That's my father on the left there."

"This was taken when?" Byers asks, glancing over at the photo.

"About 1973."

"Amazing. Langly, take a look." Byers walks around Mulder as Langly walks over to the magnifying glass.

"Do you recognize any of these men?"

"Are you familiar with a post-World War II project known as Operation Paper Clip?"

"Our deal with the devil. The U.S. government provided safe haven for certain Nazi war criminals in exchange for their scientific knowledge."

Langly points out Klemper. "I know who this man is. Victor Klemper."

Mulder looks through the magnifying glass.

"The man standing next to your father is one of those criminals, though not the most famous of the bunch. Wernher von Braun, designer of the V-2 rockets that leveled London, may be the most notorious, but Victor Klemper certainly takes the prize for the most...evil Nazi to escape the Nuremburg trials," Byers explains.

"What did he do?"

"He experimented on the Jews...drowned them, suffocated them, put them in pressure chambers. All in the name of science," Langly says.

"Together with Von Braun, Klemper helped us win the space race. Using his scientific data on the effects of high-altitude flying, we were able to put astronauts on the moon before the Soviets."

Langly sounds sardonic. "One giant step for mankind."

"What would he be doing in a photo with your father?" Scully asks Mulder.

"I don't know. Do you guys recognize anybody else in the photograph?"

Langly shakes his head.

"No. Operation Paper Clip was supposed to have been scrapped in the 1950s but if this is 1973..." Byers trails off.

"Whatever happened to Klemper?" Scully asks.

"He's still here, living very well at the expense of the American taxpayer."

The door opens and they turn to see Frohike, who stands in the doorway and looks at Mulder. "Unbelievable! We thought you were history." They hug.

"You're going to have to wait a little longer for my video collection, Frohike." He jokes before noticing the expression on his wife's face. "What?" She just shakes her head.

* * *

Rural West Virginia

The Next Day

Mulder and Scully walk down a long cavern, shining their flashlights as they go.

"Mulder, look at this." On the walls, she can make out various file cabinets. "It looks like they're storing records."

"Of what?"

Scully pulls open a drawer and looks at the various folders. "Of medical files, by the look of it. Got names...alphabetized."

Mulder goes to a switch in the wall and flips it. The hallway lights up, revealing thousands upon thousands of file cabinets lined up, ceiling to floor. "Lots of files."

"Lots and lots of files," she agrees.

He runs back over to her. "What's in these files?"

"Standard medical forms. These are birth certificates, small pox vaccination certificate and then there's this." She points to a small container in a bag that is marked "Sterile, do not tamper." He looks at it.

"What is this?"

"It's an old tissue collection cassette, the new ones are plastic."

"Do all these files contain the same materials?"

"Yes, exactly." She puts the file back.

"What year was this person born?"

"1955. All of these files are 1955."

"Let's go find 1964." They run down the hallway and find 1964. Mulder pulls the drawer open. "You're looking for a file on me?"

He finds it and pulls it out. "Dana Katherine Scully."

"What?" Scully runs her fingers down the bag with the tissue collection box. The vaccination sheet on her reads: "SMALL POX VACC. No. 29510 Int. Scully, Dana Katherine 3170 W. 53 Road Indianapolis, Maryland."

He almost cries tears of relief when he sees that it's just one of the old-style samples. It'd be nice to check Krycek's file to see if his is one of the newer samples, but he doesn't know Krycek's real birth date, just the several approximations he found in the man's paperwork when he looked up his address.

He puts it back and runs down the hallway to another drawer. He pulls it open and pulls out another file.

"That's your sister's file," Scully notes.

"Yeah." He scans down the page.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know."

He looks at the file name, which reads: "SUBJECT NAME: MULDER, Samantha Ann BIRTH DATE: 11/21/65 ID 378671"

"Take a look at this, Scully."

He pulls it back to reveal another sticker which reads: "SUBJECT NAME: MULDER, Fox William BIRTH DATE: 10/13/61 ID 292544"

"This file was originally mine."

"I don't understand."

He does, though. His mother must have picked him, and his father vetoed the decision at the last minute. Or maybe the other way around.

The lights turn off and a loud rumbling emanates from outside. Mulder turns on his flashlight. "Wait here, Scully."

"Mulder, where are you going?" Mulder starts off, running quickly past the file cabinets. He opens the door to the main room and a bright light shines through the bottom windows.

"Mulder?"

She continues to search the area. A hissing sound comes from behind her. "Mulder!"

Suddenly, a number of small alien-shaped organisms run past Scully. The flashlight swings around wildly, the light catching small parts of the alien hybrids. Scully drops her flashlight. She picks it up and starts after them. The light through the windows in front of Mulder rises up to the higher windows as he stands in awe. It keeps gaining height until it is directly in front of Mulder. He runs up the stairs and outside to see a large unidentified flying object moving over him. The light is intense, almost blinding, but Mulder's eyes do not move from the spaceship. It disappears over a ridge.

Scully continues down the hallway until she comes to a mining cart rail. At the end of the tunnel, the bright light from the UFO shines through. She sees a small hybrid-shaped silhouette standing at the end of the tunnel. The silhouette grows larger and taller as the light grows stronger. The silhouette is incredibly defined and looks human before the light disappears. A number of black fleet sedans pull up and Mulder spins around to look at them. He quickly runs back inside as men file out of the cars, cocking shotguns.

Men shout. "Come on, let's go!"

The men run inside as Mulder runs down stairs. They see each other at the same time and Mulder begins running down the catwalk.

"There!"

Sparks fly off of the metal bars behind Mulder as they fire at him. The bullets ricochet off as Mulder runs down more stairs and keeps going. The men stop firing as Mulder is gone from their field of vision. A few run off in that direction.

"Find the woman too."

Mulder speeds across the catwalk and down more stairs. A man fires at him and he crouches on the steps to avoid the fire. He then jumps over the railing and falls to the ground. Grunting, he obtains cover by hiding behind a box. He makes a break for the door and runs inside as gunfire rattles off behind him. He slams the door shut and the red keypad flashes back on. The men run over and one of them enters the access code. The lights turn green and they fling open the door. Mulder shines his flashlight down the dark tunnel. His voice echoes.

"Scully!"

"Mulder!"

He follows the sound of her voice. "Scully!"

The hit squad is gaining on him but begins to get lost in the system of tunnels.

"Mulder, I'm down here!" She shines her flashlight around wildly and Mulder heads towards it. They meet each other halfway.

"You okay, Scully?"

"I heard gunshots."

"I've been looking for you."

"What happened to you?"

"They got a small army outside. I think they got us trapped."

"I think there's a way out, down here."

They run in the direction Scully was coming from. Running past more filing cabinets, they find a back door and Mulder slams the door behind them as they run off.

* * *

Route 320a

Craiger, Maryland

Morning. Skinner pulls up to a local diner and walks in, putting his keys in his pocket. The room is bright and relatively quiet. He sits down at a table against the wall where Mulder and Scully are seated. The two agents have food in front of them.

"This place isn't even on the map. How'd you get here?" Skinner asks.

"You'd be surprised what's not on the map in this country and what our government will do to keep it that way."

"How's that?"

"Last night, we were chased by some kind of hit squad driving what looked an awful lot like C.I.A. fleet sedans."

Skinner stays silent for a few seconds. "Well, I may be able to negotiate a deal that would guarantee your safety."

"What kind of deal?"

"I'll turn over the digital tape in return for your reinstatement..."

"No, sir. I need that tape. I need those files." Mulder shakes his head as he speaks.

"I'm talking about a way to save your lives," Skinner insists.

"And I'm talking about an elaborate conspiracy against the American public. Do you know what we found last night?"

"What?"

"An extremely elaborate filing system of medical records," Scully says.

"Locked inside a mountainside vault," Mulder adds.

"For the purpose of?"

"I don't know. But the answer's got to be on that tape, in those files."

"Is that answer worth your lives?" Skinner asks.

"It's obviously worth killing us for."

"In your wildest dreams, what do you possibly hope to find, Agent Mulder?"

"Why they shot my father...and what happened to my sister..."

"I think we should let him make the deal, Mulder." He looks at her in shock. "Look...those answers mean nothing if we're going to be hunted down like animals. We are operating so far outside of the law right now, we've given up on the very notion of justice. We've turned ourselves into outsiders. We have lost our access and our protection, probably putting Page in danger in the process."

"What makes you think there's any such thing as justice, Scully?"

"Then what good are those answers to anybody but you, Mulder?"

"What we found last night..."

"Look, I want exactly what you want. But I need to go to our baby. "

They stare at each other for a few seconds until Scully looks away. Mulder looks at Skinner.

"I suppose you already tried to make a backup of the tape," Mulder asks Skinner.

"Whoever downloaded those files put a copy protector on them. I couldn't get a hard copy to print either."

"What makes you think they'll even honor this deal?"

"Because, if they don't...I'll go state's evidence and testify...or they'll have to kill me too."

Mulder looks back at Scully and stares at her for a second. "It's up to you, Scully."

He gets up and leaves. A short time later, Scully and Skinner walk out. Mulder is standing near the doorway and Scully goes to him. Skinner gets in his car.

"I told Skinner to make the deal. But not to hand over the tape until you agree to it."

In the end, he has no choice call Skinner and agree to let him make the deal. It might be worth his life, but not his family's.

* * *

Three Hours Later

At the open-air part of the restaurant, the handsome young man sighs, listening to the smoking man on the other end of the cell phone verbally tear a new hole in his ass. Most times, he would take it personally, especially since the old man practically said he messed up on purpose. Yeah, right. Krycek never makes mistakes on purpose, but neither will he admit to making a mistake, period. And hasn't he suffered enough, being abducted by that nutcase Barry and then being alien-probed? Jeez. So he lets the old man rant and rave, then hangs up when the other man slams down the phone.

He really should be more worried about his job security, except there's a woman with lipstick-red hair in a demure but dramatic black dress. It seems she's intently studying the people around her, as if she's an actress or a psychologist, or perhaps an author. Every so often, he watches her mouth turn up in a smile, and it isn't long before he realizes he wants her to smile like that at him. Since confidence isn't a problem with him, he approaches her.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks, smiling when she looks up at him.

She smiles back, and he's pleased that, with all the things the aliens have taken from him, his pretty looks aren't one of those. "No," she says, waving her red fingernails at him. Then she frowns slightly. "Do I know you?"

Krycek shakes his head. "I was about to ask you the same thing. I know, bad pickup line," he says, self-deprecatingly. But there is something strangely familiar about her, not that he'll let that get in the way of a good lay.

"No, it's not that, at least, not this time," The red-haired woman says. "It's like déjà vu." She pauses, and leans back, the light catching the crystal on her black choker. "Just so we know for sure, I'm Melissa," she says, putting out her hand.

Krycek takes it, but rather than shaking it, he kisses it. "Alex," he says above her hand.

She laughs, but doesn't look displeased by his actions. "Okay, now I *know* we haven't met before. But you do seem familiar somehow."A half-smile lingers on her lips as she muses.

He smiles back. "Then we should get to know each other all over again, Melissa," he says, "are you free today?" Of course, he fully intends on lying through his pearly whites about everything.

She nods. "You've got a very restless aura, Alex, are you sure you're free?" she asks, like this is a game to her, nothing serious. Or maybe she really is into all that New Age junk.

Do I know how to pick 'em or what, he thinks, as he smiles and leans back. "I've heard I've got some Romany blood," He lies easily. "What about you?"

She pauses, as if actually measuring his words against his aura, or something like that. "I come from wanderers, too, although nothing as glamorous as gypsies," she says, her hands folding over her arms very like a gypsy herself.

Yes, it's very clear to both that they consider each other a mutual diversion, something to while away the time pleasantly, nothing more. Surely, today is a good day to be young and alive, with no thought to the future or to worldwide conspiracies that involve certain FBI agents. Too bad a certain Nicaraguan soldier-for-hire is taking pictures of the would-be harmless chance meeting.

* * *

The Following Day

When Mulder and Scully get home, their jaws drop in shock. The place looks like it's been hit by a cyclone. There is clothing and paper strewn everywhere, and even Page's things have been pawed though.

"Oh God..." Scully moans. "They must have broken in looking for that tape."

Mulder nods, but he's not so sure. Maybe the mess is the result of a murderous impulse thwarted.

Page is looking around wide-eyed, obviously fascinated by the wreckage. Mulder wishes he could be fascinated too. Instead he's merely horrified.

"Scully...I think we better start looking for a new place to live. Soon."

"It's just a mess, we can clean it up," She insists.

He shakes his head. "Maybe it's a warning."

* * *

With a still healing gunshot wound and Scully's new and awkward center of gravity, Mulder doesn't think that they're up to the task of righting the apartment, so he calls in the Merry Maids and takes his wife and daughter out to lunch.

Scully, however, obsesses over that decision. "What are they going to think?" she frets over lunch.

Curbing the impulse to ask her why she cares what complete strangers think, he shrugs. "That we invited Ted Nugent to stay the weekend?"

"I'm being serious." Scully frowns at him.

"They'll think that we've got a baby, you're pregnant, and I'm hurt-" He taps on the bandages on his shoulder. "- and that we need some help with the housework. They deal with messes every day, I don't think they'll spend much time pondering how ours happened."

"Maybe..."

"C'mon, Scully, do you think your average Merry Maids employee is as suspicious of people as I am?" he teases.

"Okay, you've got a point."

Mulder is not sure he should be pleased by this victory.


	25. Home Sweet Haunted Home

Second week of May 1995

When Scully gets up one Saturday morning, the house is blissfully quiet. It worries her a little, since her muzzy mind panics that Page hasn't woken her up for a feeding, until she remembers that Page is oh-so-recently weaned, so Mulder can feed her just as well as she can. The realization of that gives her a pang of regret, but it had to be done before the new baby arrives.

She finds Mulder and Page in the kitchen. Page is amusing herself by picking up her rice cereal with her fat little hands and using it to paint the tray of her high chair. This goes unnoticed by Mulder, who is intent on something he's reading.

Sighing, she grabs a wash cloth and begins to clean Page's hands, must to her daughter's squealing protest. "Um, Mulder? What are you reading? Must be very engrossing for you not to have noticed the mess here."

He gives her a sheepish grin, and wordlessly offers to finish the clean up. Once she's busy pouring herself juice, he tells her what's going on. "My Great-uncle Saul recently died."

"I didn't know you had an Uncle Saul," she remarks, taking a seat at the table.

"You are going to eat something, aren't you?" he asks pointedly, and she shoots him a dirty look. "I didn't know I had an Uncle Saul either. But apparently he knew about me because he remembered me in his will." He decides not to tell her about having spoken to the man while caught between life and death.

"Remembered you how well?"

He gets up to make her toast. "Quite well. According to that paperwork there." He points with his chin. "I've inherited a house, and some money for its upkeep, a real nice upkeep in fact."

"Really?" She looks interested. "Where's the house?"

"Right here in DC, actually. I'm not familiar with the street, though. There is, however, a catch."

"Of course."

"If we want the house, we have to live there for five years before selling it. And if we don't, it'll be sold and the proceeds donated to charity. Along with the money he left for its upkeep."

Scully nods thoughtfully. "I wonder why he'd think we wouldn't keep it."

Mulder wonders that too, he's nearly as curious about that as about where this mystery uncle came from. He must have always had an unknown great-uncle, but did Bill Mulder not dying prompt the inclusion in the will? Bill couldn't have been close to his uncle if he'd never mentioned him, but then Saul seemed to know Bill's secrets...

"Maybe he's one of those old cynics who think that young people aren't likely to appreciate their desire to keep a home in the family, and this clause is to prevent someone from just selling it for quick cash."

"I don't see why someone would. Unless they already had a house they liked better. Unlike us." The expression on her face suggests that she recalls the state of their apartment after that incident the month before.

"You do want to check it out, then?" he asks, keeping his voice light.

"You bet your ass."

Mulder widens his eyes in mock horror and makes a show of covering Page's ears. "Language, Scully!"

"Bite me."

He gives her a leer. "Maybe later."

* * *

Two Days Later

"Are you sure this is it?" Scully asks, peering out the passenger side window. She'd offered to drive, but he knew that the steering wheel dug into her these days, so he did the gentlemanly thing and never asked who was going to drive. Usually, she didn't seem to mind his presumptuousness.

"That number there." He points to the wrought-iron numerals nailed to the door. "Match the ones in the paperwork the lawyer gave me. Why, do you hate it? And where is the lawyer, anyway? He's the one with the key."

"No, it's not that I don't like it, Mulder, it's just...wow. I never expected to find a house like this in Washington DC." She looks around at the other houses on the street. "This is like the neighborhood time forgot."

Following her glance, Mulder is inclined to agree. The houses on each side of the street are huge relics of another time. When the old buildings were torn down all in cities all over the country to make way for cheap apartments, this street escaped the wrecking ball's notice.

"I think it's kind of nice," he ventures. "It looks like it could use some fixing up, but the money Saul left me could make over the house top to bottom six times, with enough left over for a couple dozen college educations."

The house does look like it could use some TLC, he admits to himself. It could use new paint, a new porch, and some landscaping. He only hopes that it looks no worse on the inside than the out.

Before Scully can reply, another car pulls into the driveway. The lawyer beats them to the front door because he isn't hindered by pregnancy, or the need to remove a protesting infant from her car seat.

Page is still saying her first and favorite out-loud word, "no", when Scully and Mulder join the lawyer on the porch.

"What a cutie!" The lawyer, one Roger Lavine III, crows and Page scowls at him over Mulder's arm. "How old is she?"

"She'll be one at the end of September," Mulder tells him.

"That's great. My grandkids are two and four which is fun too, but you miss the baby stage."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Scully says dryly as Page's soon-to-be brother or sister gives a fierce kick that makes her wince.

"This is exciting, isn't it?" The lawyer asks as he pushes the door open. All the curtains are drawn, so it's hard to see much as they step into the entryway. The lawyer gropes for a light switch, and sudden illumination fills the room.

"Wow." Mulder can't believe the size of the house. The living room they're now standing in is half the size of their entire apartment.

The lawyer consults a folder he's holding. "Ok, the specs here say four bathrooms, ten bedrooms, two offices, full kitchen- whatever that means- living room, entry room - I guess this is that- a playroom and a library. I bet you won't be filling up a house like this any time soon." He glances at Scully. "Well, probably not, anyway."

Scully does not look amused.

"Did my great-uncle have a big family?" Mulder wonders aloud. ::And if he did, why leave this to me instead of one of his kids?::

"Your great-uncle never married or had any children. Apparently your father spent a fair amount of time with him as a boy, but he didn't have other family besides your grandparents."

"I wonder why had such a big house, then," Scully remarks.

The lawyer shrugs. "For some people a big house is a symbol of status, something they felt they must have whether they truly needed the space or not."

"I guess it doesn't really matter," Mulder murmurs.

Scully and the Lawyer continue to talk about the house's aspects, but Mulder only half-hears them. Page is waving to...nothing. He thinks she really sees something, since he's never known his daughter to display much imagination yet, and she's far too young for an imaginary friend, yet. But what could she be waving at?

"Mulder?"

"Wha?"

"Mister Lavine asked if we'd like a tour of the house."

"Oh, sure."

The house isn't so bad on the inside either, though all the sheets covering the furniture remind him uncomfortably of the movie "The Others," which he can't say anything about given it's 1995 and the movie doesn't come out until 2001.

Thinking about Page's mysterious waving, he wonders if perhaps the shrouded objects aren't the only thing that the house has in common with the movie. He finds the idea sort of exciting, so he's buoyant as they wander through the house.

"So, Scully, what do you think of the house?" he asks, as they stand in the middle of a room that the lawyer has just said would be a great nursery.

* * *

"I think it's great, when do we moved in?" she says, giving the place a hungry glance.

"You really like it? You're not just saying that?"

"It's free and it's in DC, what more could we want? At this point I'd move into a house that had to share bathroom with the neighbors across the street," she says looking at least half-serious.

Mulder wonders if he should share his theory about the house possibly being haunted. He decides against it. Page could just the looking at anything, who knows what goes on in very young minds? He certainly didn't.

Besides, a few ghosts are a small price to pay to have their own home. The syndicate would never think of looking for them here. Fox Mulder, in suburbia? It's to laugh.

"You know Mulder, the lawyers right. This room would make a nice nursery. New paint, new furniture, and it will be great. You did mention having money to remodel right?"

Mulder grins at her, knowing her it will still be a few months before they move into their new home. Although, he's not sure that it's wise to let pregnant woman be in charge remodeling their home. Hopefully, she will still like her choices after the baby is born.

The scoops page up off the floor, from where she been playing quietly while her parents talked. "What do you think, Kiddo? Are you gonna like your new room?" Page doesn't say anything, instead she grabs his hair. He takes that has being a affirmative. "Boy, you sure are easier to please than your Mommy."

Scully just glares at him. ::whoops::

* * *

Last week of July 1995

He is right. It takes almost two months of remodeling before Scully declares the house livable. All of Saul's interesting belongings have been banished to the attic. He supposes that this is for the best, but the little boy in him wishes he had time to go through all of it in see if there any treasures.

Alas, three-fourths of their boxes are still packed when the next big case springs up to take over their life. Or, his life more accurately, given that Scully is on maternity leave. Although, taking care of Page doesn't seem like much of a break. Of course, she's not really taking much of a break. Every time he comes home with a new case she wants to know all about it. Hoping to avoid repeat of Page's birth, he tries to subtly convince her to stay at home as much as possible, preferably with Maggie around.

This is slightly easier than the tasks assigned to Hercules.

Fortunately, however, he is able to convince her that they ought to go with professional movers. Actually, it might have been the way he framed "shall we get movers, or see if your brother Bill Jr. can help us move?" either way, she was quick to say movers were a great idea. At the moment it's mainly their job to stay out from underfoot while the big burly men tote boxes and furniture.

Still, Scully quickly, and rather ungainly though he would never say that, rushes upstairs to show the movers where the master bedroom, Page's bedroom, and the nursery are. Although, Page's room is more or less a nursery too.

* * *

It's a good day for Mulder, which means, for him, he gets to go home early. Which is weird, because he used to dread going home back when he was single and childless. But then again, he never used to come home to Scully. Or Page. Or that house he inherited from his late great-uncle Saul. Yeah, just thinking about exploring all those rooms puts a smile on his face. Not to mention the equipment he's hauling, courtesy of the Lone Gunmen, that's going to help him explore.

Page gurgles as he sweeps her off the floor. "Have you been overworking your Mommy again?" he asks, mock sternly. His baby girl merely grins and flails her arms happily. "I'll take that as a yes."

Now that he knows Scully's out for the count, it'll make sneaking in ghost-hunting equipment easier. He hopes. With Page in his arms, he has to make twice the trips down and up the stairs. "Okay," he tells his daughter, "Daddy's gonna track some ghosts. So be very, very quiet."

She gives him a look like he's nuts, and he grimaces. "You've been spending way too much time with Mommy. Look," he says, as if reasoning with Scully, "you and I have both seen some pretty unusual things around the house lately. Shadows where there shouldn't be, furniture moved around, figures walking just out of the corner of your eye - and I *know* you've been talking to some invisible playpals." He grins at her. "Don't play innocent with me, Page, Daddy sees all."

She snorts, not unlike her mom, and he sighs. "Fine," he huffs, "don't believe me. But once we get the thermal imaging cams, motion detectors, thermometers, and enhanced audio systems set up, this is gonna be a very cherry setup for ghost detecting. And your daddy's gonna have proof for your very skeptical Mommy, right?" He bounces her against his shoulder, her head facing behind him.

She giggles, and he grins. He doesn't see the object of his technological surveillance standing right behind him.

* * *

"Mulder, what are you doing?" A groggy voice interrupts his sleep.

He looks up, sees he's still in Page's room, and glances at his watch. Two hours he's been asleep, but five since his unofficial ghost-hunting started. "Scully," he says, sitting up. "I was just..." He pauses, and finds Page asleep in his arms, "getting her to sleep."

His wife folds her arms over her impressive stomach. "That's what she has a crib for," she says reasonably. Then she looks around the room. "What's all this for?" There's no mistaking all the equipment in the child's room that isn't for educational fun, and Mulder groans inwardly.

"All what?" Mulder tries for an innocent look, but fails under the withering glare from the redhead. "Um, security system. Can't be too careful, you know."

Scully gives him another look. " Mulder," she says in a warning tone.

He sighs. "I was ghost-hunting," he mumbles.

"What?" Both eyebrows have shot up. Is this a good sign or a bad one?

"Ghost-hunting," he says, clearer but still in a low voice, so as not to wake up Page. Or so he tells himself. "Haven't you noticed anything unusual about this house?"

"Mul-der!" Scully draws out both syllables in frustration, waking her daughter. "Dammit."

He raises his hands in protesting his innocence, then returns them to hold his daughter, patting her on the back. "Hey, she was doing fine," he says, "this equipment is non-invasive."

Scully tilts her head to the side, her arms still crossed. Ooh, definitely not a good sign. "Mulder, you have fifteen minutes to drag this, these things out of this house! Our house is not haunted!"

Just then, the lights flicker and die out. "You were saying?" He drawls over Page's fresh round of crying.

"Just get to the circuit breaker and turn the lights back on," she mutters, taking Page from him. "This is probably just a localized blackout."

"Very localized," Mulder notes as he heads out the room, flashlight in hand, "We're the only ones on the block without power."

He's pretty sure the flying teddy bear that hit his head was from a non-supernatural entity, rather than evidence of poltergeist activity, but he won't argue that point right now.

* * *

"See, lights are on, nothing paranormal about it," Scully says once he returns.

"I didn't do anything," Mulder protests, "The lights came on before I even got to the circuit breaker."

The corners of her mouth twist up. "So what are you saying, that ghosts are playing with the lights?"

He shrugs a little. "Well, yeah."

She sighs heavily, shifting her daughter from one shoulder to the other. "You need to get some sleep. And maybe get a therapist. Everything is fine, Mulder."

"Fine. Sure," he says, as she walks out of the room with their sleeping daughter, "mind if I ghost-proof our house?"

Scully stops, turns around, and looks like she's composing herself. "If you're going to be hanging chicken feet in doorways, you're sleeping on the couch."

"No, no, nothing like that," Mulder says quickly, thinking, ::Damn, there goes the gris-gris:: "just making sure nobody gets hurt. For Page's sake. And yours." He grins hopefully.

She looks at him, then says, in a tone that clearly says she's just humoring him, "Okay, all right. Do whatever you have to. But if Page or I get hurt," she threatens, her jaw setting.

He holds his hands up. Is it him, or does she get scarier when she's pregnant? Maybe he'll ask Skinner if he's noticed. "I get it," he says, placating her, "really, don't worry. You won't even notice it." Not that you've noticed the ghosts, silently he argues, but I'll get incontrovertible proof. And then you can't deny what's right under your nose. He watches as she waddles out of the room and down the hall, grinning a little as if he didn't care about the death threat she's handed him.

Once she closes the door of their bedroom, he exhales. Then he looks around the empty room. "Okay, I know you're out there," he says to nothing in particular, squinting like a cowboy in a spaghetti western, "you're gonna get recorded sooner or later, and when you do, I'll be there." He sweeps the room again, then sighs, and picks up one of the thermal cams. "Just make sure you hang around these hidden cameras, okay?"

* * *

"Ah-ha!" Mulder says, dancing around their bedroom.

"Mulder, what is it?" Scully says, wiping the sleep boogers from her eyes. It was the first time in as many as five hours that her bladder didn't wake her up, and she's glaring at the interruption.

"Proof, Scully, I got proof!" he says, his large nose very much in her face. The grin on his face takes up the rest of the space. "Oh, how they laughed! Oh, how they scoffed! Yes, they mocked! And they doubted! But I got it, Scully!"

"Mulder," She sits up, more awake and less forgiving, "What the hell are you

talking about?"

He leans into what's left of his wife's personal space. In a low voice, he says, "We are not alone."

She gives up being reasonable. "Duh. We've got Page, and another one on the way."

"No!" He cries, grabbing hold of her shoulders in his enthusiasm. "We've got ghosts!"

"What?" Scully blinks her large blue eyes at him, not in a ditzy way, but disbelieving. "I'm sorry, did you say we've got guests?"

He practically bounces on the bed like a kid at Christmas, jolting her at the same time, since he's still holding her shoulders. "Of the incorporeal type, yeah. Look!"

Before she can retort, he clicks the VCR remote and the TV displays the interior of Page's room in a grainy black and fluorescent green. Scully glares at her husband as she remembers her threat for him to toss out the silly equipment, and as the words come to her mouth, something appears onscreen. It's child-sized, but bigger than Page, and certainly smaller than either Mulder or herself. "Mulder," she says, "what did I say about the Gunmen pranking us?" Another child-sized figure joins it, and it looks like they're playing ring-around-the-rosy.

"Honest, Scully, we were the only ones home," he protests on behalf of his dubious friends, "besides, I don't think Frohike's the type to wear a dress, even if it was a prank."

"I don't know about that," she mutters, but her eyes are glued to the screen as various objects float around the room. "I'm checking for wires." She shakes off his hands and gets out of bed.

"There aren't any," he says to her back, " and the equipment hasn't been tampered with."

She gives him a "yeah, right" look over her shoulder before staggering out the door. In the meantime, Mulder's amusing himself before Page wakes up by replaying the floating objects section over and over again.

* * *

That evening, dinner is somewhat strained. Scully looks suspiciously at the food Mulder made before eating it, and even then, doesn't say anything to her husband. Even Page notices the tension and is unnaturally quiet. Finally, Mulder sighs. "I'm sorry," he says, trying to put some contrition into his voice, despite his usual nature of crowing over things. "I just thought you'd be happy."

Ooh, wrong move. Immediately, the redhead's blue eyes snap with something dangerously similar to lightning. "What made you think proving this house was haunted would make me happy?" Scully says, her voice dangerously even.

"Uh," he says, wondering where all his smooth words went. "Um."

"Exactly," she says, "you didn't think. I was honestly enjoying this place, Mulder, before it got stuck in one of your X-Files. I liked the fact that it was roomy," she says, trying to make him understand with simple words, "I liked that it was pretty much free, that there was no excessive mortgage, or down payment that would include our firstborn. I liked the fact that we would be close to work, and have a nice home without sacrificing for it. I liked having our cake and eating it. And now you've proven that our cake is full of ghosts, Mulder!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he mumbles.

She sighs. "I just thought having a normal home would be a nice contrast, but I guess that would be too much to ask for. You want an Addams Family house as well as aliens at work." Her expression is worse than angry, it's disappointed, and now he wonders if marrying a Catholic, even a lapsed Catholic, is a good idea for a lapsed Jew.

"I'm really, really sorry, Scully," he says, meaning it. He walks over and kneels beside her. "I'll try to get rid of them as soon as I can."

She looks at him, and something like a smile tugs at her mouth. "We were doing just fine before you got them on tape," she says, "and they haven't hurt us or scared Page. I say we leave them alone." He blinks, and she giggles. "Besides, you could always sell your tape to that Fox network or something."

He smiles back. "Always knew you were my one in five billion," he says, relieved.

"I'd say one in five googleplex," she retorts. "Five billion's too easy."

Page takes that as her cue to start tossing food around. Mulder looks at his wife. "Well, better Page throwing things around than poltergeists, right?"

Her smile is indulgent, but her eyes are mischievous. "Either way, you'll have to deal with the mess."

Ouch, he thinks, going over to coach Page's food into her mouth, rather than the floor or his face. He's thankful that it's blown over for now, but he doubts that, in a bona fide haunted house, the ghosts are willing to live and let live. Or something like that.


	26. Oubliette

August 10th, 1995

He doesn't want to get out of bed. Instead, he'd like to spoon with Scully all day, and skip the case he'd been assigned just now over the phone. Scully, however, ruins the moment by struggling away from him. "It's too hot, Mulder. We're too sticky for skin to skin."

Instead of pointing out that he's in boxers and she has a short night gown on, he throws himself out of bed. Leaning down, he plants a kiss on her forehead. "Take it easy, huh? It's hot-"

"-and I'm huge." Her right hand flops gently onto her belly.

"-and that saps everyone of energy. If Page wears you out, call Missy to come take her off your hands."

"I don't even know where Missy is," Scully replies sleepily. " She said she was going away for a few days."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Barely. It's almost as though Missy knows that she's living on borrowed time, since she's been living it up since she got back from wherever she'd been on the West Coast. "Your mom, then."

She nods then says, "I want you to keep me informed about the case."

"Why?"

"Just because I'm home doesn't mean I can't provide some insight."

"Okay, yeah."

"Mulder, I mean it. If you don't, I'll call you every twenty minutes until you come home."

:: Maybe I wouldn't come home then.:: he thinks petulantly. "All right!"

"Good," she says, closing her eyes.

Mulder walks down the hall, and stops two doors down. Page is lying on her back, wide-awake but playing quietly in her crib. " Hey kid, take it easy on your mom, huh?"

She doesn't say anything, she just grabs his dangling tie instead and gives it a yank.

"Gak! Guess it serves me right for wearing a noose to work." He trades her a stuffed bunny for his tie and goes on his grumpy way. He really hates this case. So much so that a small part of him wishes that even Krycek or Spender was around so he didn't have to work on it alone.

* * *

Trying to follow orders, Mulder calls the house, but only gets the answering machine. ::Great, now she'll think I'm "ditching" her. I can't win.::

His phone rings just after he leaves the crime scene, and it strikes him as eerie, since it's just about the same time they'd had a face to face conversation the last time they dealt with the case. "Mulder."

"Your message said something about a kidnapping?"

"Yeah, 15-year-old girl, Amy Jacobs was taken from her bedroom last night, 10:00."

"Did they find her?"

"No. They haven't found her yet."

"Then what did they call you in for?" Her voice sounds slightly annoyed, and he can hear Page chattering to herself in the background. :: It's not as if I could have stayed home today even if I didn't have this case.:: he thinks morosely.

"A 30-year-old woman named Lucy Householder was admitted here shortly after 10:00. She collapsed at work suffering from some kind of seizure and what her doctors are calling glossolalia."

"Incoherent speech," She instantly replies. The terms apparently burned into her brain after all those cram sessions in college and med school.

He hits the elevator button before answering. "Technically, but whether she knew it or not, she was repeating the exact words spoken by Amy's abductor the exact same time 20 miles across town."

"Well, that's spooky."

"That's my name, isn't it? Turns out, Lucy Householder knows a little something about kidnapping herself. When she was eight years old she was taken from her bedroom while her parents were asleep. She was missing for five years until she escaped and someone found her by the side of the road. Apparently, her abductor had kept her locked in a basement the entire time. They never caught him."

* * *

He gets in the elevator and takes it up to the floor Lucy is staying on. When he enters the room, she's staring out the window.

"Lucy? I'm Fox Mulder. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He hears a squawk of protest from the cell phone. "My partner is indisposed, but she'd like me to relay some questions as well, I'm sure."

She barely looks interested. "I'd like a cigarette. They won't let me smoke in here."

Mulder gives her an apologetic shrug. "A young girl was kidnapped last night. Have you heard anything about that?"

"What are you asking me for?" Lucy asks defensively.

"Do you remember what you were saying last night when you collapsed at work?"

"Of course not, I was unconscious. Or just about."

"You were saying "Nobody's going to spoil us." Mulder pauses as Scully orders him to add onto the question. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"No."

Scully is half way through another demand when he cuts her off. "Scully, this isn't working. Why don't you call the phone here in the room, and I can put you on speaker phone?"

After a couple minutes grumbling, she does, and they wait for her to call back. Mulder wishes he had a cigarette to give Lucy, since she seems tense. Scully's question, as soon as she's connected, doesn't help relax the woman.

"Can you think of any reason why you might have said it?"

"What did I just say?" Lucy glares angrily at the white plastic phone.

"Those were the exact words spoken by the kidnapper to the little girl when he took her last night," Mulder explains. "So you can see, that under the circumstances, it might seem strange that you..."

"So what's your point? All of us kidnap victims gotta stick together?"

"No. We just want to find the little girl any way we can, and if you know anything..."

"Look, what I've been through all my life I wouldn't wish on anybody. It doesn't mean I can make it any better for me or anyone else."

"All right, well thanks for talking to us, Lucy. You can hang up the phone now."

"Yeah." Her hand reaches for the phone as Mulder starts to leave. "Hey! When do I get out of here?"

"I'm sure as soon as your doctors feel it's okay for you to go," Scully disembodied voice declares.

"No. They say it's up to you," Lucy shoots back grumpily.

"No, we can't hold you here. You're free to go," Mulder tells her, and Lucy runs to the bathroom.

He picks up the phone, and tells Scully what just happened. "I guess she's not too big on confined spaces."

"Yeah. I'll call you later when I know more."

* * *

That night, in the spirit of keeping her involved in the case, Mulder brings home videotape and puts it in their VCR.

"What's the tape of?" Scully asks, dropping Page onto his lap as she takes a seat on the couch next to him.

"It's not Jurassic Park, and I didn't get it at Blockbuster."

The video cues up suddenly. On the screen there's a woman trying to get a girl to come to her. The girl is trying to hide in the corner of the room. "You don't want to talk to me, Lucy? You don't want to come sit by me?"

"Is that Lucy Householder?" Scully asks.

::No, it's some other traumatized kid named Lucy I just happened to find a video of.:: "Yeah. Taken in 1978, the week she was found. She'd been held in the dark so long her eyes were hypersensitive to the light. Whoever held her captive wasn't very big on conversation, either. She's 13 years old and can barely string two words together. It's amazing she's gotten anywhere in life."

"Well, by most yardsticks, she hasn't, Mulder."

Mulder mutes the TV "Look, I think I've got a break in the case. A big one." It feels slightly odd that he's telling her instead of the other way around, but he decides that changing the past is like that.

"What is it?"

"School pictures were mailed out this week to everyone in Amy's class except Amy. One of Eubanks's men discovered it."

"Who's the photographer?"

"I'll only tell you if you promise not to go snooping yourself." She glares at him, so he backpedals. "It's an outfit called Larken Scholastic. Now, the photographer checked out but his assistant was fired the day after the shoot - a man named Carl Wade."

"What have you got on him?"

"DMV's, and old address, but he spent the good part of the past fifteen years institutionalized for a bipolar condition. The only thing current we have on him is this photo taken by his employer trying out a new camera."

"Have you shown this picture to Amy's little sister?"

"They're doing it right now, and I'm going to take it and show it to Lucy."

Scully pats him on the shoulder. "Good job. But do you think you could get Jurassic Park next time? That movie isn't half bad. I wonder if they'll ever make another one."

::They will, and it won't be very good.:: "I could go get it now, if you want."

She swallows a yawn. "Maybe tomorrow. I'm beat."

When she lumbers off, Mulder glares at their daughter. "I said to take it easy on mom!" Page just stares at him in wide-eyed wonder, and makes another grab for his tie. ::Gotta stop wearing these things.::

* * *

Just as before, Mulder has to chase Lucy down to get her to look at the picture of Wade. And also like before, she becomes Agent Eubanks prime suspect.

Mulder paces as Eubanks prepares to continue his plan of arresting Lucy for her connection to the kidnapping. "You're going to drive her away with this."

Agent Eubanks looks grim. " She's been driven away, Agent Mulder. I'm trying to find her."

"A half a dozen witnesses placed her across town at the time of the kidnapping."

"I'm well aware of the facts."

"Well, then trust me on this. She's not working with Wade," Mulder declares.

"How did she get the blood on her?"

"She may have bled it."

The other man gives him an astonished look. "She bled Amy Jacobs' blood?"

"Yes. It may explain why there was so little of it on the carpet in Amy's bedroom."

Another agent interrupts to tell Eubanks he has another call. "I don't have time for this nonsense, Agent Mulder. We've got a young girl's life at stake."

Mulder takes the time then to call Scully, less out of duty than the desire to have someone believe him. Alas, that's not to be. "I hate to say this, Mulder, but I think you just ran out of credibility."

"He's wrong, Scully."

"You are protecting her beyond the point of reason."

"I'm protecting her because I think she's connected to Amy Jacobs, just not the way everybody else thinks she is."

"Did you consider for one minute that the person she's connected to is Carl Wade?"

"Carl Wade? Why would she be connected with Carl Wade?"

"For the same twisted reason that abused children crave their parents' love- " She pauses dramatically, making him think of his mother. "Or hostages develop sympathy for their captors. I mean, maybe Lucy developed some kind of emotional dependency. "

"After five years in a dark pit, I'm sure she developed some kind of connection with Wade, just not the kind that you're suggesting."

"It makes a lot more sense than the notion that she's bleeding Amy Jacobs' blood."

"As if our cases ever make any sense," he grumbles. "I don't know how to explain it, but I think that Wade's abduction of Amy triggered some kind of physical response in Lucy...some kind of empathic transference. "

"Mulder, you can't be-" She sounds frustrated, and he knows he getting close to pissing her off. Which isn't something he really wants to do.

"That's how I account for what Lucy's going through. That's how I account for the identical words that corresponded to Amy, and the spontaneous wounds and blood, as well."

"Then why did she run? If she's innocent, what was she running from?"

"Because she's afraid." ::God knows I've done some running myself.::

"You don't see what you're doing, do you, Mulder? You are so close to this that you just don't see it."

Despite his desire not to upset her, he's getting irritated. "What don't I see?"

"The extreme rationalization that's going on. Your personal identification with the victim, or in this case, the suspect. You're becoming an empath yourself, Mulder. You are so sympathetic to Lucy as a victim like *your sister* that you can't see her as a person who's capable of committing this crime."

"You don't think I've thought of that? I have. And not everything I do, say, think, and feel goes back to my sister. You, of all people should realize that sometimes motivations for behavior can be more complex and mysterious than tracing them back to one single childhood experience."

Agent Eubanks returns at that moment, so Mulder says good-bye and hangs up on his wife. "Agent Mulder. We've got a man on the way in who's spotted Wade."

After they question the driver, and pin point a possible location, Eubanks drives, giving Mulder plenty of time to brood. :: So what if I worry about Lucy because she reminds me of my sister? Is it so wrong to want to protect an innocent person? All I want is a happy outcome for Amy and Lucy both, and I already know that I'm not likely to get one. I wish I could talk to Elsbeth, or maybe God, and ask why some people are able to be saved and others can't. Is Lucy too damaged to want to be saved?::

"We're here," Eubanks announces what seems like seconds later.

* * *

It doesn't take Mulder very long to find Lucy, mostly because he knows where she is. It also doesn't take long for the interrogation to begin.

Agent Eubanks' is harsh and impatient, which makes Mulder want to punch him. "Where are they, Lucy? Tell us where Wade took Amy."

"I don't know." Lucy's voice is dead.

"Anything happens to that girl and you'll be tried as an accomplice. Were they here when you arrived?"

"No."

"You haven't seen them? You haven't spoken with them?" Eubanks demands to know.

"I said no." Her voice has a little more life to it.

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't know."

"Just showed up for no reason in particular? That's what you ask us to believe?"

"I've been here before. A long time ago. That was where he kept me."

"So why are you here now?" Lucy doesn't answer. "Take her outside and place her in custody."

"No. I'll take her. Come on, Lucy. " Mulder takes Lucy's arm and leads her out and down the front steps. Mulder is about to put her in the car, but she stops.

"He hasn't touched her. Not yet. He wants to, but he can't. That's why he takes the pictures."

"What else, Lucy? Tell me what else?"

"If he can't have her all to himself that's when he's dangerous. That's when he'll start hurting her."

"Lucy, you came here to help her," Mulder suggests.

"No." She shakes her head.

"Why else would you come back here if not for Amy? You're sharing her pain."

"I can't ..."

"You're the survivor. You're the strong one. Now Amy needs some of your strength." :: Is this what kills her? My suggestion? Should I take it back?:: Something tells him it doesn't matter, it's what she was meant to do all along, suggestion or no.

"She's not going to make it." Lucy's voice is soft.

"She has to make it and you have to help her." :: So you don't die for no reason::

"She's cold. She's cold and, and wet," Lucy declares, shivering and beginning to cough.

"Lucy, Lucy, sit down. Sit down." He helps her on to the backseat of the car.

One of the agents, Mulder doesn't remember his name, calls to him. "Mulder. They found Wade's car north of here."

"They're in the water," Mulder tells the agent. " There's a river near here. I think that's where they are."

"But the river's east and they found Wade's car a mile north."

"Wade lives here. He knows these woods. He could be doubling back."

"Did she tell you that?" the agent asks.

"No, but I think that's what she's trying to do." He begins running.

* * *

Despite tripping over several branches, Mulder reaches the river. Wade is holding Amy under the water. Mulder runs along the bank and aims his gun at wade.

"Wade! Federal Officer! Hold it right there!"

Wade looks up in desperation at Mulder, then back to Amy trying to make her drown faster. Mulder shoots wade. Wade falls, and Amy floats to the surface. Mulder runs into the river and carries Amy to the shore She's not breathing and has no pulse.

His mind goes blank, and he can't remember CPR. So in desperation he calls Scully. She picks up on the first ring.

"Scully, she's not breathing."

"Who isn't?" she asks, sound properly freaked out.

"Lucy. I mean Amy. I had to shoot Wade, he was trying to drown Amy. I think he had drown her...and I don't remember how to do CPR," he babbles in misery.

"It's ok Mulder. You do four heart compressions and then a breath. Pinch her nose when you do the breath, ok? Do you remember how to position your hands for the compression? "

Her rational tone calms him. "Yeah, it's coming back to me." He crouches down beside the girl's still form.

"I'll count for you." Scully's voice is faint, since the cell phone is on the ground. "One ...two...three....four...."

"Come on, Amy, breathe," Mulder begs quietly, before he breathes again.

It seems like hours pass, but it's only been minutes. Scully continues to coach him. "One ...two...three....Four...Mulder does she have a pulse yet?"

He's startled that she's broken the rhythm. "No, she doesn't. Yet."

She's quiet for a moment waiting for him to give Amy the next breath. "Mulder...if she hasn't come around by now, I don't think she's going to. I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Amy, come on!" he half shouts.

"Mulder, stop. You can't help her. Mulder. It's no use."

"I'm going to keep trying. I think I hear the ambulance coming," he lies. As far as he knows no one called one. But then he thinks he does hear something.

He hears someone else breathing. Amy turns her head and coughing up water.

"I did it Scully, she's breathing."

Eubanks and the other agents seem to materialize out of thin air. "Have you got her? Is that her?"

"She's alive," Mulder tells them. "I thought I heard an ambulance. She needs one."

"They're close. We've got them up at Wade's place right now. They're working on Lucy Householder."

Mulder begins running back to the house. ::Not again.::

Mulder slowly walks over to the gurney with Lucy's sheet covered body. He pulls the sheet back and touches her cheek, then kneels down beside her and cries. :: I'm so sorry. I wanted to save you this time. Why wouldn't you let yourself be saved? Why did you come back here? Maybe we could have found Amy without you. I'm sorry...::

* * *

As soon as he walks into the house, Scully throws both arms around him. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Eubanks called me and told me what happened after your phone went dead."

"I'm sorry too."

"How's Amy?"

"She's exhausted, but it looks like she's going to be fine. The doctors want to keep her for a day or two just to be sure."

"Mulder, How serious were her injuries?"

"Wade must have left her alone. There were no injuries. Even though he must have dragged her through the woods for at least a mile. I can't explain it. She didn't have a cut on her and nobody wants to talk about that right now. Everyone's just relieved to have her back again - to have her safe."

"What about Lucy. I hate to ask, but...Did they determine what killed her?"

"They found five liters of water in her lungs, in a bone dry car. She saved Amy's life."

"Mulder...Whatever there was between them, you were part of that connection. Did you think about that? Lucy may have died for Amy, but without you, they never would have found her."

"I think she died for more than Amy," he says heavily.

"What do you mean?"

"I think finally, it was ...the only way she could escape. The only way she could forget what happened 17 years ago. Finally, the only way she could outrun Carl Wade."

She hugs him even tighter, then draws away in surprise. "You've got something hard in your pocket-_ not that," she adds when he smirks.

"Jurassic Park." He pulls out the tape. "I kind of thought after a day like today we could both use something mindless to entertain us." ::Because I just don't want to think any more today.::


	27. Namesake

August 13th 1995

8 PM

As it turns out, Mulder doesn't have too much time to agonize over Lucy Householder's death before a pressing matter of a more personal nature captures his attention.

"Hey Scully, watch," Mulder calls.

They have both declared it 'too hot to cook' and it's her turn to keep an eye out for the delivery man.

She turns her head and sees that Mulder has Page up on wobbly legs. "You better not let her go," she cautions. She's not sure if Page can support herself yet, although the baby has gotten to the cruising stage of clinging upright to furniture.

"I won't. But watch, with a little help from dear old dad, our brilliant baby can walk." He demonstrates, and is too excited to care that he looks foolish as he hunches over low enough for Page to dangle from his hands and take a few steps. The look on Page' s face-one of intense concentration as she holds onto her daddy's fingers with a death grip-is even more amusing. But Scully doesn't laugh.

Still looking down at Page, Mulder adds, "I bet it will only be only be a month or two before we've got a walker. My mom said I'd just turned one-"

"Uh oh."

"I don't think Page walking is as bad as that." He looks up, expecting a chuckle, but sees Scully's suddenly pale face instead. Done playing, he gently lowers Page to the floor before going to Scully's side. "Are you ok?"

"Remember how when Page was born you said 'Next time let's do this in the hospital'? We ought to begin thinking about heading there and an hour or two."

"An hour or two? I don't know if we ought to wait that long. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret delivering Page, but it's not something I want to make a habit of."

"Call my mom to come for Page. We definitely have enough time for that."

* * *

Maggie arrives fifteen minutes later like a dark-haired whirlwind.

"Just let me get Page's bag." She dashes up the stairs. "It was a good idea to pack it in advance, Fox." She praises as she reappears as with the diaper bag, Page's blankie, and her favorite stuffed bear.

"Um, thanks."

"Come to grandma, Pagie," she says reaching to lift Page out of Mulder's arms. "You drive carefully! And I expect a call the minute my new grandchild is born."

"Well, maybe not the minute..." Mulder murmurs.

Maggie Pat him on the back before kissing Scully on the cheek. "I love you, dear."

"Bye mom!" Scully calls to her disappearing form.

"Can we go now?" Mulder begs shouldering Scully's overnight bag.

"Sure."

They're walking out to the car when another, strange, vehicle pulls into the driveway.

"What the hell?" Mulder exclaims, thinking of how Krycek rescued them from the super soldier in another life.

"The take out!" Scully exclaims. Or actually gasps, since another contraction hits her.

A teenage boy, eighteen if he's a day, rushes up the path towards them with a large paper bag in hand. "I'm here to deliver the order..." They begin to walk past him. " Hey, where you going?"

"Hospital," Scully said shortly, clinging to Mulder's arm.

The kid stares at her belly with a blush, and it's plain that he's embarrassed not to have figured out the problem on his own. "Ok, um...what about the food?"

"We don't want it." Mulder is impatient to leave.

"I'm gonna get in trouble with my boss!" the kid wails.

Mulder pulls out a ten and a twenty out of his wallet. "Here. Have dinner on us...but could I have the chicken fingers?"

The kid quickly digs through the bag and hands them over.

"Sorry, Scully but I'm starving."

"Fine, whatever," she says through gritted teeth, and it takes him a second to realize it's not him that's the cause of the gritting.

"Thanks!" the delivery boy hollers as they drive past them.

* * *

Seven hours later

"Hi Maggie, it's Fox."

"Is everything ok?" She sounds more worried than when she picked up Page.

"Everything is great. I think you should tell Page that she is a big sister, though."

"Oh!! Boy or girl?"

"Boy. Eight pounds, three ounces and 20 inches long. He and Scully are doing wonderfully," Mulder boasts, then adds, "We haven't decided on a name yet, before you ask. Hopefully we'll come to a decision before he has his first visitors."

"That's great. I'll bring Page by later in the morning so we can meet him. Another grandson..." She trails off fondly.

This gives Mulder a jolt of surprise, since he has almost entirely forgotten that Charlie has a little boy of his own. Scully barely mentions Charlie's family, and the only time he can really remember her mentioning that nephew is when they worked on the case involving that inbred family but that hasn't happened yet.

"Yeah...do think I'll ever meet your son Charlie?" he wonders aloud.

"Stranger things have happened." Page calls to Maggie demanding juice, alerting Mulder that his daughter is still up despite the late hour. "Give Dana and the new baby my love."

"Will do."

* * *

August 14th 1995

4a.m.

"Index."

"No!"

"Chapter."

"No."

"Verse."

"Verse Mulder. Do you want our son to get beaten up all twelve years of school?" she asks cuddling their newborn son to her chest. The tiny boy's reddish hair catches the light.

"Aww, come on, you don't want to keep up the literary theme?" Mulder pouts playfully as he leans on mattress of hospital bed so he can gaze at the baby. "You don't like any my suggestions, do you have any that are better?"

She doesn't say anything for a minute, just looks down at the baby. "I was thinking about naming him for your sister."

He decides to play off his surprise with a joke. "A little boy named Samantha? He'll really get beaten up."

"Samuel Mulder. What do you think?" Scully asks.

"I don't know what to say...I sort of thought you'd want to name him after your father."

She shrugs. "Maybe next time."

It's on the tip of this tongue to tease her about this next time child, but for once he restraints himself. There's an idea forming at the back of his mind but he doesn't have time to mull it over yet.

* * *

9a.m.

"Mommy?" a little girl's voice breaks into his thoughts.

He's in the bedroom, poring over a stack of files related to poltergeist activities to see if there's any evidence of people getting along with their ghostly co-residents. So far, no luck. "Page, honey, Mommy's still in the hospital with your little brother," Mulder explains, picking his daughter up off the plastic-covered bed.

Rather than reassure her, his daughter's face screws up into a massive wrinkle, then her mouth opens into a huge wail. "Mommieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," she cries, louder than anyone her size ought to be, her face red and tears rolling down her cheeks.

Mulder's sure he's gone temporarily deaf, then realizes Page is taking a breath for another huge scream. "Shhhhh, shhhh, it's okay," he murmurs repeatedly, hugging her to himself and patting her back, hoping she can hear him above her cries. It's not working, since Page is still wailing at the top of her little lungs, and he sighs inwardly. He regrets not leaving her with her loving and more experienced grandmother, but wants to do the best he can.

Pulling the screaming girl away from his chest, he tries to bribe her. " Hey, hey, hey, you hungry?" he asks, wishing his voice didn't sound so panicky.

She's at the point where she's hiccupping for breath, and it looks like she's debating whether to scream some more or go along with him. She opts for scream.

Wondering if it's too late to stick earplugs in, Mulder winces, then grabs a towel for his shoulder before picking her up. ::Hope you're coming home soon, Scully,:: he thinks, ::I love our little girl, but she's as loud and red as a fire engine right now::. He bounces Page against his supporting arm like he's seen Scully do it against her hip, and it's calmed her down enough to merely hiccup, even though her face is still pretty pink.

I guess I'd better get used to this or I'll end up a nervous wreck whenever I'm left alone with the kids, he muses, heck, I've faced aliens and mutants, how bad could this be? "Okay," he huffs, walking into the hallway, "let's see what we've got. And whatever special drugs Mommy uses to get you to mellow out," he says in a friendly tone, wiping off her face.

Whatever he said, it was a mistake, and Page starts to cry again. "Oh, no," Mulder groans, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

His apology is not helping, as she cries even louder. "Scul-lay!" Mulder joins his daughter's wail with his own.

* * *

After he calms down a bit, well, a tiny smidgen, really, Mulder decides to run through his options. She could be hungry, or need a diaper change, or scared, or sick, or...how the hell was he supposed to know? He sighs, still rocking his daughter absentmindedly. Okay, first thing, diaper check. Might as well get the big horror over with. A cursory sniff check reveals nothing amiss, and her bottom's dry, thank goodness. He can't tell if she's scared, as opposed to angry, but he can check her temperature.

"All right, where does she put that thermometer?" he muses aloud, walking to the bathroom. Page is still crying loudly, and he wonders how on earth Scully manages not to be deaf when he comes home. Quickly, he rummages through the medicine cabinet, looking for anything that resembles a thermometer. "Ah-ha!" He crows, and sets off a fresh round of tears from his daughter. "Oh boy, okay, Page, let's see if you're sick." He's about to stick it in her mouth, when he remembers that that's usually not where they stick thermometers in kids. "Sorry, Honey," he says, washing the thermometer off first, then wiping it off with a tissue. "Daddy's a little new with this here."

This doesn't reassure her, and she continues to wail, as well as put up a good deal of flailing as he attempts to take her temperature. The operative word being "attempts" since she's got some force behind her chubby limbs. "Page!" he says, exasperated. "A little help here?"

No such luck, so he's forced to take it by force. "Well, you're not sick," he says with some relief. He wishes she came with a manual, or maybe some directions tattooed on her back. Worse comes to worst, he'll call Scully, but right now, this is a challenge he can handle.

"All right, we've ruled out everything else, how about some food? Yeah, food!" he exclaims, when it seems she's not crying not quite so much. Or maybe there's a limit on how much tears she can squeeze out. Yeah, right. Still, a little more optimistic, he heads into the kitchen and roots for some pureed food. "Aw, yeah, Daddy's got it under control," he says more brightly than he feels, sitting her in the high chair, "Daddy's got it going on."

Page looks at him like he's lost his mind. He pretends not to see that expression, and pulls out a couple of bowls and spoons. "Yep, it's breakfast time for Page," he continues in the same bright voice, grabbing some cereal and milk, "and maybe a little breakfast for Daddy, too. Yeah, I'm hungry, too." Might as well make it a family affair. "Think you can eat without decorating the place with your food?"

Her expression is blank, but it seems to his residual paranoia that it is a deliberate blankness. "Nice try," he says, putting away the refrigerated stuff, "guess I'll have to take turns feeding us both." He's about to sit down, when he remembers something. He goes over to one of the drawers and takes out a bib. "Here you go," he says, tying it around her neck. As a precautionary measure, he takes one out for himself. "Maybe I should get some CDC suits for feeding time," he says, sitting down and digging in for Page's first spoonful.

* * *

August 17th, 1995

2:30a.m.

The nursery. Mulder likes the ring to that, since it makes him think of Peter Pan and royal children, things that he had really liked reading about as a young boy. Oh, he'd said he only read the ones about princes and princesses to Samantha because she liked them, but deep down he'd like them too. He could relate to having distant parents like the kings and queens in those stories inevitably were. Parents like he was determined they will never to be.

At first they'd toyed with the idea of moving Page into her new room before they brought Sammy home earlier that day -everyone is already calling him that, so it's probably going to stick- but then they reconsidered. First, she'd probably be lonely farther from her parents' room. Second, it'd be a pain in the butt to have to go to two different rooms in the middle of the night. And lastly, their biggest concern was that Sammy would wake her up at night, but they knew from bringing her on several cases that she could sleep through anything.

So for a while, she and her newborn brother will be sharing the royal nursery, which is where Mulder is at the moment. It's a big room, which is good since both of their cribs are in there, although Sammy is too small for his, according to Scully, so he's in a bassinet. Or he would be, if Mulder wasn't in the middle of changing his diaper.

After the surprising pee fountain the first time he changed his son while still at the hospital - Page never did that!- he's learned to hold the front of the dirty diaper like a shield while attempting to take it off. He asked Scully if exposure to air made baby boys pee, but she just shuffled off muttering that he had that equipment himself, so shouldn't he know? He retorted that she's the one who has the doctor at the end of her name, not him, and she countered that she worked with dead people, not babies, and hadn't he forgotten things from college? He hasn't, but it didn't seem wise to aggravate her, so he just said yes. So now he wonders if he ought to invest in a nice pair of goggles like the ones Scully uses during autopsies.

It doesn't take long to put a clean diaper on Sammy, and surprisingly, he doesn't seem to mind the undressing part. Page howled like a banshee when she was undressed as a newborn, but Sammy seems fine with it. Mulder hopes his already apparent differences will mean he won't get colic too, but it's too soon to tell, since it can take up to three weeks to show up. As he's lowering Sammy back into the bassinet, a small voice clearly says "Baby!" behind him.

Turning around with a smile, he sees that Page is standing in her crib, craning her neck in attempt to see her brother. He scoops her out and brings her over. "Yes, Mommy and Daddy's baby. Page's baby brother, Sammy."

"Sammy?" she mimics perfectly, looking a little puzzled as Sammy waves a fist. Maybe she didn't expect that he'd still be there.

"Yup. Do you like Sammy?" He feels nervous, and doesn't quite know why. She might not even understand the question. "I hope so, since we're keeping him. Mom and I love both you and Sammy lots and lots."

"Love!" she squeals, planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

"Thanks, Page," he says dryly, thinking that whoever wrote that butterfly kisses song about getting sweet kisses from one's child must not have had baby kisses in mind. He eyed the changing table. "Are you wet?"

She just smiles. There's no pee fountain, but she does grab the baby powder from him, making him glad that it's not open, since she's got quite a grip on it. All he needs is a blizzard of power to clean up before going to bed. He doesn't mind sharing night duties, since Scully desperately needs sleep, but he'd rather not have to do any more clean up than necessary.

When he peers into the bassinet Sammy is already sleeping again, but Page looks bright eyed, so he pulls out a picture book and settles into the rocking chair. It's nice having a room big enough for a rocking chair, unlike when Page was a small as her brother. A lot has changed in a short time.

"One evening, after thinking it over for some time, Harold decided to go for a walk in the moonlight. There wasn't any moon, and Harold needed a moon for a walk in the moonlight."

Page settles against his chest, peering at the pictures that illustrate Harold's adventure with his purple crayon. A book on child psychology suggests that babies don't really begin to understand that drawings represent real objects until they're about fourteen months old, but Page seems to at eleven months, so maybe she's gifted. Given how smart he thinks her Mommy is, it wouldn't surprise him.

He knows the story by heart now, so he says the lines without really thinking about them, allowing his mind to be occupied by other things. Someday, he would like to see Elsbeth again, to thank her. This being a dad thing- really being one, not like with poor William, whom he only got to see for two days- is great. There is nothing in the world he would trade his kids for, and he knows that Scully feels the same way.

"And he needed something to walk on. He made a long straight path so he wouldn't get lost. And he set off on his walk, taking his big purple crayon with him...."

Mulder wonders about William, though. Does Page and Sammy's existence cancel out his? :: Well, we could still have him. He wouldn't be a miracle baby, but we could still have him. And this time we'd keep him, so he'd be better off. It'd just be a matter of timing his conception properly.::

"But he didn't seem to be getting anywhere on the long straight path. So he left the path for a short cut across a field. And the moon went with him."

Thinking of timing gives him a start. The fledgling idea that he'd had a couple of nights before, right after he and Scully discussed names for their son, swims to the forefront of his brain and begins to take shape. It's what he'd thought when he'd found out that they were expecting Sammy - being pregnant with Page kept Scully safe from Duane Barry.

"It turned out to be an apple tree. The apples would be very tasty, Harold thought, when they got red."

And being pregnant with Sammy had forced her to take fewer risks too, since she had not only their daughter to think about, but their unborn child too. :: I know she wants more kids, but would it be wrong for me to orchestrate when again? Women do that sort of thing all the time for less noble reasons...or maybe I'm just rationalizing. Even if I am just rationalizing, there's nothing wrong with nudging the circumstances of when we add to our family to convenient ones, instead of random ones.::

"So he put a frightening dragon under the tree to guard the apples. It was a terribly frightening dragon. It even frightened Harold. He backed away. His hand holding the purple crayon shook. "

Love and the desire to keep Scully safe at all costs over power his conscience and strengthen his resolve. :: We wouldn't have inherited this big house if we weren't meant to fill it. It's fate. If she's pregnant by October of next year, maybe things will go better with Gerald Schnaus. He had the same sort of mindset about good and evil as Duane Barry did. Surely he wouldn't harm a pregnant woman.::

"Suddenly he realized what was happening. But by then Harold was over his head in an ocean. He came up thinking fast. And in no time he was climbing aboard a trim little boat. He quickly set sail. And the moon sailed along with him."

When Mulder feels a wet spot on his shirt, he realizes that Page is asleep and drooling on him. Letting the book fall onto the chair, he carries her to the crib and pulls a thin blanket over her. She barely stirs as she's settled onto the mattress. After he replaces the book he checks on Sammy one last time before turning off the light.

:: Night guys. If Daddy plays his cards right, there might be another baby for this nursery in a couple of years. Just don't tell Mommy.::

_a/n: Excerpts from Harold and The Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson_


	28. Clyde Bruckman : Piper Maru

Fourth week of September 1995

In St. Paul, Minnesota, Mulder and Scully find themselves in a quaint room filled with dolls. Not Barbie dolls, but old-fashioned china dolls, the type Scully used to get scolded for breaking when she was a child. As Mulder says something about Satanists and eyeballs, Scully's own eyes quickly take in the room filled with various law enforcement personnel. She realizes it won't be long until the media and other sensationalists will invade this same room, simply because of the type of victim. She snaps out of her ruminations when Detective Cline asks, "He's gouging eyes for no reason?"

"No, nobody does anything without a reason. We've already composed a profile of the killer," she says briskly, handing over a folder. "We offer possible explanations for the nature of his attacks and also his choice of victims."

When Mulder decided they'd take the case, she made sure her mom was free to take care of not only Page, but also little Sammy. Her heart aches to hold her sweet baby boy to herself, but she knows this is no place for children. With half an ear, she listens to Mulder put forth his somewhat reasonable theories to the detectives, putting in her two cents to make it seem like she's paying attention. Wonder if Mom ever spaced out like this, Scully muses, then again, she didn't have to work when she had us. For a second, the redhead envies stay-at-home moms, then remembers how her kids (kids! Plural!) drive her nuts over the weekend or between cases, even if she does love them to pieces.

The dramatic entrance of a quirky newcomer and his entourage shakes her from her reverie. As the Stupendous Yappi does his dog-and-pony show, Scully glances over at her husband, who's barely keeping his mirth in check. She, on the other hand, isn't sure whether to toss the would-be Karnac on his ear, or laugh her butt off. Then the melodramatic psychic declares, "It's gone. I lost the vision. Someone is blocking me. I am picking up negative energy." No shit, Sherlock, she thinks, hoping he reads minds as well as he stares hard at her, then at her partner. To her surprise, it's to Mulder he says, "Please leave this room."

She hopes her mouth isn't twitching as her husband and the psychic go back and forth, Mulder going even so far as to say he believes in psychic ability. What *won't* you believe, she snorts inwardly, although if this Yappi's really psychic, he'd kick me out, not Mulder. "Wanna get a refund from the Believer's Club?" she asks in a low voice as he finally capitulates.

Mulder grins. "Bet you ten to one he brings up a white male, with or without a beard, maybe a tattoo." He waggles his eyebrows like the Stupendous Yappi. "Or maybe not."

* * *

Scully is perplexed. Or confused. Or frustrated. Or maybe all of the above. She knows it's just the result of going along with one of Mulder's cockamamie theories, but honestly, she doesn't think this Clyde Bruckman's psychic. He's been somewhat helpful, but in a vague way, more like a material witness than say, a paranormal prognosticator as Mulder thinks he is. Still, she doesn't believe he's the killer anymore, but neither will she go so far as to agree with Mulder.

At the Le Dampino Hotel, where they're protecting this supposedly endangered witness, she helps herself to some of the cake Bruckman offers her. Screw the post-pregnancy diet, she thinks, I deserve something sweet for putting up with this insanity. As she pores over the folders containing background checks, she answers perfunctorily about what she's doing, to see the interest quickly fading from the old man's face. Yeah, I'd like to see you go through a marathon of this, she thinks sourly, better yet, I'd like to see Mulder go through all this crap.

About an hour later, she gives up, having found nothing useful and not hearing anything useful from Mulder's end. Finally, she forces herself to ask, "It's something you haven't explained. Can you see your own end?"

"I see our end," the old man says, somewhat pleased. "We end up in bed together." She doesn't bother hiding the look of disbelief, joined by what-the-hell -am-I-doing-here. "I'm, I'm, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, I, I, I don't mean to offend you or scare you, but, uh, not here, not this bed. I, I just mean I, I see us quite clearly in bed together. You're holding me hand, uh...very tenderly and then...you're looking at me with such compassion and I feel...tears are streaming down my face. I feel so grateful. It's just a...very special moment neither of us will ever forget."

Uh, yeahhhhhhhhhhh, she thinks, in your dreams, Mr. Psychic. Aloud, she says, "Mister Bruckman...there are hits and there are misses. And then there are *misses*."

"I just call 'em as I see 'em." He smiles, unashamed.

Rather than rolling her eyes, she merely smiles back. Some men are incorrigible at any age, she thinks, and is reminded of her husband.

* * *

They wind up playing poker and discussing self-fulfilling prophecies and fate, albeit of fictional characters. Scully refuses to believe in something as huge and heartless as fate, but neither is she up for the mental gymnastics required to believe in psychics. Besides, Bruckman's been on a losing streak, even if she's only a so-so poker player. Unless Mulder's right and the only psychic ability he has regards people's death...no, not going there.

"Still, you're not the least bit curious?" he asks.

She's about to answer when there's a knock at the door. Holding a hand dramatically to her forehead a la the Stupendous Yappi, she says, "That must be Mulder." Putting down her cards, she stands up to get the door. As he puts his cards down, she realizes this last game, he would've won. Fine, then, she thinks. "Okay, how do I die?"

He stares at her for a moment. "You already did," He frowns, seeing her pale, blue-tinged body washed up against a cold shore, her hair longer but it's certainly the same woman and it's certainly the past, not the future. "You don't remember?"

She shakes her head briefly, not understanding, then checks the peephole before opening the door. Well, here's someone who makes even Bruckman seem sane. Sometimes. She smiles as he holds up a folder, with what promises to hold some hard evidence, some real clues to this case, not some mind-reading silliness.

* * *

Mulder is speeding through "The Joys of Parenthood," his near-photographic memory retaining helpful tips that will hopefully get him on equal footing with his wife when it comes to dealing with their kids.

He's already called Maggie earlier while waiting for the lab results to let her know how things are going. It was nice to hear Page's half-coherent ramblings and that "Samuel misses his Dad and Mommy, don't you, Sammy?" Oh my God, it's gonna be Page's birthday soon, he realizes with a start, and puts the book down. He pulls out his cell, then remembers that Scully will most likely kill him if he wakes her up for no good reason. Birthday plans can wait, he thinks.

"Forgot something?" Bruckman asks, amused.

Mulder smiles. "Yeah, that my wife would kill me if I woke her up." Note to self, now that we've got kids, don't *ever* call Scully in the middle of the night without good reason, like an alien invasion or something. How she put up with me all those years doing that to her is a mystery. "Speaking of which," he asks, curious, "how do I die? I'm hoping it's not autoerotic asphyxiation, like you mentioned earlier."

Bruckman laughs, almost barking. "I hope not, for your wife's sake." He's about to add more, when his eyes have that familiar half-glaze. "My God," he murmurs, "oh my God."

"What?" Mulder asks, concerned. Please, please let me be alive to take care of Scully, Page, and Sammy. It's weird, but he doesn't remember being this worried about his mortality back when he first rose from the dead.

The trance is broken, and the old man stares at the younger man. "What are you, Wile E. Coyote? You've got more lives than a cat. I'd hate to sell you insurance, that's for sure."

Mulder laughs, but it's uneasy. What exactly did Bruckman see? His other life, as well as this one?

* * *

The next night, they're back at home, snuggled on the couch, joined by a new pet. Mulder's eyes are facing the TV, but they're not watching. He's still depressed Bruckman chose to end his own life, rather than taking advantage of having escaped a serial killer to live a fuller life. As the credits for the somewhat macabre Laurel and Hardy show roll, Scully looks up at her husband. "So, did he tell you when you were going to die?" she asks.

He blinks, and the small dog barks, startling him a little. Half-grinning, he says, " He said I'm Wile E. Coyote." A little worried, he asks, "What about you?"

She frowns a little, making his heart race. "I'm not sure. He said I already died. Maybe he mixed us up."

"So that would make you Wile E. Coyote," Mulder nods, "I see. Do I get to be Bugs Bunny, then?"

"Daffy Duck," she counters. "I don't think you're cool enough to be Bugs Bunny."

He pouts, mock-hurt. "Not cool enough? I'm so cool we don't need air conditioning. I'm so cool milk turns into ice cream in my hands. I'm so cool." He leans close, dislodging the small dog, "I've got a hot FBI doctor to marry me." He starts to nuzzle her, half-hoping she'll take him up on his offer.

She giggles, but pushes him away gently, her voice regretful. "Mulder. We can't stay up too late, Page's birthday party is tomorrow, remember?"

He sighs dramatically. "I know." A familiar face on the TV screen catches his attention. "Oh, brother."

Scully turns to see the Stupendous Yappi and his excitable eyebrows. Just to tease him, she says, "Now *there's* Bugs Bunny."

The TV remote flies across the room, knocking the power off.

* * *

September 21st 1995

"Happy birthday to you..."

Page looks rather puzzled as Maggie brings out a birthday cake and places it just out of reach. The single candle, shaped like the number one, burns merrily.

"Time to blow out the candle, Page," Mulder tells her, holding her in front of the cake. "Daddy will help you."

She sort of gets the idea of blowing, but it's really Mulder who puts it out. Everyone claps anyway, and tells her that she did a good job. She smiles, showing her sharp little front teeth.

Mulder glances over at Scully, who is doing a decent job of clapping without dumping Sammy on the floor. Mulder finds it hard to believe an entire year has passed since Page's unusual entrance into the world; and harder to believe she's already the big sister of a five-week-old baby.

"Cake! Cake!" Page crows, reaching out for it. Luckily it's still just out of reach.

Maggie quickly cuts a piece of the cake, and gives it to the birthday girl, who enthusiastically puts a fistful of it into her mouth.

"Little disturbing that that the word cake is part of her vocabulary," Mulder comments to Scully.

"At least it's not sunflower seeds. Those are a choking hazard."

Noticing that Scully looks tired, Mulder takes their son from her, for once remembering to drape a burping cloth over his shoulder first. "Hard to believe we've been doing this parenting thing an entire year, huh?"

She gives him a nonplused look. "Sometimes it seems like just yesterday that we brought her home, but other times it feels like she's always been part of our lives."

"I think we're getting good at this," Mulder confides, watching Page lick frosting off her fingers. "If I'd have known parenting was like this, I would have had kids sooner."

"With who, Phoebe Green?" Scully asks archly.

"Nah. I don't think that I could deal with living with any woman but you, so I would have had to get one of those surrogates."

"Thanks. I think."

"You ever think of having more? Kids, I mean, not surrogates."

"Sure, but this time...let's wait a lot longer than seven weeks to conceive the next kid." She tells him with a grin.

"Oh, of course." ::Let's wait until next year.::

Scully jumps up when Sammy cries and takes him from Mulder, leaving him to watch Page smear cake all over herself. A tap on his shoulder startles him. "Fox? I don't think wax is good for dogs." Missy's voice is grave, but her eyes sparkle merrily.

Looking past her, he sees that that Queequeg has somehow gotten a hold of the birthday candle, and is holding it between both paws as he gnaws on it. Instead of being traumatized that her candle is being eaten, Page giggles.

::How the hell did he get that?! Damn Pomeranian...why couldn't Scully have been left a real dog?:: "Bad dog! Stop chewing on that, you miserable rat!"

"Don't let my sister hear you call him that," Missy cautions. "Dana seems quite taken with him."

"I wish something would take him," he says sourly, as he bends to scoop up the slobbered on crumbles of wax. :: Well, there is that Big Blue case...:: "Maybe I could offer him to a fisherman for bait."

Missy cuffs him lightly on the shoulder. "That'd go over big."

"Yeah, you're right. So tell me, World Traveler, have you meet anyone interesting on your wanders?" :: And am I ever glad you've gotten to take them.::

"Oh, I don't know..." She looks away, and he realizes that means yes. He's certain of it when she changes the subject. "Before I forget, I have something for the kids." Digging through her pocket, she pulls out two flat slivers of polished stone. "This is rose quartz. If you keep it under a pillow, or a crib mattress in a baby's case, it keep you from having bad dreams."

::What, no dream catchers?::

"Thanks."

"Dana had bad dreams a lot when she was young. "

"Really?" Mulder fingers the quartz, and finds that it has no sharp edges, and that it's too big to be swallowed, so he decides to honor the auntie's wishes. "I'll put these under their mattresses and be right back."

When he goes into the nursery Scully doesn't even ask why he's putting quartz under the crib mattresses. She must know all about her sister's quirky beliefs in the power of inanimate objects.

"Bumpa! Bumpa!" As he walks down the stairs he hears Page's voice. His father must be here, since that's what she insists on calling him. Bill Mulder has Page in his arms and is talking to Missy about something he can't hear. It's a little strange seeing them both here, but strange in a good way. ::This party was a good idea.::

* * *

Late October 1995

After being forewarned, or perhaps forearmed by Mulder's theory about a Russian sub being a UFO, she's prepared to deal with his flights of fancy, and, having sent the kids off with a babysitter, she's also prepared to deal with whatever is thrown at them on this case without worrying about her little ones' health. Bad enough she's walking into the burn section of the San Diego Naval Hospital with her husband, but the fact that they're checking into the cause of those radiation burns makes her super-glad the kids aren't along for the ride.

As Mulder makes their introductions, a knot builds in her stomach as she looks around the room. "It's been difficult to determine a proper course of treatment, because there's an air of secrecy around what happened. he source of their exposure is still undetermined," Doctor Seizer says, catching her attention.

"These symptoms, would you characterize then as acute or somatic?" she asks. Judging by the confused look on his face, she clarifies, "I'm a medical doctor." Geez, like they think FBI agents have no brains, she sighs inwardly.

Recovering quickly, the doctor says, "They're somatic, although I don't think we've seen the worst of it. The effects are degrading rapidly, spontaneous internal bleeding in the mouths and intestinal tracts, blood in the urine. All these men are suffering severe delirium, the pre-advanced stages of coma."

Oh, hell, she thinks. We're definitely not going to be getting anything useful from these men save for radiation evidence. "What kind of exposure are we talking about here?"

"200, maybe 400 Roentgens, with a high rate of absorption."

The conversation is going over Mulder's head, she can tell, but the knot in her stomach's gotten that much bigger. Again, she's very glad the kids are at home and not here. "That's verging on the levels suffered by the Hiroshima victims," she says to clarify for her husband.

"Whatever these men came in contact with, it was man-made, levels like this just don't appear in nature," Doctor Seizer says grimly.

"Not on this planet," Mulder adds, sotto voce.

Restraining her urge to sock him, she asks, "Did you get a chance to talk to any of them?" Considering the sailors' condition, it's a slim hope, but the hope is there.

"No, they were in pretty bad shape by the time they got to me, except for one man, and this was strange because he's the only one who seems to be completely unaffected. I held him for the first day, but I detected none of the symptoms of the others. His leukocytes and erythocytes were high. Actually, he was in very good health."

As Scully's eyebrows go up, Mulder asks, "How could that be? With that level of radiation, how could one man not be exposed?" Unfortunately, he knows the answer to that question, but he's not about to share with the rest of the class.

The doctor shakes his head. "Doesn't make any sense, but it's lucky for these men because he was the one who piloted the boat in. And none of these men could've done that in their condition."

Yeah, lucky, Mulder thinks, for a certain body-jumping oilien, not these poor guys in the beds. "Could we talk with this man?" he asks, already itching to track down Mr. Black Slime.

"You could if he was still here, but he discharged himself this morning." Scully looks up at him, surprised. "He's a Frenchman, has a San Francisco address, his name is Gauthier."

Party time, Mulder thinks grimly, let's hope we get it before it gets to Krycek this time around.

* * *

On board the Piper Maru, after the radiation crew has left, Mulder walks over with a flashlight and checks out the diver's suit covered in oil. He refrains from running a finger over it as Scully looks at a charted map with "Zeus Faber" written in magic marker on the bottom. As the lights flicker on, Wayne Morgan with the Naval investigative unit calls out, "Generator's back, is that better?"

"Yeah, thanks," she answers as Morgan joins her in the room. Damn, looks like Mulder's old apartment. "Is this the way you found the room?"

"Nothing's been touched, not since you've been tied up here anyway." He turns to see Mulder entering the room. "It's a mess, huh?"

"Feels like home," Mulder answers, to meet Scully's withering glare. "Well, not *our* home," he amends quickly, "more like somebody looking for something." He pauses, his eyes searching, then says, "Ah-ha," and switches on the VCR monitor before hitting play.

Scully looks at him, then up at the screen. "What the hell is that?" Morgan says next to her.

"Looks like the fuselage of a plane," Mulder remarks, just waiting for Scully to surprise the Navy man.

And she doesn't disappoint. "It's a North American P-51 Mustang," she says, as sure of her answer as if it were a medical diagnosis.

Morgan blinks, then grudgingly acknowledges, "Yeah, it is."

Mulder leans closer to her and leers, "I just got very turned on."

She nudges him with her elbow, wanting to slap his head, "It's the shape of the canopy. I used to watch my father and brothers put together World War II model planes as a kid." and, like an adult, refrains from sticking her tongue out at both men.

"Would it have been carrying anything radioactive?" Mulder asks, as he pauses the tape on the call numbers JTT0-11470.

She frowns. "No, it was just a fighter."

"Then what was it those men were exposed to?"

Relieved that his mind's back on business and out of his pants, Scully answers, "I don't know, but I know someone I can ask."

* * *

Later, while he's sitting at the airport, Mulder answers his cell. "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully says, "where are you?"

"San Francisco airport, where are you?" he counters, keeping an eye on Jeraldine "With a J" Kallenchuk.

"Miramar Airbase. I think I've just found out what those men were exposed to, what the Piper Maru was out there looking for." Her voice trembles slightly with excitement.

::Hoo boy. Wonder if I should tell her to keep an eye on Skinner.:: "What?"

"That P-51 Mustang was part of an escort for a B-20 carrying an atomic bomb, just like the one we dropped on Hiroshima. Only this one never reached its target."

That's what you think, Mulder's about to retort, but says instead, "Says who?"

"Says one of the men originally sent to find it, on a submarine called the Zeus Faber," she replies triumphantly. "It all makes sense Mulder, why would they build a nuclear weapon when they can salvage one?"

You think all the pieces fit, but they just keep making more puzzles, Mulder sighs inwardly. "Why if they knew about it, why wait fifty years to try to recover it? And why was the only person not exposed, the diver, sent down to find it?"

She sighs aloud. "I don't know."

"Why don't you try to find out," Mulder suggests as the clock ticks down to boarding time.

"What about you?" Scully frowns.

"I gotta go to Hong Kong," he says, standing up, still keeping an eye on Kallenchuk.

"Hong Kong?" Scully blinks. What the hell?

"Not to turn this into a long-distance relationship, but, uh, I'll call you back okay?" he says before shutting off his cell. He hands his ticket over, and a thought occurs to him. I hope the kids are okay, he thinks, then smothers the worry as a new worry, Joan Gauthier, appears in the overhead mirror. Oh boy.

* * *

Scully yawns as she unlocks the door. Home, sweet home, she thinks, opening the door. The babysitter, a no-nonsense Hawaiian woman with a soft heart, smiles widely. "Sammy sleeps like an angel," she says, standing with the aid of a metal cane, " and Page finally went to sleep after running all over the house."

"Thanks, Mrs. K.," she says, then pauses. "Running?" Scully blinks.

Mrs. Kahaiali`i nods. "Yeah, she said her friends were playing with her. Keiki have such great imagination, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," Scully plasters a smile on her face. Pulling out her purse, she counts out the bills. "I'm glad they weren't too much of a hassle."

"Oh, no," Mrs. K. replies, "you might if I wait little while? My husband's going to pick me up, but he's still at work."

Scully nods, and is in the process of joining Mrs. K. on the couch in front of the TV when her cell rings. " Scully," she answers, recognizing the numbers as somewhere in the FBI office. Oh, no.

"Agent Scully, this is Kim Cook from the director's office," a woman's voice says on the other end.

"Yes?" The redhead answers, thinking, I just got home! Please don't tell me Mulder got arrested in Hong Kong!

"We've just got some bad news, A.D. Skinner has just been shot." Mulder's okay, but Skinner's not. Dammit.

"When?" Scully says, shrugging her coat back on, to Mrs. K.'s curiosity.

"About an hour ago, he's been taken to Northeast Georgetown."

"I'll be right there," she says, hanging up. Then she looks at the heavyset Hawaiian woman. "I'm so sorry, would you mind staying maybe another hour or so?"

Thankfully, the babysitter is accommodating. "Sammy needs to be fed in a couple hours, yeah?" Mrs. K. asks. Scully nods. "Don't worry. Page should still be sleeping when you come back."

Relieved, Scully squeezes the woman's hand. "You'll definitely be getting overtime for this."

"You should, too," Mrs. Kahaiali`i answers as the smaller woman flies out the door.

* * *

At the Hong Kong airport, Mulder punches Krycek in the face. It's no less satisfying than the first time around. "That's for your partner," he snarls, then kicks the double-crosser in the crotch, "that's for me," and pulls Krycek's gun on him. " and this is for my father."

"I swear I didn't do it," Krycek gasps. "Besides, he's still alive."

"No thanks to you," Mulder glares, forcing himself not to pull the trigger. "I want that digital tape, you rat bastard."

Krycek's eyes look around wildly. There's no one he can turn to, and Mulder's holding the gun close enough to his stomach to make it almost invisible under his jacket. "I, I don't have it," he lies easily.

Mulder's not buying it. "Like hell you don't, it contains the secrets you were selling as well as everything else our government knows about the existence of extraterrestrial life."

Krycek hisses, "Like I could sell anything? The tape's encrypted."

"Obviously you found a way," Mulder says between his teeth.

"I'll give it to you if you let me go," the younger man bargains.

Yeah, right, Mulder thinks. "Where is it?"

"D.C., in a locker." He takes out a key, then puts it back in his pocket. "If you let me go, I'll tell you."

::Maybe I should just kill him here and now::, the FBI agent reasons, ::nobody will know. I could just take the key, leave the bastard here for CSM or some other syndicate flunky to find, and get the tape.:: Then he reconsiders. ::Dammit. Fine.::

"You put that tape in my hands and we'll talk about it. Why don't you go to the bathrooms and clean yourself off?" He follows Krycek in the bathroom, ignoring the other man's kissy face, and keeps guard over the rat while waiting for Joan Gauthier.

Bingo, he thinks, as the woman walks inside. And, to his shock, instead of reaching out to Krycek, she reaches for him. "No!" He cries out as the black oil invades his body and his mind.


	29. Apocrypha

As Mulder reels back, the body of Joan Gauthier slumps to the tile floor of the bathroom, covered in the same glistening black oil her husband was earlier. Possessed, Mulder doesn't really give a damn right now, and pulls Krycek to him. "Give me the key."

Krycek's about to bluff him, when he sees something like black cataracts swim across Mulder's eyes, and his mouth drops open. His hand fumbles for the key, which he hands over without protest.

The possessed man looks blankly at the yellow key marked "C.I. 517.""Let's go," he says, handcuffing Krycek. He doesn't answer the other man when he dares to yelp, "What do you want with me," and hauls him over to the gate.

* * *

Scully hates when things go like the movies, but she's got a bad feeling about this. She hasn't heard from Mulder, and when she dials out for the fifth time, she gets the voice mail recording right off the bat. And even having guards posted at Skinner's door doesn't make her feel quite safe, so she goes home to make sure her kids are all right. Having paid Mrs. K. an exorbitant amount, she stays up feeding Sammy, then goes over the paperwork on Skinner. "Where are you," she asks no one in particular, and wonders where her husband is.

She's dialing the Hong Kong embassy, when her cell phone rings. Picking it up quickly, she answers, " Scully." It's from the FBI building, but she hopes it's good news this time. Maybe even something about her errant husband.

"Agent Scully, this is Agent Pendrell," the man on the other end says. "I knew you wanted the results on the shooter ASAP."

"What is it?" she asks, fighting her frustration. She knows she needs her sleep, but is fighting the urge.

"The partial prints we pulled out of the cash register didn't add up to anything. We found saliva on Skinner's shirt that wasn't his. The analysis of the secretors and other hemofactors says that we're looking for a male, probably in his 40s with blood type B positive."

"Short of cutting open every other forty-ish male, is there anything else?" Scully asks archly. "Sorry," she adds belatedly, "between this case and my baby boy, I haven't been able to get much sleep."

"Uh, well," Pendrell says in a more subdued tone, "We were able to chromosome-stain some of the hair fibers we picked up last night. We can still run those indicators against all the suspects arrested in the DC area in the last couple of years."

"Thank you, Agent Pendrell," she says sincerely, then a thought occurs to her. "Narrow that search to suspects within this past year, specifically in regards to suspects on the X-Files. "It's a leap, but Mulder isn't the only one to trust hunches.

"Oh, okay." She can almost hear the other redhead blink. "You got it."

"Thanks again," Scully says before hanging up. A monster yawn escapes her mouth, and she debates whether more coffee or simply sleep would do the trick. A few moments later, the debate is rendered moot as she passes out at the desk.

* * *

Around the same time, on Country Road 512, the passenger in the rental car is growing increasingly agitated. "Um, in case you haven't noticed with that weird black goo in your eyes, we're being followed," Krycek says, his green eyes dark with worry about both the driver and the dark sedan behind them.

"I know," is all Mulder says, and the dull monotone does nothing to reassure Krycek. He speeds up, but the rental, being a crappy old American model, doesn't have enough power to escape being hit by the sedan. His face shows no emotion as the car careens off the road, and Krycek futilely puts his handcuffed hands up to shield himself. When the car comes to a stop, two men exit the dark sedan, obviously armed. Mulder looks up with no expression as one of the men tells him, "Get out." Mulder does so, leaving behind the double-agent bleeding from a concussion in the passenger seat.

"Where's the digital tape?" the first man in black asks as the second man pins his arms behind him.

"I don't have it," Mulder says simply, and is punched for his answer. He doesn't seem to feel it, though, and a bright flash of light emanates from his body, incinerating both men. Kicking the horribly burned corpse of the man who'd held him, Mulder steps over the man who punched him, and walks over to the car. He opens the passenger door and lifts Krycek's head.

"Oh," Krycek groans, feeling a pounding headache bring him to the point of nausea, and his eyes widen when they see the other man's face. "Oh, no."

Mulder puts his other hand around Krycek's neck, squeezing as the black oil glazes his eyes. When he passes out, his body covered in black slime, Krycek steps over him and walks over to the dark sedan.

* * *

November 1st, 1995

"Oh, ow," Mulder groans as consciousness hits like a ton of bricks, only less soft. "I feel like hell." He slowly opens his eyes and sees Scully's red hair, which is almost too much. "What happened?" She's okay and doesn't look too pissed off, which means the body-jumping oilien didn't make him kill his family. He hopes.

"The State police found you unconscious," she says in a low voice, as if aware of how much like a hangover he feels like. "You were covered in the same goo that Gauthier was found in and lying near a rental car that had been run off the road."

"What about Krycek?" he asks.

"Krycek was there?" she asks, her brow furrowing.

"He was in Hong Kong, selling information off the digital tape he's got," he says, and coughs. After sipping the water Scully gives him, he asks, "So I'm in the U.S.? I don't remember anything after handcuffing him."

She blinks, and decides not to pry. "Actually, you're not the only one in the hospital," she says, relieved that her husband's home, even if he was found covered in that nasty oil-type thing. "Skinner's been shot."

"What happened?" he asks, but the memory comes back, even as she answers.

"A bullet perforated his small intestine. The doctor seems to think he'll be fine." She seems to share the doctor's opinion, so he feels somewhat better.

"Who shot him?"

A smart aleck remark comes to mind, but she holds it back as she opens the folder. She really didn't have as much sleep as she wanted or needed. "PCR results, says this one belongs to the man who shot Skinner," she says, handing the folder over to him.

"And this one is?" he asks, holding up the other sheet.

"The one who stole the digital tape in the first place," she says, "The same man who pushed Skinner down a stairwell for it."

"Boy, Skinner really knows how to piss people off," Mulder remarks, getting out of bed. "What?"

"Mulder, you should really stay in bed," Scully admonishes him.

"Are you gonna make me?" he asks hopefully, pulling her to him. "Otherwise, we've got a digital tape to find, Skinner's shooter to hunt down, Krycek's ass to track, and the radiation source of the Piper Maru's crew to discover."

She sighs, then kisses him. "When you put it that way," she says, handing him his clothes before walking out, "you'd better get dressed."

He grins lopsided at her. "I think this is the first time I wish you'd won." He watches her shake her head, then waltz out the door. He sighs, then pulls off his hospital gown in exchange for a button-down shirt.

* * *

Byers is strapping Page onto his chest, doubting her unsteady legs would be ready for skating just yet. He wishes Mulder had picked Frohike or Langly, but when the FBI agent said, "Would you imagine either of those guys with small children? I didn't think so," He'd reluctantly acquiesced.

So, being the dutiful de facto uncle, he puts a lesser-loved necktie into her hands and says brightly, "Ready?" When she nods which might be an answer or just a coincidence, he steps onto the ice, his eyes scanning the rink at Capitol Ice. Bending his knees slightly to balance the extra weight, he passes a number of people, but nobody that stands out as much as himself, or so he thinks.

Then Langly takes a spin on the ice and changes the conservatively-dressed man's opinion. For one thing, he's skating in the opposite direction, and for another, he hasn't bothered to brush his long blond hair, opting to tuck it awkwardly under a ski cap. Byers' mouth purses, but says nothing to the D&D master of their group. Langly grins widely and continues to swoop through the circling skaters, nearly knocking over a would-be figure skater in the process.

As Byers gets off the ice, he watches Langly flail a little and sighs, then sees their other compatriot step onto the ice. Frohike pretends he doesn't see the blond man nearly bowl over a small group of kids and gets off the ice, waddling over to the lockers in his skates. He opens the locker marked "517" with the yellow key, retrieving a brown packet. "Bingo," he says, shoving it into his black leather vest, and all three Lone Gunmen hustle over to Mulder's car.

"Look, Sammy, the Three Stooges," Mulder says before they get into his car.

Sammy gurgles happily at the three men, who mistake his enthusiasm. "Hey, kid." Frohike grins at the little boy before handing over the packet. "No sweat."

"We show a talent for G-man activities," Langly brags as Byers struggles to detach Page from himself. " Hey, man, need some help?" Byers nods helplessly as Langly soon finds his long hair the object of Page's affection. "Ow, ow, ow! Mulder, tell your kid to leggo!"

"Leggo," Mulder deadpans, opening the packet. Damn. Empty again. Sighing, he hands Sammy over to Frohike, who he slightly resembles in the bald man department. Twisting in his seat, Mulder decides to try something he can actually do something about, like freeing two out of three Lone Gunmen from his daughter's clutches. "Wow, Page, you've got them wrapped around your finger." He grins.

"That's my hair," Langly grumbles, while Byers sighs with relief at being released.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the FBI, Scully's looking at a slideshow. Nothing like Mulder's, she thinks, but is relieved not to be facing a mutant sewer monster or teens with suspicious mosquito bites on their backs. Agent Fuller states, "His name is Luis Cardinal, native of Nicaragua, school of the America's alumni, career mercenary, apparently impressed a lot of people with his marksmanship during the Iran contra deal." He pauses while his partner takes up the slack.

"That's actually the good news," Agent Caleca says, her brown eyes practically black." The bad news is that he entered the country without a visa or papers. As far as we can tell we can't find anything on him, address, phone number, financials, nothing. And none of his aliases have been tagged as either entering or exiting the country. In all likelihood, he's probably long gone."

Scully sighs. They had Krycek, who'd managed to escape, and now evidence and the identity of Skinner's shooter, who's probably also skipped out of town. Dammit. Why can't criminals stay in one place? Guess that's why they put the "I" in FBI, the sardonic voice in her head tells her. Shut up, Mulder, she retorts inwardly. "Keep looking," she says tersely.

Fuller is taken aback. "We, we've pretty much exhausted all our avenues," he says.

Scully looks at him. "He shot an *Assistant Director* of the FBI," she says, wondering where the loyalty went. "What's it gonna take?" A cap in your ass?, she adds mentally. Caleca blinks. "At this point? Other than a sign from God?" she asks.

The redhead raises an eyebrow. "I've seen stranger things, believe me," she says, hustling out of the room, hoping for better news from her partner.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mulder, having called and met the Well-Manicured Man in Central Park and plays out the fact that both are looking for Krycek, sighs. It's a nice place in the day time, but he wishes he didn't have to repeat certain things for the sake of appearance. Besides, now that the body-jumping alien has landed in Krycek again, he's fairly certain the thing's headed to North Dakota. If some things haven't changed, that would be it, he thinks.

Then he remembers something else and pulls out his cell phone. "Scully, it's me," he says urgently, checking his watch. "The two guards you had posted in front of Skinner's room, are they still there?"

"They should be, why?" she asks, and he can almost see her frown.

"I, I want you to double-check for me, okay?" he asks.

"Okay," she says, and he hangs up with a sigh.

Okay, saved Skinner's ass for the time being. Now, to save his own. "Guys?" he asks, hearing the hiss of the reel-to-reel tape recording the conversation. He doesn't care. "How's the kids?"

"Oh, just peachy," Frohike says sourly over what sounds like a ruckus in the background. "Why don't they come with volume control?"

"Echolocation," Mulder repeats what his wife told him.

"Mulder says it's echolocation," Frohike tells his harried friends, "smother one, Langly."

"The formula should last until tomorrow." Mulder grins. "I love you."

"Shut up," The short man replies. "You're not gonna leave 'em with us overnight, are you? Come on, man, you can't be that hard-hearted."

"They're your godchildren, too," he says, and a beeping interrupts him. "Oops, got another call. Give Sammy and Page my love."

"Mulder, kiss my," Frohike replies but is cut short.

"Mulder, your instincts were right about Skinner," Scully says over the phone, the police sirens and hubbub filling the background. "We've just arrested a man for attempted murder."

"That's great," Mulder says, and another weight is lifted off his shoulders. He's thwarted Cardinal twice, and so far, all's right with the world.

"Mulder, he said he knows where Krycek is. I don't know if this makes any sense to you, he says he's headed towards an abandoned missile site somewhere in North Dakota," she says, feeling an odd sense of triumph over having caught the man. She isn't sure why, but it seems there's something more important about the man than simply having shot Skinner. Missy would say it was déjà vu, and quickly, she smothers the thought.

"I want you to meet me at the DC airport in an hour, I want you to get two tickets on the first flight for North Dakota," he says, hailing a taxi.

"What's in North Dakota?" she wonders aloud.

He grins. "Proof of this wild goose chase, Scully," he replies as the taxi driver breaks all the laws of physics getting him to the airport, "The salvaged UFO."

* * *

Like clockwork, they find the abandoned missile silo out of all the hundreds of silos out there, mainly because of Mulder's "instinct," and end up being escorted from the premises courtesy of the Cigarette Smoking Man and a good number of armed military types. Scully looks at the men with loathing, as if they shouldn't be wearing their uniforms, and Mulder twists around to confront the smoking man. " The UFO's here. That's what Krycek's after, isn't it?" He yells.

The smoking man calmly exhales a puff of smoke. "Alex Krycek disappeared five months ago," he says, as if stating that the earth revolves around the sun.

Scully digs her considerable heels in the ground. "We saw bodies in there. Men with radiation burns! Men like you!"

The smoking man looks at them with some measure of pity. "You saw nothing," he says, tapping his cigarette to get rid of the ash.

"You won't get away with this! You can't bury the truth!" Mulder hollers before he's shoved into the blue van with the feisty redhead.

Inside the van, Mulder looks at his wife. "I'm sorry," he says as he's being manacled.

She shakes her head. "We've come close before," she says, "we'll get proof."

He smiles a little. "Does that mean you believe there was a UFO in there, Scully?"

She gives him a look. "I believe there was something in there that killed those soldiers," she says, looking pointedly at their captors, "The same thing that sickened the men from the Piper Maru." Scully puts a shackled hand on her husband's. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he says, and adds quickly, "really. I'm just hoping the Lone Gunmen won't kill our kids before we get back."

Her eyes blaze, and even the military men scoot away. "You did *what*?"

Forget the body-jumping, radiation-inducing oilien, Mulder thinks, the wrath of Scully is enough to put a whole gallon of that stuff to shame. And he endures it without CDC protection for the rest of their journey back to D.C.

* * *

Washington DC

November 10th, 1995

The house seems too quiet to Scully. Mulder took both babies with him to look for pumpkin pie, a turkey and other Thanksgiving supplies. Despite her protest that neither child is old enough to have any idea what will be going on in a couple of weeks, he insisted that an appreciation for the holidays must be instilled in children when they are very young. Rather than argue about it, she humors him, knowing that anything they do for the holidays will really be for him. That's okay with her, she likes the way his eyes light up when they arrive each year.

The ring of the doorbell shatters the quiet, and makes her smile broadly. Her own plans for the afternoon can now get under way

"Thanks for coming over, Mom," Scully says, giving her mother a hug when the older woman walks into the house.

"No problem." Maggie smiles. "Is the stuff you wanted to move still in the nursery?"

"Yes. I packed most of their out-grown clothes up into zippered bag and put them in the bassinette. I should only take one trip if we both grab an end." They head up the stairs. "I can't believe Sammy is big enough for a crib already. It seems like it was only days ago that we called you to come get Page before rushing off to the hospital."

"August wasn't so many days ago, really. Are you sure you want to store these things instead of giving them away?" Maggie asks innocently.

Knowing that her mother is fishing, Scully hides her smile. "Yes, I'm sure, Mom. I'd like to have another baby someday."

"And Fox wants another baby too?"

"He loves being a Dad. I'm sure that he'd like more kids too."

Maggie nods. "He's a great Dad, the kind of father that I hope your brother Bill will be, when he and Tara have children."

"Is she pregnant?" Scully asks curiously, looking up from making sure the bags aren't sticking out of the bassinette.

Maggie sighs. "Not yet. Their specialist thinks that it's just a matter of time, though."

"I hope things work out for them. Having a kid might ground Bill. I hope."

"Part of his prickliness towards you and Charlie stems from jealousy, Dana. He's the oldest, and his youngest siblings already have kids of their own. It hurts his pride a little, you must know that."

"I do know that, Mom. But I'm pretty sure it annoys him more that we've had kids with no effort. Charlie's son was as much of a surprise as Page was, after all."

"There's that." Maggie agrees.

They each pick up an end of the laden bassinette and begin to crab walk their way towards the attic stairs. "Your father and I would have liked more kids, you know."

Scully looks at her with surprise. "No, I didn't know."

"It's not like your brother's problem, we could have had them easily, but it with your father gone so often, four kids was as many as I could handle on my own." The conversation comes to a halt until they've managed to man-handle their burden up the stairs. The effort makes Scully glad that there's an actual staircase to the attic, not one of those pull down ladders that are so common place. "You four kept me jumping."

"Sorry?" Scully's voice is uncertain.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm just glad that work doesn't separate you and Fox very often, and that you can afford to hire someone to look after my grandchildren when necessary."

"I actually feel a little guilty about that..." Scully admits.

"Don't. Children should be a parent's priority, but they shouldn't be their whole life. That sort of thing isn't healthy for anyone involved, parents or children."

Maggie pats her arm as they leave the attic. "I think I heard a car, maybe it's Fox."

"Oh good, then you can help haul in a turkey too." Scully grins. "And when people ask you how you're such good shape at your age, you can thank me."

Her mother's only reply to raise her eyebrows.

* * *

November 13th, 1995

"Mulder! If we don't get this food inside, it's all going to spoil!" Scully calls, looking at the bags in the car in dismay. She can bring in the kids, or the groceries, not both. It seems to her that this is an issue almost every day...who knew that a family of four would need so many groceries?

"What, are you expecting a sudden heat-wave? It's forty degrees out, which is very close to the temperature in the refrigerator," Mulder says, reappearing. "You should know the temperature, you're the one who made me put a hat on Sammy." Even though Sammy had more hair than his sister did at his age, Scully was still fanatical, insisting that most body heat is lost through the head. Not, she insisted, a good thing for their three-month-old. And no, Mulder, fiery red hair doesn't provide any additional warmth.

She doesn't find his reasoning amusing. "What were you doing?"

"Getting the mail. We've got something from John Doggett," he says, waving something card-shaped.

"A little early for a Christmas card, don't you think?" Scully remarks, grabbing the bags, and leaving the kids for Mulder to haul in.

"Maybe it's a thanksgiving card. They have those at Hallmark."

After they put everything away, and remove everyone's coats, which takes quite a while, Mulder remembers the mail. He uses a letter opener to slice it open; not because it's quicker, but because it's cooler.

"Oh oh. Looks like we're not the only family that's growing." He hands Scully the picture and accompanying letter.

"Hannah's a pretty name," Scully says, studying the picture. "They look so happy...but it must be kind of strange having kids ten years apart in age."

"As opposed to having a new kid every year?" Mulder asks with a smirk.

Scully gives an unladylike snort. "That trend will not be continuing."

"Aww, come on Scully, you could go back to the church and I could convert, then we could have one every year just like they did in the old days."

"Yeah right. As much as I like to make my mom happy, I'm not going back to the church."

"Damn, and here I was getting all hot over the thought of having fish every Friday. Sensuous salmon..."

Scully pushes his shoulder. "Jerk."

Later on, his mind wanders as he's supposed to be working on a case report. Hannah Doggett, born three weeks earlier. She hadn't been part of the plan when he went back to repair things, but Scully was right. They did look happy in the picture. Still, he wonders what that means for what would have been for Doggett and Reyes. Shrugging, he reminds himself that he'd originally thought it would be better that Doggett and Reyes never met than for Doggett and his son to die too young. It's out of his hands.


	30. Revelations

November 28th, 1995

Mulder is still in the office, reading the file on their new case, a boy named Kevin Kryder who is exhibiting the stigmata. He knows that he could have gone home with Scully, and still know more than he would from reading the file, but he says to keep up appearances.

As he's shutting the folder, the phone rings.

"Mulder, I have terrible news." Scully's voice sounds upset.

For a moment terrible images flash through his mind- Page getting by the baby gate and falling down the stairs; Sammy cold in his crib a victim of SIDS...before he can get himself too panicked, he croaks out, "What?"

"It's Mrs. K."

"Is she dead?" Mulder blurts out before he can stop himself.

"No, she's not dead." Scully doesn't sound happy. "She and her husband won the lottery. They're retiring in Hawaii."

At first Mulder can't see why this is so tragic, but then he realizes why she's so upset. "When are they leaving?"

"In three days."

"Uh oh."

"You don't know the half of it. We're supposed to leave on that case tomorrow, and my mom is visiting Charlie. And Mulder, before you even suggest it, we are NOT leaving Sammy and Page with your lunatic friends again."

That hurts him a little. How can she call them lunatics when she thinks of them as useful? "We need to get a nanny."

"We're not going to get one by tomorrow." The level of agitation in her voice goes up a notch.

Mulder drags a hand across his face. "I'll call my Mom."

"Your mother?" Scully's noise of disbelief is not flattering either. "Mulder, does she even like children?"

"She liked them enough to have two of them."

"That proves nothing."

Unfortunately, he's inclined to agree, but what other choice do they have? As much as the kids love his dad, he doesn't think his father's drinking is under control enough to feel comfortable leaving two helpless babies with him, and if he doesn't feel comfortable Scully definitely wouldn't. "I'll give her a call, Scully."

"Fine. We're going to look into a nanny as soon as we're done with this case."

"Yes, yes we are."

* * *

Their case does not start off easily, mostly because of Teena Mulder. To Mulder's vast relief, she doesn't refuse, but when they get there with the kids, she makes no effort to hid her reluctance to take care of her grandchildren. He can tell that this upsets Scully, almost as much as the way Teena holds Sammy like he's a time-bomb waiting to go off. It's always hard to leave the kids, but this is much harder than usual.

That the case involves a young child doesn't make them think about their own children any less, since they're thankful that Page and Sammy are far better off than the poor little boy that the case centers around.

This in mind after they speak to the boy's teacher, Mulder wonders if he ought to suggest that they bring Kevin home with them, rather than put him in the as-it-turns-out-not-very-safe house. In the end, he decides that Scully wouldn't go for it, and would find the remark too uncharacteristic of him. Sighing, he hopes there's another way to keep Kevin's mother safe, but he can't help but think of Spiney and Householder...

Scully must notice Mulder's lack of focus as they speak to the boy's father, because she nudges him with her elbow.

"He's bleeding again, isn't he?" Kevin's father is so calm as he asks the question, so very calm.

"Yes. How did you know that?" Scully asks him. Mulder wonders if she means for her voice to be that sharp.

"Because the faithful know."

"Mr. Kryder, the claims you've made for your son may have put him in danger. Do you know that?" ::If you'd kept your mouth shut, maybe he could have gone his whole life unnoticed. Do you have any idea what you've done?:: Mulder keeps his frustrated thoughts to himself.

"The child was in danger long before I ever made the claims. Since the day he was born, they've been watching him."

"Don't we all fear that?" Scully asks. "That we've put our children in danger merely by having them?"

Mulder shoots her a look; her remarks would be less chilling if she knew about William too. Banishing the thought, he turns back to mister Kryder. "They?"

"The forces of darkness. They will come in the form of a powerful and respected man."

::Don't they always?:: "These forces. What do they want?" he asks instead.

"To claim all souls. You must understand, this is the great war between good and evil."

Scully raises an eyebrow. "Armageddon?"

"God will find someone to stop it. Someone who is strong enough to make the sacrifice."

The man's faith is so powerful that Mulder envies him. "He's chosen you?"

"I'm merely a messenger."

"Let's go."

Mister Kryder speaks to Scully as she gets up to leave. "You must come full circle to find the truth."

"Excuse me?" Mulder asks, bristling.

"Full circle to find the truth? I don't know what that means," Scully says.

"You will."

* * *

Mulder feels out of control as he leads the charge to retrieve Kevin from Jarvis. It doesn't feel like the outcome of this case is going to be any different from the first time around. "Federal agents! Put down your weapon! Put it down right here! Down, now! Put it down!" Jarvis complies. "Where's the boy? Where's the boy?"

Jarvis doesn't answer. Scully goes around him to search through the house. Jarvis speaks to Scully as she passes him. "Don't hurt him. Please?"

As she climbs up the latter to the attic, Mulder can't help but wonder if she knows who Jarvis means.

"Where's the boy? What have you done with Kevin?" Mulder asks.

"He can't go home. It's not safe there. I told him that."

Mulder picks up and shoves a bloodstained towel in Jarvis' face. "Is this Kevin Kryder's blood?"

"Yes."

"Did you hurt him?" Mulder asks, knowing that the man didn't.

"No. I'm not the one that wants to hurt him," Jarvis says just as Scully rejoins them.

"If it's not you, then who is it?" she asks.

"I was only asked to protect the boy."

"By who? Who asked you to protect him?" Mulder demands to know.

"God."

"God! That's quite a long distance call, isn't it?"

"You don't understand, unless someone protects Kevin..."

"It's the end of the world as we know it, right?" Mulder asks sarcastically. For some reason he wants to punish the man for what's going to happen soon. For deliberately being a martyr when he could have helped the boy in another way.

"He who has ears, let him hear."

"And he that has a tongue, let him speak. Now tell me where he is!"

Jarvis turns to Scully instead, and looks at her cross. "You believe me, don't you? I mean, you must wear that as a reminder."

"Mr. Jarvis, my religious convictions are hardly the issue here," she protests.

"But they are. How can you help Kevin, if you don't believe? Even the killer, he believes."

"And townsfolk wonder why I sleep in on Sunday," Mulder says with a smirk.

"Mass on Christmas, fish on Friday. You think that makes you a good Christian. Just because you don't understand the sacrifice, because you're unwilling, don't think for a moment that you set the rules for me. I don't question His word. Whatever He asks of me, I'll do." Jarvis stands up, his hands still bound behind him in the chair.

"Sit down, Mr. Jarvis."

"I just want to go to heaven." Despite having to bend over because of his bonds, he runs toward the window. Before Mulder can stop him, he's jumped out the window.

Twenty minutes later, they find Kevin. Jarvis is dead on the floor and there are new blood stains on the bandages on the back side of Kevin's hands.

Mulder's heart aches as he watches his wife try to comfort the frighten child. "You'll be OK. You'll be OK."

Kevin's eyes are huge as he looks up at her. "Are you the one who was sent to protect me?"

* * *

Mulder's remarks about religion come back to bite him in the ass later, and he wonders if things won't be worse this time since he's been the one teasing her about it.

"Well, what do you think this is?" she asks, after telling him how Jarvis' body isn't decomposing normally.

"This man? He was rather abnormal in life, maybe he's decomposing abnormally."

"Well, isn't a saint or a holy person just another term for someone who's abnormal?"

::I've been called abnormal many times, but never a saint.:: He thinks grumpily. "Do you really believe that?"

"I...believe in the idea that God's hand can be witnessed. I believe He can create miracles, yes."

"Even if science can't explain them?"

"Maybe that's just what faith is." Even though he's heard it once before, her simple statement still surprises him. It's hard to reconcile his image of her being coolly logical with another of someone who has strong faith in God.

"Well, I wouldn't let faith overwhelm your judgment here. These people are simply fanatics behaving fanatically using religion as a justification. They give bona fide paranoiacs like myself a bad name. They're no more divine or holy than that ketchup we saw on the murdered preacher. And I think once you've finished your autopsy, you'll come to the same conclusion. St. Owen."

* * *

As Mulder had feared, Kevin's mother cannot be saved yet again.

When they reach the scene of the accident Kevin is unhurt, and wrapped in a blanket and sitting in the back seat of their car. Scully immediately goes to speak to him, leaving Mulder to watch from a distance. He lets them talk for a couple of minutes before joining them.

"Is he ready to go?

"I want to keep him with us, Mulder, until Gates is apprehended." Mulder stares at her, realizing that she's got something on her mind that she hadn't last time. "Look, I know about getting personally involved and I'm not," she says, belying his new theory.

"Did he ID Gates?"

"Yes."

"That'll help. A man fitting Gates' description rented a car, under the name Forau. That's one of the Devil's disciples."

* * *

The Westward Inn

Mulder talks to his mother on the hotel room phone as Scully draws a bath for Kevin.

"Mom, it's me," Mulder says, hoping for some good news on her end. "How's everyone?"

Fat chance. Even before she answers, he can hear wailing in the background. "Fox," she says in a strained voice, "we're, we're fine."

Oh no, she's using Scully's "fine", he groans inwardly. "As long as nobody's had sugar, it should be cool." There's a silence at the other end, and, swallowing hard, he forces his tone to be positive. "Mom, if they're fed and changed, just read to Page, she'll be okay once she's in bed. It'll take a while, but she'll fall asleep eventually. And Sammy, when you stand up and hold him, you can sing him to sleep."

"You know I can't sing," she protests half-heartedly, interrupting herself with, "No, Sammy, don't eat that!"

He grins at the memory as well as the image of Sammy sticking God knows what into his drooling mouth, and is surprised to find it's not a forced smile. "I know, but neither can I. Somehow, the sound of tone-deaf singing knocks the kid out. Guess it's hereditary," He quips, looking at the bathroom door where his equally tone-deaf wife is.

She chuckles, and it's a welcome sound. "Would you like to talk to them?" she asks.

"Sure," he says. "Thanks, Mom."

She makes a smiling "hmph" sound before putting the receiver down. Distantly, he hears, "Page, your daddy wants to talk to you."

"Daddy!" He hears his little girl say. Somehow, despite this case and the horrible things he knows are going to happen, things seem somewhat better. "Hi, Daddy!"

"Hi, Page," he says, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "I miss you. Are you and Sammy behaving for Grandma?"

She giggles, which doesn't bode well for Grandma, and the phone is dropped. Wincing, he rubs his ear until a gurgling sound catches his attention. "Sammy? Be nice to Grandma, okay? Daddy loves you."

There is a shifting of sound, and his mother's voice comes back on. "Fox, be careful," she says, and a startled "oof!" escapes her lips.

Uh-oh, sounds like they're a long way from sleep. "You, too," he says, wondering if placing bets on his mother's chances would be unfair. "See you soon."

A sigh escapes her lips. "Not soon enough," she says before hanging up.

::Maybe I should place bets on how soon we find a nanny,:: he also sighs, taking out the briefcase with the casefile inside. ::I love my mom, but I'm not sure she's kid-friendly or child-safe.:: Then he thinks of Gates and figures it could be worse.

* * *

By the time Scully's done in the bathroom, Mulder is sitting on the bed reviewing the case file.

"You never draw my bath," Mulder jokes, but she's not in a joking mood.

"Kevin has a cut under his ribs."

"He was in an accident."

"No, I...I was with the paramedics when they were looking at him. It wasn't there."

"Maybe you missed it."

"No, Mulder, I was paying close attention."

"What do you think it is?"

"Yesterday, I saw Kevin's hands. They were bleeding from identical wounds on the top as on the bottom...just like in the crucifixion."

"Scully..."

"There have been other signs. I haven't said anything until now, because I haven't been sure...and I'm still not sure."

"Sure of what exactly?"

"How Kevin was able to be in two places at once..."

"He's got an evil twin?"

"...just like St. Ignatius was able to do in the Bible." Scully finishes her statement despite the interruption.

"That was in the Bible. It's a parable, it's a metaphor for the truth, not the truth itself. Why didn't Kevin conveniently bi-locate when Owen Jarvis abducted him from the shelter?"

Scully is beginning to become angry. Or maybe defensive. He can't tell which. "How is it that you're able to go out on a limb whenever you see a light in the sky, but you're unwilling to accept the possibility of a miracle? Even when it's right in front of you."

"I wait for a miracle every day. But what I've seen here has only tested my patience, not my faith." :: I know I'm wrong. Every day I relive is a miracle, but in penance I'm unable to say a word about it to anyone, especially you.:: he adds silently, wishing he could say it out loud.

"Well, what about what I've seen?"

Before they can continue their conversation there is a thumping noise. Scully walks toward the bathroom door.

"Kevin? You OK?" She tries the door but it's locked. "I didn't lock it."

Mulder breaks open the door. Kevin is gone and the window is broken. The bars on the outside of the window are bent and glowing red.

"I'll call the police," he promises.

* * *

The Next Day

Mulder's cell phone rings. Scully walks out into the hallway while Mulder lags behind to take the call. He hangs up and runs to catch up with her.

"Scully. They had a sighting of Gates. He tried to rent another car at the airport, under the name Forau again. Did you hear what I said?" ::Don't listen to me.::

Scully is looking past him at a waste container against the wall. The container has a recycling symbol on it.

"Mulder, look. Arrows that form a circle. Full circle to find the truth. Gates' company owns a recycling plant near here. That's where he's taken Kevin."

"You think it's you, don't you? You think you're the one who's been chosen to protect Kevin."

"I don't know. Look, if I'm wrong, I'll meet you out at the airport. OK?"

He hangs up the phone in frustration, frustration that has nothing to do with being proven wrong. ::I know what you're thinking, Scully, and it won't work. They'd never let you.::

* * *

The Shelter

Two Days Later

Fortunately, Scully was no more inclined to listen to his protests this time around than last, so she is able to save Kevin, like she believes she is meant to. They go to the shelter to say good-bye to Kevin, before they catch a flight home to relieve a frantic Teena Mulder.

While Mulder paces, Kevin and Scully are in one of the shelter bedrooms. Kevin has just finished packing his belongings.

"You all set?" Scully asks him.

"Yeah, thanks."

He reaches out to shake hands with Scully. She turns his hand over and sees no sign of a wound on his palm, then shakes it. Kevin starts to leave.

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime," Scully says with a brittle smile.

"You will."

"You all ready, Kevin?" a social worker calls from the hallway.

"Yeah."

Kevin leaves. Scully turns away from the door and looks down as Mulder enters. She brings a hand to her eyes to wipe away a tear, as Mulder picks up her coat and helps her into it.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"We have a couple of hours before our flight. I told the sheriff we'd go down and make a formal statement about Gates' death."

"Okay."

He puts his arm around her shoulder. "I know what you've been thinking, and I'm sorry that it couldn't work out that way."

She gives him a wobbly smile. "Oh? What have I been thinking?"

"You've been thinking that we ought to take him home with us, where he'll always have people who can protect him."

"Is that so wrong?"

"No, it's not wrong. It's just not realistic."

"Sometimes...sometimes it's good for a person to be unrealistic. Other wise, we'd never feel hope."

He nods and holds her close. There's nothing he can put into words; he just knows how she feels.


	31. War of the Coprophanges : Pusher

Miller's Grove, Massachusetts  
December 5th, 1995

Parked on the side of the road, Mulder is looking up at the stars, which twinkle brightly in the clear sky. A white cockroach jumps on his windshield and Mulder turns on the wiper, brushing it off. The phone rings and he takes it out.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, I thought you were going to give me a call when you got to your mom's house," Scully reminds him. Her free hand is trying to get a spoonful of carrots into Page's reluctant mouth, but Page purses her lips and shakes her head.

"I would have, if I made it that far. I got a call about 20 minutes ago telling me that she had a 'last minute engagement' so we're not having dinner after all. See what happens when I try to make things up to her? Although, I don't think that Page and Sammy could have been THAT bad..."

Scully gives her daughter a measured look, and wonders if Mulder is being honest with himself. "Are you on your way home, then?"

"No, just, uh...sitting and thinking at the moment. Widespread accounts of unidentified colored lights hovering in the skies were reported last night. Look, Scully, I know it's not your inclination but...did you ever look up into the night sky and feel certain that...not only was something up there but...it was looking down on you at that exact same moment and was just as curious about you as you are about it?"

She puts down the spoon when it becomes obvious that Page is ready to start shrieking about her dislike of carrots. The last thing she needs is for Page to wake the baby. Her defeat makes her less than enthused by Mulder's question. "Mulder, I think the only thing more fortuitous than the emergence of life on this planet is that, through purely random laws of biological evolution, an intelligence as complex as ours ever emanated from it. Uh, the, the very idea...of intelligent alien life is not only...astronomically improbable but at it's most basic level, downright anti-Darwinian."

"Scully...what are you wearing?"

She laughs. "A t-shirt artfully decorated with carrot."

"I told you she hates carrots." Mulder snorts. "I understand what you're saying but the improbability, but I, I, I just need to keep looking."

"Yeah, well, don't look too hard. You might not like what you find."

"Isn't that what, uh, Doctor Zaius said to Charlton Heston at the end of 'Planet of the Apes?'"

"And look what happened." Scully reaches for a jar of apple sauce, and is greeted by an enthusiastic reception from Page. She reminds herself that rolling her eyes at her toddler isn't going to teach the girl anything she wants her to know.

"Scully, I got to go. I'll call you in a little bit. Something's come up."

Mulder squirms when a sheriff approaches his car and looks inside. Some things never change.

"How you doing?" Sheriff Frass asks as Mulder rolls down the window. Mulder shrugs. "What are you doing?"

"Just sitting, thinking."

"Sitting and thinking?" Mulder nods. "And talking on the phone? Who with, your drug dealer?" Mulder is unable to keep himself from laughing. Frass frowns at him. "Let me see some I.D." Mulder reaches into his pocket and hands him his badge." The bureau? You on a case?"

"I heard reports of several UFO sightings in this area last night. You see anything?" Mulder asks by way of a reply.

"No, sir, not personally. But we did receive a lot of telephone calls."

"Any more calls tonight?"

"No, sir. The F.B.I. keeps tabs on these things?"

"No," Mulder admits. "I was supposed to be having dinner with my mother, and I heard about the sightings on the radio."

The sheriff looks puzzled. "Excuse me, sir, I don't like to pry, but why are you sitting here with your wiper blades on?"

"Oh, I was just knocking off some bugs that landed on my..." Frass grabs his gun in panic. Mulder looks at him strangely. "Landed on my windshield."

"Cockroaches?" Frass asks quickly, still looking panicked.

"Maybe, maybe beetles. I dunno, I'm not really good with bugs."

Just then there's a squawk on the sheriff's, which they both hear through the open window. "...send dispatch unit, over."

Frass looks over to his car, then motions for Mulder to wait a second and goes to his car. As the woman continues to talk, Frass gets in his car and pulls up to Mulder's window, handing back his badge. "Sorry to disturb you, sir."

"What's the matter?"

"Another roach attack."

* * *

Washington DC

Scully, who has finally gotten Page to bed is sitting in front of her television set, eating a salad. The phone rings and she picks up, "Hello? Mulder? I thought you were going to call right back."

"I know it's late to get a sitter, but I think you better get up here." ::Hope I'm not any more convincing than the last time around.::

"What is it?"

"It appears that cockroaches are mortally attacking people."

"I'm not going to ask you if you just said what I think you just said because I know it's what you just said."

"I'm crouching over a bug exterminator whose recently deceased body was discovered with cockroaches crawling all over him. The local sheriff says that two other bodies were found in the same condition this afternoon."

"Where are you again?" Scully asks, sticking her fork into her salad with a sigh.

"Miller's Grove. It has a large science constituency. The other incidents involved a molecular biologist and an astrophysicist and the witness to this case is an alternative fuel researcher. These reports are not coming from yahoos out in the boondock."

"Were there insect bites on the body?"

She waits while Mulder asks if there were any bites on the bodies. "No."

"'Cause you know, Mulder, millions of people are actually allergic to cockroaches. There have been reported cases of fatal reactions. It's called, uh, anaphylactic shock. Like the kid in that movie 'My Girl'."

"That you made me watch..." he mutters. "So the roaches could have killed them with anaphylactic shock?"

"Mm-hmm. Many such reactions have occurred to entomologists or exterminators."

"Okay, we'll check that out."

"You still want me to come up?"

"No, no, no, it's late, there's no reason to get the kids up for this. I'm sure you're right. Thanks, Scully."

Shrugging, she reaches for her salad, hoping it's not too wilted.

* * *

Mulder hangs up.

Frass asks, "Who was that?"

"My drug dealer." Mulder smirks. "My wife is an FBI agent too, my partner at the bureau."

"How'd you manage to swing that?"

"It's a long story. Too long for tonight."

* * *

Scully is in the middle of pouring the contents of a bottle called "Die! Flea! Die!" onto Queequeg and starts to run it through his fur when phone rings. She towel-dries her hands and grabs the phone.

"Stay," she commands and Queequeg whimpers.

"Hello?"

"I take it back, Scully, I think you better get up here." :: I kind of like this. I bet being able to 'prove me wrong' feels good. Maybe I'll be rewarded tomorrow...::

"Another roach attack?" Scully asks, which snaps him out of his daydream about the possibilities for the following day.

"Yeah, and this was no allergic reaction. Two witnesses claim they saw the victim screaming about cockroaches burrowing into him."

Scully continues to dry her hands. The flea product has a nasty texture to it, so she wants to hang up and wash her hands properly. "Are there still insects in the body?"

"We haven't located any yet, but there are wounds all over the body."

"From the cockroaches?"

"Well...the victim did attempt to extract the insects using a razor blade, but we're not sure all of the incisions are self-inflicted, except for the severed artery."

"Well, was there any evidence of drug use at the crime scene?" She uses one hand to hold her whining dog down.

"Uh, well, he did have a homemade lab set up, but I'm not sure what he was producing." Scully hears him pick something up, then call to someone in the same room as him. "Aww, man, smells like a septic tank! Would you make sure this gets analyzed, here?"

"You know, Mulder, there's a psychotic disorder associated with some forms..." Queequeg makes another break for it and she thwarts him again. "...of drug abuse where the abuser suffers from delusions that insects are infesting their epidermis. It's called Ekbom's Syndrome."

"Ekbom's Syndrome?" Mulder repeats.

"The victim cuts himself in, in an attempt to extract the imaginary insect. Still want me to come up?"

"No, uh, you're probably right. I'm sorry to bother you. See you in the morning."

"You better be home in the morning, Mulder," she threatens playfully. She hangs up and turns around to see that Queequeg has run off. She looks for the dog and hears a yelping. "Hey!" He's quicker than her, mostly because she's trying not to make too much noise. Queequeg, on the other hand, neither knows nor cares how long it took her to get the kids down for the night.

* * *

Frass walks in and informs them that there's an autopsy waiting to be done while Newton examines the cut on Mulder's hand that was caused by catching the metallic insect he found a moment after getting off the phone with Scully. Frass's tone suggests that examining cuts is a frivolous waste of time.

Newton doesn't look excited about the prospect of cutting up a body. "Uh, after talking with Agent Mulder here, I suddenly feel slightly constipated," Newton says. He glares at Mulder and walks out. Mulder has the urge to tell him not to strain himself, but he doesn't think it would make any difference so he decides not to piss the sick man off any further.

"What's his problem?" Frass asks.

"He's upset that I don't know what's going on here."

"So what the hell is going on here?"

"We're stuck in a bad B movie?" Mulder guesses. Now Frass is glaring at him too. "I see the correlation, but just because I work for the federal government doesn't mean I'm an expert on cockroaches."

"So you're saying you don't know anything about the government's experiments being conducted here?"

"Experiments?"

"A couple of months ago, an agent claiming to be from the department of agriculture sets up base on a couple of acres across town. Nobody knows exactly what's going on out there. It's top secret, very hush-hush."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Killer bees were a genetic experiment gone awry, let loose on an unsuspecting populace. Who's to say the government hasn't created a new breed of killer cockroaches?"

"You might want to keep that theory to yourself, sheriff. No need to create a panic." Mulder advises, knowing that the panic is inevitable anyway.

"Oh! Oh, my God! Somebody help, help, hey!"

Mulder and Frass run into the bathroom to see a man kneeling, checking Newton's pulse.

Frass looks down at the man hovering over Newton. "What the hell happened?"

"Cockroaches. He was covered in cockroaches."

"There's one!" Mulder exclaims, looking instinctively at the sink.

Once again the cockroach escapes his grasp and scurries down the sink.

"Next time, let me handle the roaches," Frass grumbles as the cockroach's back legs disappear from sight.

* * *

Washington, D.C

Scully is sitting on the couch, reading Breakfast at Tiffany's when the phone rings again. She puts the book aside with a sigh- it had been her hope that she'd have enough peace and quiet to finish the novella before one of the kids needed something.

"Who died now?"

"The medical examiner. His body was found next to a toilet, covered in roaches. I really think you should come..."

"A toilet? Check his eyes. Is one of them bloodshot with a dilated pupil?"

"Yeah."

"It's probably a brain aneurysm," Scully says, giving her book a longing look.

"Brain aneurysm?"

"Straining too forcefully is very common causation for bursting a brain aneurysm."

"Well, how do you explain the roaches, though?"

"Did you catch any?"

"Almost."

"I don't know what to tell you, Mulder. I just hope you're not implying you've come across an infestation of killer cockroaches."

* * *

Usda Base  
Miller's Grove, Massachusetts

Mulder scales the fence and lands just as his phone rings. He answers it. "Mulder."

"Mulder? I've been doing some research. Back in the mid-'80s, there was a cockroach species previously only found in Asia. And since then, it's made an appearance in Florida. They've now completely established themselves in this country."

"Do they attack people?" Mulder asks as he approaches the building.

"No, but they do exhibit behavior different than our domestic breeds. They, they fly for long distances and they're attracted to light."

"But do they attack people?"

"I'm suggesting that what's happening out there might be the introduction to this country of a new species of cockroach...One that is attracted to people."

"Well, that all makes perfect sense, Scully. I don't like it at all. Did you know that the federal government, under the guise as the department of agriculture, as been conducting secret experiments up here?"

"Mulder, you're not thinking about trespassing onto government property again, are you?" Mulder takes out his lockpick gun. "I know that you've done it in the past, but I don't think that this case warrants..."

"It's too late, I'm already inside."

Scully sighs loudly. "Well, what's going on? What do you see?"

"I'm in a house. It's apparently empty."

"What does the place look like?"

"It's a, uh...typical two-story suburban house. Nice big living room, sparsely furnished...Nice carpets...fireplace...Nice kitchen. Modern appliances." He looks at the wallpaper and sees bumps crawling underneath. "Moving walls."

"Moving walls?"

"Yeah. They're rippling." He pokes the wallpaper with his flashlight and cockroaches pour out. "Oh! Cockroaches!" Even knowing that it was going to happen doesn't make it any less disgusting.

"What?!"

"Cockroaches. They're everywhere." Cockroaches cover the walls and appliances on the counters. They run all over the floor and on his feet. "Ah, I'm surrounded."

"Mulder, you've got to get out of there right now!" Mulder screams. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Cut to Mulder shakes the flashlight. "Flashlight went out..."

The light turns on. "Mulder, what's going on?"

"I'm okay, but I've got to go."

* * *

Bambi Berenbaum gives Mulder a hostile look. "May I ask why you're trespassing on government property?"

"I'm a federal agent."

"So am I."

Mulder shows her his badge. "Agent Mulder, F.B.I."

Berenbaum shows him her badge. "Doctor Berenbaum, U.S.D.A. Agricultural research service."

"Doctor Berenbaum, I'm going to have to ask you a few questions."

"For instance?"

"Why is a nice house like this filled with cockroaches?"

* * *

Mulder and Berenbaum walk into a room much like Mulder's office. There is a terrarium with cockroaches on a desk.

"By studying how insects respond to changes in light, temperature, air currents, food availability, we can determine the best ways to eradicate them," Bambi says.

"That's kind of cold, getting to know them only to exploit their weaknesses...Why all the secrecy about your research? You've got some of the good townspeople suspicious."

"You expect us to advertise that we've intentionally infested a house in their neighborhood with thousands of cockroaches?"

"I suppose that would put a damper on neighboring property values." He points out of the room. "Those cockroaches...are they, uh, a normal species?"

"They're a common one."

"Have you ever come across a type of cockroach that is attracted to people?" They sit down. "That gravitates towards them, I mean."

"Most cockroaches have been known to actually wash themselves after being touched by humans."

"Really. So, you've never seen an instance where a cockroach actually attacks a human being?"

"Well, there have been cases where a cockroach has crawled into a person's ear or nose."

"Nose?" He unconsciously touches his nose. He then points to a strange looking device. An orange cone holds a lid on top with a cockroach in it. "What is that there? A roach torturing device?"

"Oh, it's just a pet project of mine. Since an insect's exoskeleton is a dielectric surrounding the conductive medium of its body fluid, when introduced into an electrical field, a brushed discharge will result in a colored flare." She presses a big red button and the exoskeleton glows blue.

"What is that supposed to prove?"

"Well, it's my theory that UFOs are actually insect swarms." He stares at her. "I don't know if you know anything about UFOs, but all the characteristics of a typical sighting are shared with nocturnal insects swarming through an electrical air field...the sudden appearance of a colored, glowing light hovering in the night sky, moving in a non-mechanical matter, possibly humming. Creating interference with radio and television signals. Then suddenly disappearing."

"UFO sightings as nocturnal insect swarms? That's absurd. Do you honestly think that people couldn't tell the difference between a craft and a swarm of bugs?"

Bambi glares at him. "Insects don't have the delusions we suffer under. They are truly remarkable creatures. So beautiful, and so honest."

"Honest?"

"Eat, sleep...defecate, procreate. That's all they do. That's all we do, but at least insects don't kid themselves that it's anything more than that."

"I have two babies," Mulder blurts out.

For some reason Bambi looks more annoyed by this revelation, but she quickly masks her feelings. "Twins?" she asks.

"No. My daughter Page is fourteen months old and my son Sammy is three and a half months old," Mulder tells her, trying not to sound defensive. So many people make a big deal about their ages.

Bambi is no exception. "Wow. The insects would admire your waste no time attitude." She sounds oddly impressed.

Mulder blushes. "Our son was a surprise." :: Well if you asked Scully she'd say they both were...but I know otherwise, of course::

"Imagine if you were a roach. All your children would come as a surprise."

"Perish the thought."

* * *

As soon as Mulder checks into a hotel room, he calls Scully.

"Mulder, are you okay?"

"I told you I was when I hung up."

"What happened at the U.S.D.A. site?"

"They're conducting legitimate experiments. If you can call trying to prove that UFO sightings are caused by insects legitimate. I met an entomologist, Doctor Berenbaum, who agrees with your theory of an accidental importation of a new cockroach species."

"Did he give you any idea of how to catch them?"

"No. But she did tell me everything else there is to know about insects. In great and boring detail."

"She?"

"Yeah, did you know that the ancient Egyptians worshipped the scarab beetle and possibly erected the pyramids to honor them, which may be just giant symbolic dung heaps?"

"Did you know the inventor of the flush toilet was named Thomas Crapper?"

Mulder laughs a little. "Bambi also has this idiotic theory I've never come acro-"

"Who?"

"Doctor Berenbaum. Anyway, her theory is-"

"Her name is Bambi?"

"Yeah, you'd expect her to be an exotic dancer with that name but she's a scientist. Both her parents were naturalists. Her theory is-"

"Her name is Bambi?"

Mulder rubs his forehead and decides to give up on explaining her UFO theory. "Scully, can I confess something to you?"

"Yeah, sure, okay."

"I hate insects."

"You know, lots of people are afraid of insects, Mulder. It's just a...it's a natural, instinctive."

"No, no, I'm not afraid of them. I hate them. One day back when I was a kid, I, uh...I was climbing this tree when I noticed this leaf walking towards me. It took forever for me to realize that it was no leaf."

"A praying mantis?"

"Yeah, I had a praying mantis epiphany and, as a result, I screamed. No, not...not a girlie scream, but the scream of someone being confronted by some before unknown monster that had no right existing on the same planet I inhabited. Did you ever notice how a praying mantis' head resembles an alien's head? I mean, the mysteries of the natural world were revealed to me that day, but instead of being astounded, I was...repulsed."

"Mulder...Are you sure it wasn't a girlie scream?"

Just then there's a real scream from another room.

"What was that?"

"Oh, I got to go. I'll bet there's been another death." He hangs up.

After the body is removed, Mulder captures a cockroach and brings it first to Bambi then to the institute for robotics to be examined. He tries to talk Scully out of coming up, but she calls to let him know that she's on her way. At least she doesn't have the kids with her.

* * *

Miller's Grove, Massachusetts

Scully feels like she's walked into a mad house when she stops for a map. The town is in mass hysteria, and no evidence of that is more evident than in a convenience store

"Excuse me, do you sell road maps?" Scully asks a clerk behind the counter. He nods. "Could you tell me where they are?"

"Come on, hurry up!" a woman in the next line demands rudely. That clerk gives the woman a long-suffering look, and doesn't ring any faster.

"What's going on here?" Scully asks.

"Haven't you heard about the roaches? They're devouring people whole." She ignores Scully's disbelieving look. "Everybody's getting the hell out of here."

"Have you seen any of cockroaches yourself?"

"No, but they're everywhere," the woman insists before running off as soon her purchases are bagged.

The next man in the next line goes to the counter. "Roaches aren't attacking people, lady. They're spreading the Ebola virus." He throws a fifty on the counter and picks up his stuff. "Look, keep the change." He looks back at Scully as he leaves the store. "We're all going to be bleeding from our nipples!" Then he runs out.

"All right," she shouts holding up her badge. "All right, listen up!"

Everyone shuts up.

"I'm Agent Dana Scully from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am assuring you that you are not in any danger. Everything is going to be okay if you just calm down, and start acting rationally. Now, where the hell are those road maps?"

She looks at the clerk. A woman looks at another one and they both reach for the last can of "Die! Bug! Die!" They both grab it and pull at it.

"Hey! This last can is mine!"

The other woman yanks her around and knocks her backwards into a store display loaded with Choco Droppings. The small, brown pebbles fall out onto the floor, rolling everywhere. An especially frightened man looks down.

"Roaches!"

Everyone, even the clerks, screams and leave, except for Scully. Outside, car engines start and cars honk, people screaming. Scully slowly makes her way over to the spilled candy. She bends down and picks up a half-empty box, then eats a piece, looking around. "These people are insane," she mutters before grabbing her phone.

* * *

"Mulder."

"Mulder, this town is insane. They're going to be burning people at the stake any minute now, you can tell."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in a convenience store on the outskirts of, uh..." She gives the map a puzzled look. "Civilization. Look, I think I may have a lead. Remember that Doctor Eckerle who was the alternative fuel researcher that witnessed the exterminator's death? Well, the fuel that he's researching is methane gas...methane derived from manure."

"Manure?"

"He has an import license...to bring in animal dung samples from outside the country. Now, maybe you can confirm this with your Doctor Bambi-"

"She's not my doctor Bambi," Mulder mutters quietly enough so that Bambi can't make out what he's saying.

Scully ignores his interruption."-but I think that cockroaches are dung-eaters, and if so, some of them may have been shipped accidentally in some of the samples. This fuel research facility could be ground zero for the infestation." She eats another Choco Dropping.

"Scully, if an alien civilization were technologically advanced enough to build and send artificially intelligent robotic probes to the farthest reaches of space, might they not have also been able to perfect the extraction of methane fuel from manure? An abundant and replenishing energy source filled on a planet with dung-producing creatures."

"Mulder, I think you've been in this town too long."

"Where's the research facility located?"

* * *

Alt Fuels  
Miller's Grove, Massachusetts

The ugly building has an ugly sign, which reads "ALT FUELS Inc.: Waste is a Terrible Thing to Waste"

"Wait, Bambi. You better wait here until I make sure it's safe. An unarmed person could be a liability in a situation like this."

"Thanks. I think. Be careful. We still don't know what these cockroaches are capable of, if they're even cockroaches."

"Well, I'm not so much worried about the cockroaches than I am about the human element. I think even an unarmed doctor could hold her own against some bugs."

"Never under estimate insects, Agent Mulder."

"Um yeah..." He shakes his head as he walks towards the building.

He gets out of the car. Doctor Eckerle peers out of his window through his blinds, frightened, breathing heavily. Outside his window, he sees rows of dung sitting on long tables, cockroaches crawling over them and chirping. He sits down and clutches the can of bug spray to his chest. He looks at a cockroach sitting on the desk and sprays it with the "Die! Bug! Die!" The bug is immune to the spray and crawls down the desk. Eckerle keeps spraying at it, almost crying. He throws the can at the desk. Mulder walks through the dark facility and into the room full of dung. He walks past, looking at all of the cockroaches. He reaches down to pull one off of a pile when a gunshot rings out. Mulder ducks as the bullet strikes the dung heap he was reaching to. He looks up to see Eckerle aiming his gun at him.

Mulder sees the man and calls out. "Doctor Eckerle?" He stands, holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner.

"They're after me. First at my house, then at the motel, and then I came here to get away...but...they're following me," Eckerle babbles. They both walk to their left. Eckerle seems to have completely broken down, holding his gun on Mulder.

"You're not in any danger, these insects won't harm you."

"I've seen them kill two men!" Eckerle insists.

"They weren't responsible for those deaths...but they might be responsible for ours if you continue firing your gun in a plant full of methane gas."

"Don't you understand? The bugs...they drive me crazy!" he cries, and the gun in his hand shakes.

* * *

Outside, Scully drives up next to Mulder's car and looks at Bambi.

"Let me guess...Bambi," Scully says through the window.

"Mulder told me to wait out here while he checked inside first." Scully unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of her car. "Should I come along with you?"

"No...this is no place for an entomologist."

"That's what Mulder seemed to think. Actually, I think he implied I'd be a hindrance..."

"I'm sure my husband meant that in a diplomatic way." She takes out her gun, loads the clip and walks towards the building.

Bambi just stares after her, apparently surprised that this is the mother of Mulder's two babies.

Mulder tries to remain calm as Eckerle watches the cockroaches crawl over the dung heaps and chirp. "Why are these roaches making those weird noises?"

He shrugs. "It's just the sound they make. In Madagascar, they have roaches that hiss by blowing air through the holes in their upper thorax."

"Really? How, how do you know so much about them?"

"I don't. That's why we shouldn't kill these, but capture them for further study. Now, please...put the gun down."

Eckerle looks at the gun and takes a deep, jagged breath. "Have I lost my mind?"

"No. You've just had a very stressful day that's affected your ability to think clearly. Your judgment is a little clouded right now."

"It is?"

Mulder nods, reaching for the gun. Eckerle points it at him and Mulder straightens back up. "Then how do I know...that you're not a cockroach?" He approaches him, Mulder backing away.

Scully walks through the dark facility. "Mulder? Mulder!"

Scully sighs and pulls out her cellular phone. She starts dialing.

Mulder is still trying to calm Eckerle down. "I assure you, Doctor Eckerle, I'm just as human as you are...if not more so." His phone rings, sounding much like the chirping emitted by the strange roaches. They look at it. ::Oh crap, I was sure I turned the ringer off this time!::

"You are one of them!"

Eckerle fires at Mulder, but Mulder ducks. The bullet strikes a valve and fire sprays out. Mulder runs off as Eckerle shoots at him again and hits a canister, which also lights on fire. All over the building, valves shoot out fire. Mulder runs up the stairs and towards Scully.

"Mulder!"

"Get out, Scully! This whole place could blow!"

They run outside. Mulder looks over at Bambi. "Get down!"

She puts her head between her knees as Mulder and Scully run for cover. They duck behind Mulder's car as the inside of the facility explodes in fire, flames bursting out of the windows and spraying everything with manure. Bambi looks back at the agents, who are covered in the feces.

"Crap."

* * *

In the early morning, it is raining. Firemen are hard at work trying to put out the fire when Frass walks towards them, wearing a raincoat. The agents are sharing an umbrella.

"It's like a crematorium in there, I don't think we're going to locate the doctor's remains."

"Or anything else, for that matter."

"Still, it's not as bad as some of the other fires we had last night," Frass says.

"There were others?" Scully asks.

"Four, to be exact. Plus eighteen auto accidents, thirteen assault and batteries, two stores were looted, thirty-six injuries all total, half of them from insecticide poisoning...but, we didn't receive reports on cockroaches or otherwise for the last couple of hours. Maybe this town's finally come to its senses. You two ought to go home and get some rest. You look pooped."

He walks away. Mulder smiles. Ivanov rolls up to them, an umbrella attached to his wheelchair. Bambi, also holding an umbrella, watches him intently.

"Agent Mulder? They told me I could locate you here. Those, uh, segments you showed me earlier...may I examine them again?"

Mulder shrugs and reaches into his pocket. "Well, they're completely desiccated...just like the molted exoskeleton." He hands the bag to Ivanov.

Ivanov looks stricken. "You know, many insects don't develop wings until their last molting stage. Perhaps whatever these things were, they had their final molt and have flown off back to wherever they originated."

"Yeah, that would explain everything," Scully says sarcastically.

Mulder looks at her and is about to say something when Ivanov cuts him off. "May I borrow this, Agent Mulder, for further study?"

"Well, I've already had a similar sample analyzed, it's nothing but common metals. What do you hope to find from it?"

"His destiny," Bambi says.

Isn't that what Doctor Zaius said to Zira at the end of The Planet of the Apes?" Ivanov asks.

She nods, smiling. "It's one of my favorite movies."

"Mine too. I love science fiction."

Mulder looks at them strangely.

"I'm also fascinated by your research." Bambi and the doctor start off. "Have you ever considered programming the robots to mimic the behavior of social insects like ants or bees?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

The two continue to speak as they walk off. Mulder hides a smile.

"Smart is sexy," Scully tells him.

Mulder looks at her fondly. ::No kidding.::

"Well, think of it this way, Mulder. By the time there's another invasion of artificially-intelligent, dung-eating robotic probes from outer space, maybe their uber-children will have devised a way to save our planet. If ours haven't first."

"You know, I never thought I'd say this to you, Scully...but you smell bad."

He smirks and walks away, taking the umbrella with him.

"My husband the romantic," Scully says with a sigh.

* * *

Washington DC

Mulder sits at his desk, typing up his report. He is also eating a rather large piece of cake that resembles a dung heap. He proofreads aloud, looking for mistakes, because Skinner accused him of sloppiness recently.

"The development of our cerebral cortex has been the greatest achievement of the evolutionary processes. Big deal. While allowing us the thrills of intellect and the pangs of self-consciousness, it is all too often overruled by our inner, instinctive brain, the one that tells us to react, not reflect, to run rather than ruminate." He takes a bite of the cake.

"Maybe we have gone as far as we can go, and the next advance, whatever that may be, will be made by beings we create ourselves using our own tech..." It beeps as he presses the first key to the word. He tries it again. "Tech..." It beeps. He smacks the screen and it beeps three times. He continues typing. "Technology, lifeforms we can design and program not to be ultimately governed and constricted by the rules of survival.

"Or perhaps that step forward has already been achieved on another planet by organisms that had a billion years head start on us. If these beings ever visited us, would we recognize what we were seeing? And upon catching sight of us, would they react in anything but horror at seeing such mindless, primitive, hideous creatures?"

He goes to take another piece of cake but sees a white cockroach on the plate. He picks up a stack of files, including the X-File for the case, number "667366," and goes to hit it. It crawls to the front of his plate and he watches its head move, lowering the papers. It crawls out onto the desk and he slams the papers down onto it.

Scully comes into the room at the sound. "Mulder, Ivanov and Bambi sent you one of the early prototype of their new cockroach robot. Did you find it okay?"

"Oops."

* * *

December 23rd, 1995

The house has several fire places, but Scully thinks that they're unsafe now that Page is able to walk pretty well, and is determined to get into everything, so the only one that is ever used is the one at the far end of the master bedroom. Mulder is sitting in front of it, staring into the fire he started a half hour earlier. Something about his fixed expression makes Scully nervous, so she goes to him and puts a hand on his left shoulder.

He looks up at her with a questioning look, which makes her feel better because she'd been afraid he'd ignore her. "What's up?"

"That's what I came to ask you, Mulder." She tries to keep her tone light.

"I was thinking about Pusher," he admits.

"What about him? The doctor said that he's still unconscious."

"For now. What if he wakes up? He could hurt more people. Maybe I ought to have-" he breaks off, shaking his head.

Scully shrugs. "If he wakes up he's still dying of a brain tumor."

"I just keep thinking about what happened..." Mulder mutters. What happened was that for the very first time he was able to save someone other than the people he cared about. He dove at officer Collins as he tried to set himself on fire, and he'd disrupted the man's aim with the gasoline. None got on the man's upper body, but even as Mulder tried to get the lighter away from him, he'd lit it. The man would probably be okay, but he still had nasty burns all over his legs. And later Mulder had fallen under Pusher's sway again, and things had worked themselves out the way they had before. That's what's got him reeling still, even a day and a half later. He was able to change one thing, but not anything else. It scares him.

Worse, he worries about the things he has been able to change - Luke's death, Scully's cancer, his children's births...has what he's done been so very different from what Pusher did? Different things motivated the manipulations, malice vs. a desire to help, but still, he had no idea that this case would have him feeling this way. Confused and a little guilty.

"Stop that," Scully says abruptly. "I order you to stop thinking about our cases. We're off for the holidays, and you're going to enjoy the next week if it kills you."

"Aww, I love it when you talk so romantically, Scully." Mulder gives her a grin.

"I know you do, that's why I don't do it too often."

"That's not very nice." He pouts.

"You know what they say, variety keeps a marriage lively."

"I don't think they had ours in mind when they coined the phrase 'variety is the spice of life.'" He snorts.

"C'mon, Mulder, let's go torture the kids with Christmas music." Scully tugs at his hand, trying to get him to stand.

"Ohhh...nothing says holidays like damage inflicted by parental holiday traditions. I'll race you to the CD player."

"If I get there first we're not listening to Elvis. I want to listen to Bing Crosby." She's three steps behind him.

"Scully, there's time enough for Elvis _and_ Bing," Mulder calls back.

* * *

December 28th, 1995

The first thing they do when they have a second to breathe is to call Guardian Angels for Little Angels to arrange for a nanny. Ever since Teena's grim demeanor when they picked up the kids - and she rushed them out, practically slamming the door in their faces - things have become more tense at every hint of out-of-town assignments. So tense that Mulder hadn't dared to ask Scully who she'd left Page and Sammy with when she'd come to rescue him from the cockroaches. It was only Missy's appearance at the door when they got home that clued him in.

The situation being what it is, they are very eager to have a permanent arrangement put into place as soon as possible. They don't really like the agency's policy of "matching" a nanny to a family rather than have the parents interview the prospective nanny but beggars can't be choosers. They *are* that desperate. Mulder feels guilty that they're willing to accept anyone that the agency sends over, but the agency has a lot of experience with this sort of thing; the ad says they have been in business for fifteen years.

Despite the literature's - and the yellow page's ad - promise of immediate placement, it takes time for the company to match them to the "right" person. The agency sends a nanny to them, finally, the twenty-eighth of December.

She seems shockingly young to Mulder- she'd only graduated from Spelman College the year before - but then he has to keep reminding himself that he's years younger than he thinks he is. Amy seems to be good with the kids, though, despite only being in her early twenties, and by the end of her first week it's clear that Page finds her greatly amusing.

"'me!" she shrieks as soon as the doorbell rings. Watching her daughter reach up and scrabble for the doorknob, Scully wonders if she should reprimand Page for trying to open the door without permission. Ultimately she decides to shelve the lecture until the girl can really open the door. Instead, she quickly drains her glass of orange juice and lets the young woman in. Within two minutes Page and Amy were chatting in the family room. Scully wanders back to the kitchen.

Her look is a little sour when Mulder joins her, with a newly changed Sammy in his arms. They can both hear Page giggle in the other room. "Jealous?" he teases lightly. Sammy hiccups loudly.

"Am I jealous that someone else gets to stay home all day with my babies? You bet your-" she bites off the last word when she notices that Page has toddled away from the nanny and is now ignoring Amy's call. Page is looking very interested in her parents' conversation. "- life."

Mulder gives a helpless shrug that startles his son into kicking his cheek. He winces, but is grateful that baby feet are small and not capable of much force. "If you're that unhappy we could afford it if you wanted to cut back your hours..." he trails off pensively.

"And give them another excuse for shutting us down?" Scully sighs. "I'm fine, Mulder. I was just engaging in a moment of wishful thinking, that's all."

"I'm sure such a boring case doesn't help you rocket up the enthusiasm." Mulder sighs as they put on their coats.

"You, bored?" Scully stops dead, her coat hanging half off. "I never thought I'd live to hear you say something like that."

"I know that I usually flip over bisected cows, but Scully, the magic is gone," Mulder says with sparkling eyes.

"Don't say that, Mulder. Maybe if you go into counseling you can regain your love of dead cows." Scully sniggers.

"Well, someone from Human Resources does keep sending me memos explaining that our health insurance does cover counseling. If I didn't have a healthy self-esteem, I'd worry that they were trying to tell me something. Do you think this sort of topic can be addressed by your average mental health professional?"

"Average? No. But I can ask some of the people I went to med school with and see if they know of someone who works with coroners a lot."

"That'd be perfect." Mulder laughs as they head out the door.


	32. Jose Chung's From Outer Space

February 1996

"What made you decide to write a book about an alien abduction if you're not that interested in the subject yourself?" Scully asks, wishing Mulder hadn't taken the day off to "spend time with the kids," since he's the quote-unquote expert. If it were anyone else, he'd race over, no matter where the meeting place is, and spill whatever insanity he happened to be on that day. She bites back a sigh as she sits across from the sprightly old man, wondering if they'll ever have anything in common other than kids and a shared level of curiosity.

Jose Chung raises his shoulders a little. "Actually? It was my publisher's idea. At first I was reluctant, until I realized that I had an opportunity here to create an entirely new literary genre...a non-fiction science fiction. Now, see, that gimmick alone will guarantee its landing on the best-seller list. In short, to answer your question? Money," the blustery old man, who looks neither Chinese nor Hispanic, but wholly Caucasian, answers her.

She raises her eyebrows. "Well, as long as you're attempting to record the truth," she says, seeing the figure on the pedestal wobble dangerously.

"Oh, God, no," Chung chuckles. "How could I possibly do that?"

Now she frowns. This is the Klass County case they were talking about, right? What's so hard about getting to the truth? "What do you mean?"

Like a college professor, including the patches-at-the-elbow jacket, Chung paces, waving his hands. "I spent three months in Klass County and everybody there has a different version of what truly happened. Truth is as subjective as reality. That will help explain why when people talk about their 'UFO experiences, they always start off with, 'well, now, I know how crazy this is going to sound...but.'"

Oh boy. "So you're here to get my version of the truth?" she says, folding her arms. She'd like to think her truth is The Truth, but spending too much time with Mulder is slowly eroding her inviolable faith in what she used to think was unquestionable. But she still thinks she's right, most of the time, and that her husband, brilliant as he is, is a bit of a nut.

"Exactly." The old man nods with a brisk grin. Picking up a pen and notepad, he asks, "Now, when did you first find out about the case?"

Scully purses her lips as she leans back a little. "Well...not right away, of course. Um...not enough time had elapsed for it to be considered a missing person's case before the girl was found the following morning."

* * *

As the case unfolds, Scully wonders why it sounds fantastic even to her own ears. That Chung is jotting things down, as if matter-of-factly, seems the incredible thing. Then again, there are so many times on their cases that things seem so bizarre that she's come to naturally suppress the urge to run screaming for a psyche ward pickup, especially when it comes to her husband.

The girl's testimony sounds like a credible, simple case of date rape to her, which was only complicated when the suspected rapist, Harold, visited her home. Not to mention Mulder's insistence on hypnosis, which she never felt was a trustworthy recall method to begin with, which leads to Chrissy telling what appears to be a classic alien abduction, rather than rape, story. When she comes to Detective Manners, she feels a grin dancing on the edges of her lips. "Well, of course, he didn't actually say 'bleeped'," she says, accustomed to censoring herself in front of the children and professional people. "He actually said-"

Chung smiles briskly. "I'm, uh, familiar with, uh, Detective Manners' *colorful* phraseology."

As she continues to talk about the case, she notices things she hadn't previously realized. Neither Chrissy nor Harold seem to be awake in the other's recollections, at least while under hypnosis. Chrissy's scenario is more like the science fiction pulp that seems to fill tabloids, while Harold's is closer to a POW's capture. Still, she managed to get at the heart of the matter after Mulder's insane questions.

"Harold...did you and Chrissy engage in consensual sexual intercourse that night?" she'd asked.

The boy looked away. She hopes she never has to find out the hard way about her own children, and vows to talk openly with them about sex. "If her father finds out, I'm a dead man," Harold finally said.

Later, she tried to make Mulder see reason, if possible, and keep the investigation on a more prurient track. Of course, as usual, he refused to go her way. "He said it happened before the abduction. So what if they had sex?"

God, give me strength, she'd prayed. "So we know that it wasn't an alien who probed her," she'd said slowly, as if that would make it more obvious. "Mulder, you've got two kids having sex before they're mature enough to know how to handle it."

"So you're saying that all this is just a case of sexual trauma?" he'd restated.

Duh, she'd thought. Aloud, Scully said, "It's a lot more plausible than an alien abduction, especially in light of their contradictory stories."

Just when she thought she'd gotten through to him, the detective shot it all to hell. "Hey! I just got a call from some crazy bleep-head saying he was an eyewitness to this alien abduction. Do you feel like talking to this blank-hole?"

NO! she wanted to scream, while her partner and husband was already leaping up in a nonverbal but clear YES! It was one of the few times she wanted to spout more than a few "bleeps" in front of local law enforcement.

* * *

They went to the bleep-head's, that is, Roky Crikenson's place, and Scully wasn't surprised to see Roky was a freelance artist, along with his Grizzly Adams look. "I know how crazy all this sounds, but I don't care. What I have to say has to be said," The bearlike man said through his beard and moustache.

Of *course* it's gonna sound crazy, even if you look normal, Scully wanted to say, but instead snaps, "Why did you wait till now to tell us this information? Two kids' lives may be affected by it."

He didn't seem put off by her brusqueness. "Well, it, it's bigger than a couple of kids. It has to do with the entire planet...the universe and who knows what else!"

Oh, no, she thought, as Mulder's eyes practically glowed. "Why don't you tell us what happened that night?" He'd asked, ready to swallow the big fish story, hook, line and sinker.

Roky held up a thick stack of papers. "It's all here. After seeing what I saw that night, I rushed right home and wrote it all down. Forty-eight hours straight. I didn't want to forget a single detail."

I'll bet, Scully thought, which is as much time as it takes for the drugs to leave your system. Mulder, however, reached for the document. Good thing the guy held it away, because she was just about to smack his hand.

"But I feel that I should warn you, I don't want to be overly dramatic here, but by looking at this, you're putting your lives in danger."

Dammit, why'd you have to say something like that? she'd almost yelled. "Why is that?" Mulder asked, but by the shifting of his eyes, she could tell that he smelled something suspicious.

The pale faced man paused dramatically. Or asthmatically, she wasn't quite sure. "Because last night, the weirdest thing happened."

As Scully tells of his MIB visitation, Chung breaks in to interject something about fairy tales, which she doesn't think helps Roky's sanity case much. Not like she ever did, but she's not saying that out loud. She thought it was rather funny when he brought up the fact that he was a Republican. Sure he is. And she believes in aliens. Right.

He'd finally handed over the manuscript to Mulder, declaring that he'd make himself scarce. Apparently, he *did* take the MIB's threats seriously, enough to make him want to leave. That, or he didn't want his natural source of glaucoma medicine to be found, she'd thought more cynically.

* * *

When reading the manuscript aloud in their motel room, Mulder'd used a Darth Vader-like tone, making her laugh. They hadn't gotten very far, however, since he'd taken the opportunity to amuse her in other ways. To the author, Scully tries to be diplomatic. "In short, Roky showed signs of being what is known as a fantasy-prone personality," she says, shrugging helplessly.

The little man puts a hand on his heart, tilting his head like a kindly grandfather. "Agent Scully, you are so kindhearted. He's a nut! I just read his manifesto!"

She frowns. "How did you get a copy?" A sinking feeling tells her that Roky, threatened though he might've been, was rather resourceful.

Chung pulls out a familiar thick document. "One was sent to my publishers. I don't know what was more disturbing...his description of the inner core reincarnated souls sex orgy...or the fact that the whole thing is written in screenplay format."

Ooh, we didn't get as far as the sex orgy, she thinks, but holds back. "It definitely was peculiar," she admits, wondering if Mulder kept their copy. She knows if she had it, it would be lining the floors for Queequeg.

"Well, surely, your partner didn't believe any of it?" Chung asks, his thick eyebrows darting over his glasses.

She wants to cover her face. "Well," she says slowly, trying to figure out what's safe to say, " Mulder's had his share of peculiar notions. He's not inclined to dismiss anything outright."

Of course, when she flashes back to their motel room, she conveniently edits out a good couple of hours. "Mulder, you're nuts!" she'd said bluntly when he'd brought up the possibility. Sometimes she wished he'd just leave good sex alone.

"I'm not saying he isn't delusional, I'm just suggesting that his delusional state was triggered by something he actually witnessed that night. And the first part of his story verifies the boy's version. In fact, the only version that doesn't add up is the girl's."

I'm saying you're delusional, too, Scully had wanted to say. Instead, she sighed as he picked up the phone. "Who are you calling?" she asked, already picking up her clothes. It was going to be a long night.

"I'm going to arrange to have her re-hypnotized," Mulder said, sounding about as excited as when he lifted her legs over his head. Not that she's going to tell Chung that.

Damn you, she thought, and dropped her clothes. "Re-hypnotized? What for?" As if Chrissy wasn't spewing enough conflicting stories, you have to muddy up the waters again!

"To see if what she remembers is really what she remembers," Mulder says simply.

His wife hit her head against the wall repeatedly. God, she felt like doing what that crazy alien in Harold's story, take a good long smoke and mutter, "This is not happening," over and over.

But it did. Well, maybe not the part about the kids getting abducted or Roky seeing some weird underground orgy, but the re-hypnosis session. As she'd inwardly predicted, the girl changed her story yet again, making it sound closer to Mulder's own conspiracy theories.

She'd tried to warn him afterwards, that his interference was making the situation worse, not clearer. "Mulder, I think you and the hypno-therapist were leading her and I think there was more confabulation in the second version than in the first," She'd said, looking up at him. It's not a look of love, it's of judging his sanity, his motives.

He'd shaken his head, sure he was doing the right thing, as usual. "No, I think you're wrong about that, Scully. But I do think you're right about one thing, that this case might not have anything to do with aliens."

Finally! She was ready to throw up her hands, kiss his cheeks, and drag him home right then and there. And maybe we get to see the kids again at a decent hour, and not prolong Mom's last-minute grandma-grandkids bonding session. Thank you, God!

And then the good, if foul-mouthed, detective came in with another message of hope and goodwill. "Hey, I just got a call from some crazy blankety-blank claiming he found a real live dead alien body."

As the FBI agents looked at each other, Scully thought, Ah, bleep.

* * *

Blaine Faulkner's Room

Jose Chung picks up a transcript of an interview and begins reading it to Scully.

The first thing Blaine Faulkner said to me was 'I know how crazy this is going to sound, but...I want to be abducted by aliens.' Of course my own response was 'Why? Whatever for?'"

Scully nods her head. It's crossed her mind more than once to wonder if her husband has similar hidden desires.

"So the boy responded ' I hate this town. I hate...people. I just want to be taken away to someplace where I...I don't have to worry about finding a job.' Then we established that he was out looking for a UFO to pick him up that night. He told me that he'd heard of some sightings in the area. Then he went on to tell me that he'd read every book ever written on UFOS. I found that sad."

"That is sad. Even my husband can't claim that distinction."

"Well. The boy then said that getting his video camera would have been a brighter idea than notifying the proper authorities. When I asked him why he said ' Because the proper authorities showed up with a couple of men in black.'

"Meaning Mulder and I," Scully says without a trace of humor.

"Indeed. He went on to say: One of them was disguised as a woman, but wasn't pulling it off. Like, her hair was red but it was a little too red, you know? And the other one...the tall, lanky one...his face was so blank and expressionless. He didn't even seem human. I, I think he was a mandroid. The only time he reacted was when he saw the dead body.'"

"It wasn't that girly of a yell."

"Then he said you told him' You never saw this. This didn't happen. You tell anyone, you're a dead man.' And pushed him."

"He said I said what?" she sputters.

"When I interviewed him, he claimed you threatened him."

"That's ridiculous! I'm...and besides, we allowed him to view the autopsy." She grimaces and presses play on a VCR, showing the whole autopsy tape, which clearly shows that Blaine is in the room while it's going on."

"So this is footage of the actual autopsy you performed," Chung says with a nod towards the monitor.

Scully groans "It's so embarrassing." She holds up a case to another video. "Dead Alien! Truth or Humbug" The title boldly proclaims. A picture of Yappi is in the lower corner. Then she switches tapes and Yappi appears on the screen.

"Who is that mysterious man who seems to be overseeing the proceedings?" The camera does not show Mulder's face as it goes around the body, then zooms in on Scully. "And what secret government agency does this autopsy doctor work for?"

"But see? Whoever got a hold of this footage edited it in such a way as to delete all the significant findings. The deceased wasn't an alien at all, but Air Force Major Robert Vallee." She gives him a sad smirk. "Of course, the air force came and claimed the body before we were able to do anything else with it."

"Of course. That's how government types work." Chung says sagely.

"Excuse me?"

"Present company excluded, of course," the author mumbles.

"After not recovering the tape, Mulder was heading back to the motel and that's when his account of things gets a little...odd. He claims that he was driving down the road when he saw the other missing airforceman, lieutenant Jack Schaffer wandering down the road, naked as a jay bird."

"And how did agent Mulder respond to this situation?" Chung asks.

Scully shrugs. "He stopped the car, lent the guy some clothes and took him to a dinner to talk about how the government was faking UFO sightings and kidnaps people and brainwashes them to uphold some sort of charade to divert attention away from the government's true motives. Before they could conclude their conversation, Schaffer was dragged away by what looked to be MPs."

Chung raises an eyebrow. "That is odd. Because almost every day I was there, I ate lunch at that diner and became dear friends with the cook. He told me a story about the night you're talking about. A man came into his place sat down, ordered sweet potato pie, identified himself as F.B.I. Agent Mulder. He then questioned my friend, ordering piece after piece of sweet potato pie, each time asking another question. He ate a whole pie in that fashion, then got up and left. My friend never saw him again. The cook never mentioned Lieutenant Schaffer, let alone any other Air Force personnel."

"You seem non-nonplused by these contradictions?"

Scully's shaking her head. "The man might be a dear friend, but I doubt the veracity of his claim. Mulder hates sweet potato pie. Not to mention what happened when Mulder left the diner and got back to the motel was as strange as Mulder's version of earlier events."

"Which was what?"

She sighs. "Mulder got back to our hotel room and discovered that I wasn't in the room, but two men were. Men in black. When he drew a gun on them and demanded to know where I was, they calmly told him that I'd gone for some ice. Before he shot them, I returned with a bucket of ice. Which is odd, because I hate ice in my drinks."

"Perhaps you had some other purpose in mind for the ice, involving your partner," Chung suggests with a grin.

"I'm going to ignore the implication that we acted less than professionally while on this case," she says coolly. "I informed him that the men had something to tell him, and one of them said ' Some alien encounters are hoaxes perpetrated by your government to manipulate the public. Some of these hoaxes are intentionally revealed to manipulate the truth-seekers who become discredited if they disclose the deliberately absurd deception.' To which Mulder replied 'Similar things are said about the men in black. That they purposely dress and behave strangely so that if anyone tries to describe an encounter with them, they come off sounding like a lunatic.

"'I myself said nothing, and held onto the ice bucket, trying to remember what I'd gotten it for. The man smirked at Mulder and retorted ' I find absolutely no reason why anyone would think you crazy if you described this meeting of ours.' Then the other man, the one who looked like Alex Trebek, according to Mulder tried to hypnotize Mulder. "

"Alex Trebek?! The game show host?!" Chung squawks.

"Mulder didn't say that it _was_ Alex Trebek. It was just someone that looked incredibly like him. I myself didn't really see the resemblance."

"Oh..." He looks disappointed.

"Then we both went to bed, and were woken the next morning when Detective Manners called to tell us that he'd found Mulder's bleeping UFO."

"Mulder, of course, was livid when we got to the wreak site. The body of Robert Vallee, a man we'd seen with our own eyes dead on an autopsy table was carted past us. Then, even more upsettingly to Mulder, the body of Jack Schaffer. Manners wrote the events of the three days we'd worked with him off as an attempt to keep us from assisting in a way that would hinder a cover up attempt."

"I'm betting that Mulder saw things differently," Chung guesses.

"He did. His claim was that they did want our help - as witnesses to their alibi "

Chung glares at Scully.

"I know it probably doesn't have the sense of closure that you want...but it has more than some of our other cases."

Chung closes his notebook with a slam, and mutters to himself as Scully leaves the room.

* * *

The next day

Jose Chung's Office

Chung is typing on the typewriter. He hears murmuring outside and sees a silhouette of two people in his window. He takes out his gun and slowly makes his way to the door. He opens it to see Mulder and a janitor talking. Mulder isn't alone.

"Agent Mulder?" Chung asks as Mulder pulls the door open. He motions for him to come in. Mulder looks at him.

"Thanks." Mulder continues to stand in the doorway.

"What can I do for you, Agent Mulder?" Chung asks in a decidedly uncooperative tone of voice.

"Don't write this book," Mulder replies. "You'll perform a disservice through a field of inquiry that has always struggled for respectability. You're a gifted writer, but no amount of talent could describe the events that occurred in any realistic vein because they deal with alternative realities that we're yet to comprehend. And when presented in the wrong way, in the wrong context, the incidents and the people involved in them can appear foolish, if not downright psychotic."

Mulder edges his way into the room. "I also know that your publishing house is owned by Warden White, Incorporated...a subsidiary of MacDougall-Kesler, which makes me suspect a covert agenda for your book on the part of the military-industrial-entertainment complex."

"Agent Mulder, this book will be written." Chung peers at Mulder, who is still in the dim light. "What are those things?"

Mulder is holding Sammy, and Page is clinging to his leg. "Children. I'm sure you've seen some before."

"Oh, I see, a pint sized hit squad, is it? That's a rather strange strong-arm tactic. What is it that you plan for them to do, drool on my manuscript and have them blur the pages? Perhaps smear them with the contents of their pampers?"

Mulder gives him a puzzled look. "Are you on medication? If not, you might consider it."

"I'm in perfect mental health," Chung says with a miffed sniff. "If you don't plan for these children to be instrumental in destroying my work, why have you brought them with you?"

The look he gives Page when she reaches for a shiny paper-weight on his desk suggests he has little liking or experience with children. As a good will gesture, Mulder hands Page his keys instead. She jangles them merrily, making the writer wince - after he's snatched up the paperweight.

Mulder considers the author's question and shrugs. "I wanted to show you that there's more to agent Scully and me than as fodder for your book. By turning the spotlight on us, you turn it on them, and that's not something most parents want for their children - especially parents who deal with potentially dangerous criminals who might see small helpless children as an easy path towards revenge for a perceived wrong after they're received the justice they richly deserve. "

Chung's sallow skin pales noticeably and he swallows loudly. "I can assure you that I have no desire to put babies in harm's way agent Mulder."

"Then don't write this book," Mulder repeats.

"Agent Mulder, this book will be written. But perhaps we can come to a compromise." Chung sneaks another look at Sammy, who is lying placidly in Mulder's arms. "If you give me the last puzzle piece I need to finish this book, I'll change names to make it impossible for the average person to trace the story's truth to you and agent Scully."

"What's the 'piece' that you're missing?" Mulder asks the older man.

"What really happened to those kids on that night?"

To Chung's apparent surprise, Mulder drops his son into the man's lap. "This might take a while. If you fear drool, you'd best keep him clear of your pages."

That said, Mulder scoops up Page, sits down, and begins telling the man his version of the story.

* * *

To his surprise, Mulder is invited to watch while the author records the audio version of his book. Mulder declines, but receives an advanced copy in the mail several months before the printing anyway. The only thing that accompanies it is a note saying "Even in fiction, there is truth."

Mulder puts the last disk into the cd player and skips chapters until the last, then presses play.

Page giggles when the older man's voice pours out of the speakers, making Mulder wonder if his young daughter can remember the visit they paid to the man. He doesn't think so, but his daughter keeps surprising him, so he merely shrugs and sits on the floor with her to listen.

"Evidence of extraterrestrial existence remains as elusive as ever...but the skies will continue to be searched by the likes of Darren Joyce, hoping to someday find not only proof of alien life, but also contentment on a new world. Until then, he must be content with his new job.

"Others search for answers from within. York relocated to El Cajon, California, preaching to the lost and desperate. Seeking the truth about aliens means a perfunctory nine-to-five job to some. For although Agent Gillian Bart is noble of spirit and pure in heart, she remains, nevertheless, a federal employee.

"As for her partner, David Kane...that ticking timebomb of insanity...his quest into the unknown has so warped his psyche, one shudders to think how he receives any pleasures from life.

"Bessy Armani has come to believe her alien visitation was a message to improve the condition of her own world, and she has devoted herself to this goal wholeheartedly.

"Then there are those who care not about extraterrestrials, searching for meaning in other human beings. Rare or lucky are those who find it. For although we may not be alone in the universe, in our own separate ways on this planet, we are all...alone."

As the CD runs out, Mulder looks down at his toddler. "Some people really don't get it, Page. You'll see, there are people who miss the point everywhere. I hope you get through kindergarten before you meet any, though."

Page points two fingers at him. "Silly Daddy."

"Oh great, I see your mom has been telling stories about me too."

Sammy, who has been trapped in his baby swing looks at Mulder. "'illy."

Mulder groans and covers his face. "Until you get the S sound down, that doesn't count as your first word, little man." Then his face brightens. "Can either of you say 'clever'? Say 'Clever daddy.'" There's a noticeable silence . "Or maybe ' Misunderstood Daddy.'"

Sammy and Page just stare at him.

"I'm going to get a parrot," Mulder mumbles petulantly to himself.


	33. Quagmire

March 1996

"Again!" Page crows as the car speeds through Rigdon, Georgia.

"Not again," Mulder groans. Maybe this is the reason why his family didn't take too many family vacations - the kids driving the parents nuts in the car, while the parents are attempting to drive, period. Or perhaps he's being too hard on the kids, especially since it's not their fault this case seemed to jump out of nowhere again, with little notice.

"We're definitely investing in a nanny that takes care of kids and pets and does weekends," Scully says in an I-told-you so voice from the backseat. She's got a leash on the Pomeranian, but she's wondering if she should invest in another for her daughter. She stares at a sign reading "What's Bigger Than the Sky?" and wonders what kind of missing persons case he's dragging them to.

"Good luck," Mulder sighs. "The King's definitely spinning in his grave."

His wife raises an eyebrow, even while nursing Sammy. "You mean you don't believe all those Elvis sightings?"

He smiles. "I want to believe." His concentration's jolted when his daughter pounds the back of his seat. "What?"

"Again!" Page demands. "Sing 'again!"

As Mulder massacres "You Ain't Nuthin' But A Hound Dog" for the umpteenth time, he sees a welcome sign reading "Big Blue. The Southern Serpent. Spot Him at Heuvelmans Lake."

"Mul-DER!" Scully glares at him through the rear view mirror.

* * *

After the interview in the ecology lab with Doctor Farraday, who makes even Scully look like a believer, Mulder's ready to take a break at the souvenir shop, commune with like-minded folk. Hey, he knows he saw it the last time, and this time, he's even getting a camera. "We're looking for the Lake View Cabins. Flipper Road?" he asks, putting the camera on the counter.

The old man shakes his head as he rings up the purchase. "You passed the turnoff a few miles back. It's uh, pretty tough to find. Uh, a map might help." He pulls out a map. Mulder reaches out for it, but the old man holds it away. "That'll be nine-fifty, plus Uncle Sam."

"All right." Mulder sighs, wondering why every small tourist spot believes in inflation. His daughter continues to run around, and he finds himself saying something he never thought he would, "Page, don't touch, okay?"

The clerk grins. "You folks here to see Big Blue?" Mulder nods, while Scully summons a half-enthusiastic smile, hefting Sammy on to her other hip. "Yeah, ever since those folks disappeared, everybody's been wantin' a look-see." He chuckles as the little girl plasters her face against the glass displays. "When I was ten years old, I was fishing with my daddy, and I heard a...big commotion. Clear across the lake. A wailing sound, the likes of which I had never heard before, never heard since. My daddy told me later that a cow had escaped from the Rockdale ranch and was drinking by the lake. Well, old Big Blue came right up and snatched her from the bank."

Scully looks disapproving as her daughter seems to swallow the story wholesale like her father. "That's some story," she says, and looks outside when Queequeg barks.

"Do you believe those stories?" Mulder asks, and ignores his wife's eye-rolling.

The old man chuckles again. "Well, a man's got to look at the evidence, decide for himself." The dog continues to bark as a lanky man enters the shop. "But if you want to ask a real expert, should probably talk to Ansel here. He's out there practically every day." He leans in and whispers conspiratorially. "It was his daddy's cow that got eaten."

Ignoring the chitchat, the photographer puts a pile of camera films on the table. "Can you get these developed by tomorrow, Ted? And another five rolls while I'm in town?"

Ted grins widely. "These folks wanna take a look at Big Blue, Ansel. See what et up those poor souls." Mulder nods while Scully pastes a polite look on her face.

"Have you actually seen it?" Scully wonders, bouncing Sammy on her hip.

Ansel shakes his head, but there's a determined look in his eyes. "Not directly, no. But I aim to. Someday, I'll be in the right place at the right time, and I will snap a shot of that monster."

As he leaves, Scully mutters to her husband, "'Not directly'? How direct does one have to be to catch Georgia's version of Nessie?"

Mulder shrugs and grins, grabbing the camera, the map, and his daughter while nodding his thanks to the old man. As Scully unties the Pomeranian, he wonders idly whether Queequeg's luck will change this time around. When the little dog continues to yap incessantly, Mulder hopes not.

* * *

In the motel room that night, after the sheriff panics and shuts down the lake, Mulder frowns. It still took three missing-slash-dead people and a little touchy-feely on Big Blue's part to close the water to the public, but he doubts that's gonna stop the true believers. Or skeptics, he thinks, remembering the scientist. Meanwhile, he and Scully are going through the late Ansel's photos, hundreds and hundreds of them, with some dubious help from their kids.

"Look, Daddy, monster!" Page holds up one blurry photo.

Sammy giggles and drools on another stack. Scully sighs when Mulder says, "This could be a tooth."

"Tooth!" Page yells happily, and plows into another stack of photos.

The dog barks, and Scully looks at the dog with some hope. "It could be a lot of things," she says, in a tone that says I doubt it. "I'm taking Queequeg for a walk."

"Doggie!" Page squeals, and Mulder catches her before she can go off the bed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he says, looking up at his wife. "Safety in numbers," he says hopefully.

Scully shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says, showing off her gun, "you watch over the kids. And your," she smirks, "evidence."

"I love you!" Mulder says desperately, but it's no use. She blows them a kiss and walks out the door. He looks at his kids, who are currently making a Big Blue-sized mess out of the photos. "I love you, too, but sometimes, you really drive me nuts!" He grabs and tickles his daughter, who giggles loudly. Sammy scootches over, not wanting to miss out on the fun. "Nuts, nuts, nuts!" Mulder declares, then lifts his son over his head, blowing a raspberry on his round tummy. Both his kids are laughing now, and he joins in, throwing the photos up into the air.

* * *

It seems like mere moments later, but Scully blows through the door, cradling the small dog in her arms. "Something's out there," she says breathlessly, then looks around. It appears like a localized hurricane went through their motel room. "Mulder," she says slowly, "what happened here?"

Mulder grins, feeling only a little better that the little beast didn't meet its demise just yet. But the night's still young. "Your genius kids found something!" he crows, holding up a batch of photos. Then he pauses. "What's out there?"

She sets her lips. "Something attacked Queequeg," she says, and now everyone can see the dog's missing its tail. "What did they find in those photos?"

"A pattern," Mulder says eagerly, "locations where the fish has been sighted over the past several years. Look, five years ago, all the sightings occurred in the center of the lake. But progressively the sightings have moved closer and closer to shore, until this year, they're practically on the shore." He picks up his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Scully asks, frowning.

"Big Blue hunting," he grins, kissing the tops of both his children's heads, then his wife's. "Out there be monsters."

"Good luck, Mulder," Scully sighs, then looks around the room again. "In here, be monsters, too." She looks at her children like an interrogator to witnesses. "Now, what did you and Daddy do here when I was gone?"

Her children smile angelically.

* * *

Later that night, her cell phone rings. "Scully," she says automatically, covering her mouth to yawn, her eyes still closed.

"Hey, Scully, it's me," Mulder says. "My five hundred dollar deposit just sank."

Scully nods sleepily. "Mulder, where are you?" she says, as Sammy mumbles in his sleep.

"On a rock in the lake," he replies. "Don't worry, Big Blue is keeping me company."

"That's nice," she murmurs, "what are you hoping to accomplish out there?"

He's somewhat miffed that she isn't wide awake and worried. At the same time, he's relieved she isn't herding the kids and the dog in the car to chase him down, since he took the car. "You're a scientist, why do you ask that question? I mean, finding Big Blue would be a marvelous discovery, it could revolutionize our evolutionary biological thinking," he says, hoping neither the alligator nor the near-mythical monster would find him alone out there. A splash nearby startles him and he attempts to draw his gun without dropping the cell. So far, so good, he thinks, nearly dropping the gun. Just to keep himself from going insane before Farraday finds him, he babbles on. "Hey Scully, why did you name that dog Queequeg?"

She turns over, patting the amputated dog absently on the bed. "It was the name of the harpoonist in 'Moby Dick.' My father used to read to me from 'Moby Dick' when I was a little girl, I called him Ahab and he called me Starbuck. So I named my dog Queequeg. It's funny, I just realized something," she giggles.

"That that's a weird name for a dog?" he quips, rubbing his free hand up and down his arm.

"No, silly," she mutters, "how much you're like Ahab. You're so consumed by your personal vengeance against life, whether it be its inherent cruelties or mysteries, everything takes on a warped significance to fit your megalomaniacal cosmology."

"'Megalomaniacal'?" he repeats in a mock-hurt tone. Then he grins. "You want me, don't you?"

She snorts, feeling almost lightheaded talking about philosophical outlooks this late at night. By the way her mind is drifting, she knows it's later than 2 a.m. "It's the truth or a white whale. What difference does it make? I mean, both obsessions are impossible to capture, and trying to do so will only leave you dead along with everyone else you bring with you. You know Mulder, you *are* Ahab," she finishes solemnly.

"You know, it's interesting you should say that, because I've always wanted a peg leg," he says, staring up at the black, black night. "It's a boyhood thing I never grew out of. I'm not being flippant, I've given this a lot of thought. I mean, if you have a peg leg or hooks for hands, then maybe it's enough to simply keep on living. You know, braving facing life with your disability. But without these things you're actually meant to make something of your life, achieve something earn a raise, wear a necktie. So if anything I'm actually the antithesis of Ahab, because if I did have a peg leg I'd quite possibly be more happy and more content not to be chasing after these creatures of the unknown."

A noise startles him, and he points his gun. Lowering his phone, he sees it's Farraday. He's never been so relieved to see that curmudgeonly skeptic, and he shouts his greetings.

"Mulder, what happened?" Scully asks, a little more awake.

"It's okay," he says into the phone, "it's Doctor Farraday. I'll talk to you later, Scully."

She nods and hangs up, then rolls over, nearly smashing the Pomeranian in the process.

* * *

The next morning, with Sammy fastened firmly to her back, Scully socks her husband's arm. "You should have woken me up," she scolds him after the sheriff leaves. The lake is still closed, but the place is swarming with forensics, so it doesn't feel so deserted.

"I did," he protests, "don't you remember our chat about Ahab and peg legs?" He picks up his daughter and puts her on his shoulders. "Mommy's mean, isn't she?"

Scully glares. "You could've been killed!" she says. "By an alligator, no less!"

Mulder shrugs, and his daughter kicks her feet into his chest. After coughing a little, he answers, "I didn't get the white whale, or Big Blue, or even a peg leg for that matter."

She shakes her head and puts her arms around him. "I'm just glad you're all right," she admits, "but next time you're whale hunting, Ahab, drag me along."

He smiles. "Does that mean we get to use Queequeg as bait next time?" She punches his other arm, and he winces. "Ow," he mutters, rubbing it gingerly. Seeing some of the forensic team snap crime scene shots reminds him that he didn't even get a chance to use his camera, having sorted through thousands of Ansel's photos sort of putting him off on the idea. Now he pulls out his camera and says, "Well, one photo before we hit the road?"

Scully nods gamely, and unfastens Sammy from her back so he can be in the photo. As she's repositioning her son, Mulder tries to fasten his daughter's feet down with his free hand while holding out the camera at an acceptable angle. "Okay, no kicking," he says, "you're going to make the picture shaky."

"Isn't that your favorite type?" Scully says, finally holding Sammy in her arms. "Or am I forgetting certain anti-gravity aspects?"

He makes a face, and once Page calms down enough, he says, "Ready? Cheeeeeeeese!" As they all chorus the dairy word, none of them see the distant dark shape of a creature behind them moving through the water. "Ow!" Mulder snaps the photo after Page kicks him again, which turns out to be a blurry shot of his and Scully's torso. Other photos are blurry images of their feet and parts of their heads, with the only clear picture being taken by Scully with their faces squished together for a close shot. "Who says you can't have Kodak moments anymore?" Mulder wonders, and Scully looks like she's ready to kick him, too.


	34. Wetwired

Location undisclosed

April 27th, 1996

Propping himself up on an elbow, Krycek stares at the woman in his bed. Sound asleep, she's untroubled by the studious looks.

It's taken months, but he's finally figured out why she seemed familiar to him when they first meet. When he'd learned her relation to a thorn in his ass, he'd chalked up the feeling to having subconsciously realizing a fraternal resemblance, but the memory his mind conjured up while drowsy from good sex pointed out that he'd seen her before she'd seen him, and that it'd had little to do with her sister.

The first glimpse he'd ever had of Melissa Scully was not in the flesh, but staring back at him from a glossy page, a candid picture taken without her knowledge in a stark setting.

It had been just two days after he'd been released from the hospital into his 'father's' care when the old man had brought him the photo album. Right then he'd been too sick and too weak to really comprehend the message that the photos had been meant to convey, and most of the conversation that had accompanied the show and tell had fallen out of his memory, leaving only the haziest of imprints behind; it had only been through later conversations that he'd really gotten the gist of what the old bastard had been telling him.

But now that he thinks about it, he can remember her picture, but only because of the smoking man's comment about it.

He'd taken the cigarette out of his mouth and pointed at the photograph with a nicotine stained finger. "This one is the biggest triumph of all, Alex, and it couldn't have been easier if I'd spent months planning it. In fact, the do-gooder fool came to us, as innocent as a fly going to tea at a spider's. They say that God smiles on some plans, but it's things like this that make me think that fallen angels meddle handily in the affairs of men, too."

At the time the statement made no sense to him, but now he understands all too well. It makes him wonder if hr should wake her and tell her, but he decides that it would be of no advantage to him, and therefore of no purpose.

* * *

Washington, D.C.

Food Lion parking lot

April 28th, 1996

7:59 p.m.

Mulder sits in his car, watching two men talk. One of the men walks off. The other comes to his car and lets himself in, sitting on the passenger seat. He doesn't close the door all the way, as if planning for a quick get away.

Mulder turns and frowns at him. "Our blind date's not off to a good start. I've been waiting here nearly half an hour. My wife will kill me if the frozen foods defrost."

"I was asked to make sure you weren't followed," the Plain clothed man says.

"It's just you, me, the ladies of the night and the drug dealers."

"This area's always been known for its criminal element."

"Especially when Congress is in session." Mulder's comment doesn't elicit a smile.

Instead the man hands Mulder a newspaper with an article on the front with the headline "Braddock Heights Man Kills Wife, Four Others." Underneath is a picture of Joseph Patnik in a prison photo.

"What's this?"

"Something you'll want to follow."

"Follow where?"

"That's all I have for you."

"What do you mean, that's all you have for me? I get an anonymous email to come meet you here in the middle of the night, I don't know who you are or what you want. This is more frustrating than egg hunting with my toddler." And Egg hunting with Page at Maggie's house had been pretty frustrated, he remembers with a rueful look.

"I don't have any obligation or desire to give you any answers. I'm not one of your sources," the man says coldly.

"Then you're just a messenger boy?"

"It's late, Agent Mulder. Go home, play with that toddler you mention. Get some sleep."

"Who told you to contact me? How do I know I'm not being played?"

"I guess you don't."

But Mulder does know. He knows exactly what's going on, which gives him an advantage over the thugs like the one sitting next to him.

The man gets out without saying another word. Mulder crumples up the newspaper and throws it at him. "Well, then you can go ahead and recycle that, then."

"I've been asked to tell you...you walk away from this, more people will die."

Mulder sighs and leans back in his seat. People are going to die either way.

* * *

Twenty minutes later

Mulder opens the front door, and walks into the house. He's carrying two bags of groceries that obscure his vision, so he doesn't see what bumps into his shins. He shifts the bags so he can look down, and is surprised to see that he'd been head-butted by his son.

"Scully?" he calls when his son tries to go through his shins again. "A little help please?"

Instead of an immediate rescue, a half-dressed Page runs into the room. "Hi, Dad-ee."

"Uh, Hi Page." After wondering for a second where her pants were, Mulder wonders instead if he daughter would be any help distracting her brother from his ankle assault. He'd just decided the answer was no when Scully comes into the room and trades him a small purple item of clothing for the bags.

That frees up his arms so he can grab his squirmy offspring. "Mulder, do you think you could put Page's pants back on? She escaped her potty training lesson as soon as I got her diaper back on."

"I can see that. So, um, has Sammy been doing this crawling thing long?" As soon as Mulder sets him on the floor, Sammy is off again. "I'd hate to think I'd been that unobservant..."

"Just since this afternoon. Amy told me about it when I got home. Apparently he just pulled himself onto all fours and started crawling, just like that. I wish Page would toilet train herself that quickly..." She sighs and blows her bangs off her forehead.

"Well, she isn't even two yet, so you have to expect that it's going to take her a while to get the hang of it," Mulder says as he patiently wrestles Page into her pants. She apparently prefers to just wear a diaper and shirt, so she puts up a fuss. "Sammy's crawling...They grow up so fast, don't they?"

Scully gives an unladylike snort. "Let's see if you think so when it's your turn to change diapers next. Speaking of which..." She points to Sammy. Mulder shakes his head as he lets a fully dressed Page go and reaches for his son. But he's still smiling.

* * *

Frederick County Psychiatric Hospital

Braddock Heights, Maryland

The Next Morning

Joseph Patnik sits in a basically empty room, staring blankly at the television hung from the ceiling. Mulder watches him through the room's window.

"Sorry, I would've gotten here sooner but the Beltway was a parking lot. What's going on?" Scully says as she joins him at the window, peering in at the man of interest.

"Multiple homicide, a bizarre one. That's Joseph Patnik. He murdered five people, all of whom he insists was the same man."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he claims to have been killing the same man over and over again, that he wouldn't die."

"Does he have a history of mental illness?" Scully asks.

"Not that I know, but I only just got this case yesterday."

She gives him a sidelong glance. "Someday you're going to tell me how you manage to get a hold of so many case files before I hear word one of them...So, what's the X-File?"

"In Patnik's neighborhood two weeks ago, a babysitter attacked the two children she was minding. She told the police she thought they were wolves. Even when the kids behave like little animals, most people don't think they actually _are_ animals." He smiles. "But sometimes it's hard to tell at dinner."

Scully ignores the dig at their kids' table manners." And police found no other motive for either of these attacks?"

"Not so far, no." Just then a man in a lab coat walks up to them.

"Agent Mulder? Hi, I'm Doctor Stroman."

Mulder turns around and shakes his hand. "Doctor Stroman, this is my partner, Special Agent Scully." :: And she's taken.:: He mentally growls when he notes the man's appreciative glance. The message telegraphs clearly.

Unaware of the silent exchange, Scully shakes hands with him. "You're the physician in charge?"

"Yeah, they called me in from D.C. to try and develop a clear diagnosis for the court."

"Have you?" Mulder asks abruptly.

"I wish I could say 'yes,'" the doctor admits. "This case is puzzling."

Scully's attention is focused on the man in front of the TV. "Has he been sedated?"

"I've got him on heavy thorazine, but it only seemed to knock him back a notch or two."

"He should be unconscious," Scully notes.

::Hey, it didn't work on me either. Won't work on me, whatever.:: Mulder thinks. "He seems pretty manageable to me."

The doctor gives Patnik a brief, dispassionate glance. "It may be some form of organic delusional syndrome, possibly due to chronic metamphetamine abuse. I don't know, but, uh, he is prone to outbursts."

"Who called you down on this case?"

"A Doctor Kahn from the, uh, Department of Social Health Services."

"Could we speak to him?"

"I don't think he's in today, but I can certainly check for you."

As if on cue Patnik screams loudly.

"Orderly!" Stroman shouts, making Mulder flinch. If he were crazy, the doctor shouting wouldn't calm him, he decides. Nor would the doctor running into the room.

Patnik screams again and throws over his chair, then throws over a chair in the corner and sits down as Stroman runs in with two orderlies, who grab him and tell him to calm down. Mulder and Scully enter as quietly as possible to keep from upsetting him, and the orderlies repeat their requests for calmness.

Patnik isn't having it. "No! No! No, no, no! He's here!"

The agents look up at the screen. A bright-eyed newscaster is speaking. "...Miriskovic personally ordered the rape and murder of thousands of innocent civilians in wartorn regions of the former Yugoslavia. Reporting..." On the screen is a dictator named Miriskovic. He is also the man that Patnik thought he was killing.

"That can't be a coincidence," Mulder can't help telling Scully. She merely raises an eyebrow.

* * *

Joseph Patnik's House

Mulder and Scully pull up to Patnik's house. A cable van drives by as they make their way to the house.

"You said you got this case last night, where did it come from? And how did you get it? You said you were just going to the store." Scully accuses.

"The came from an outside source...I was accosted in the parking lot, so it's not like I lied to you."

"Who is this source?" Mulder does not answer, looking down at the floor as he walks. "And Mulder, what's his interest in this case? What does he want us to uncover?"

"I don't know."

"And you're not suspicious that we're being used?" She gives him a look of disbelief.

"We've got dead bodies and confessed murderers. If we're being used, it's to find out the connection. That's what I'm interested in."

When they enter the house they hear the TV on, but Mulder waves for Scully not to pull her gun. There are two kids on the couch.

Using his best "dad" voice, Mulder scolds the boys and sends them on their way. They both look sheepish, so Mulder hopes that the voice will eventually work on his own kids.

He hopes.

"Mulder." Scully is standing in front of something, but he doesn't need to look to know what.

"Look at this, there must be hundreds of videos here."

"Anything good?" he asks with a suggestive smile.

"No, not really. Nothing_ you'd_ be interested in anyway. All I see are recordings of cable news shows. They're all dated and in chronological order. You know, that's what Patnik was watching at the hospital when he went all wiggy." Mulder nods. "What if there's some connection?"

"Between what he saw and what he recorded and what he did?"

"You're the one who's interested," she tells him, handing him a tape.

"If there is a connection, are you going to keep the kids from watching TV?" he asks, thumbing the tape's case.

"What makes you think I'd let them watch TV even if there wasn't a connection?"

"No TV? I'm warning you, if they grow up socially awkward, it's on your head."

* * *

That night

Washington, DC

Sometimes having kids is handy, since they got Skinner to allow them to work at home without any protest. Mulder is watching a videotape in fast forward of a trial. Pausing it, he joins Scully in the kitchen so they can throw something together to eat. The tapes aren't exactly his idea of dinner and a show, but he supposes it's better than staying in a crummy hotel.

He decides that he wants to make a sandwich, so he rummages through the fridge as she finishes making a salad. "I just watched thirty six hours of Bernard Shaw and Bobbie Batista. I'm about ready to kill somebody too," Mulder tells her.

"Grab your food, Mulder. I'm going to show you something."

In the den she puts her hand on a pile of tapes. On the floor, there are more stacks, as well as another stack on top of the television. Another tape is playing as well. "These tapes are dated April nineteenth, April twenty-first and April twenty-third. Each corresponds to a night that Patnik committed a murder."

"What's on the tapes?"

Scully sits on the couch and pulls her feet under her butt. Innocent as the gesture is, Mulder wishes they weren't on the clock. "Among other things, a one hour special report on the atrocities in Bosnia, a report that prominently features Lladoslav Miriskovic."

"The same guy that started Patnik screaming in the psych ward?"

She nods. "And my guess is that once I review the tapes for the night that Patnik killed his wife, that I'll find that report there as well."

Mulder hides a wince at the idea of her watching more of the tapes. "So you think that because Patnik saw this war criminal on television, he was somehow inspired to go out and murder these people?"

"Well, recent studies have linked violence on television to violent behavior."

"Yeah, but those studies are based on the assumption that Americans are just empty vessels ready to be filled with any idea or image that's fed to them like a bunch of Pavlov dogs and go out and act on it."

"But they believe that the causal connections are there, Mulder." Her look suggests that she's thinking about their conversation regarding their kids and TV.

"They, studies have also shown causal connections between cow flatulence and the depletion of the ozone layer. What you're talking about is pseudoscience used to make political book."

"All I'm saying is that I think it's clear that, that the programs that Patnik watched somehow triggered his violent behavior."

"How?"

"The doctor suggested amphetamine abuse. Maybe that coupled with, with the disturbing images he was watching, pushed him over the edge."

"All I know is television does not make a previously sane man go out and kill five people, thinking they're all the same guy. Not even Must See TV could do that to you."

"Okay, then how do you explain it?" she challenges.

"I can't. Not yet." He pulls on her hand. "Turn off the TV. It's after ten, I'm going to get some sleep. Looks like you could use some too."

"No, I'm going to...watch the rest of these tapes. Just out of curiosity."

"Un Uh, it's time for bed," he tells her, grabbing the remote and turning the TV off. When she still doesn't make a move to leave the room, he sweeps her off her feet and into his arms. "I guess we'll do this the hard way."

"Mulder! Put me down!" she demands as he carries her out of the room. But she's laughing. He's feeling pretty good too, because he's kept her from watching those tapes.

* * *

Unfortunately, he doesn't count on her getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Once he's sound asleep she crawls out of bed and returns to the den, intent on studying the tapes more to see if there's any validity to the theory.

A noise outside distracts her from the tapes, and she wanders to the window. Mulder is sitting in their car, talking to someone cloaked in shadows. The car window is cracked, so she can hear snatches of the conversation. "No, I can't choose which one....well then, take them both!" Mulder shouts angrily. "Yes I mean it. If that's what it takes to keep you out of our lives, it's worth it. We can have more."

Mulder gets out of the car a minute later, and she soon hears the back door opening, so she drifts back to the TV and continues to watch the current tape as it fast forwards.

* * *

7 a.m.

When Mulder wakes up to a ringing phone, he finds himself alone in bed, and experiences a sinking feeling. Despite the trouble he'd taken to tuck her in last night, she'd still watched more. He knows that even before he hangs up the phone and finds her in the den.

"I just got a call. There's been another murder."

"Yeah, I'll be right there," she says, rubbing her tired eyes. Mulder refrains from asking if she got any sleep at all, because he's afraid to know the answer.

"It happened just less than an hour ago. It seems to match our pattern, a housewife gone berserk." He gives her a sidelong glance, suddenly glad that she's not the stay-at-home mom type.

"Yeah..."

Mulder kisses her on the cheek. "Do you think you could start the car? I forgot something up stairs. I'll be right out."

He does go upstairs, but to find Amy, not to look for anything. Amy, who just arrived, is in the nursery, helping Page get dressed. She looks up when he begins speaking to her. "I know this is last minute, but do you think you could stay late tonight? Until around midnight, unfortunately. I'll call in to work the next day so you could have the day off."

Amy looks like she's going to say no, but the offer of an unexpected day off sways her. "Okay, sure. As long as you don't mind me bringing the book I'm reading so I have something to do while the kids are sleeping."

"That's fine. Sammy will probably be up at least once before we get home, though, " he warns. "He seems to have inherited his Dad's night owl genes."

"Really? How old were you when you started sleeping through the night?"

Mulder quickly does the math in his head, accounting for how things have changed. "Thirty-two."

Amy gives him a quizzical look before chuckling. :: Don't laugh, in my last life I was thirty-eight :: he thinks.

"So, you have a case that's going into the wee hours?"

Mulder pulls a face and splays his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Stakeouts."

The nanny makes a sympathetic sound. "That sounds boring yet stressful."

"It is," he agrees, then thinks of something else. "Would you do me a favor and not mention the stakeout to Dana? It blackens her mood every time it comes up." Despite two years of marriage, it still feels weird to refer to her by first name.

"Oh, no problem. A lot of people don't like thinking about work when they're at home."

Milder smiles a little. "You excluded, I hope."

Amy's cheeks flushed. "Oh, of course. Your kids are angels."

"Yeah...they're got everyone fooled for now, but wait until they can string more than two or three words together. Then we'll all be in trouble."

From the look on the young woman's face, she has no idea what a safe reaction to that would be. It gives Mulder a little jolt of guilty pleasure to know he hasn't lost his ability to throw people off balance.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Scully asks as he slides onto the seat.

Her question startles him, but he recovers quickly and pats his jacket pocket. "Yup."

* * *

Helen Riddock's House

Officials have swarmed the backyard and the man in the hammock, who no longer has a beard and whose facial features are different, is now a bloody mess on the hammock. Scully walks over and looks at the body.

Mulder walks over to Scully, carrying an umbrella since the sky is threatening rain.

A detective approaches them. "I just talked to the detective in charge. The shooter is Helene Riddock, age forty-two. They took her to lockup."

"What happened?" Scully asks Mulder. He begins to lead her to a key spot at the scene.

"She looked out the window and claims she saw her husband in the hammock...with a blonde." They stop as he points over to a dog barking at them with blondish fur.

"That blonde?"

"Yeah, apparently, he was only taking a nap with his dog..." They start walking again. "But Mrs. Riddock swears she looked out the window and saw her husband in the hammock with a blonde woman."

They stop walking on the other side of the hammock. "So, this woman killed her husband because she thought he was cheating on her?"

"This is not even her husband. Her husband's a long haul trucker. He's been out of town for the last ten days. Mister John Gillness, it's her next door neighbor. She didn't even have the right backyard. Helene Riddock lives over here."

He points to the house and starts walking as Scully stares at the body. Scully watches Mulder suspiciously as Mulder looks back at her. "Scully?"

"Yeah, let's check it out."

Inside the house, the television still plays. This show is part of the "The Home Value Network." A porcelain knickknack is being showcased. The statue is also sitting on the table next to the couch.

"One of my favorites, he is so cute. 'The Little Traveler,' normally a hundred and twenty nine and that's what you're going to pay at the department stores, but here at Home Value Network..." an announcer gushes.

Mulder picks up the porcelain statuette and starts to walk to the back. "A thing of beauty is a joy forever...what do you think, Scully?"

"I think television plays a large part in both of these murderers' lives." She walks over and picks up a picture off the mantle.

"As it does in almost every American home, but television does not equal violence. I don't care what anybody says..." He points a thumb at the ugly statuette. "Unless you consider bad taste an act of violence."

Scully pulls open a drawer and finds many more videotapes. "More tapes."

"Shucks, and if she was taping the home value channel, we won't be able to buy any of these lovely items since the offers have expired." Mulder walks over to her as she puts a videotape into the VCR. "Hang on a second."

He walks to the window and looks outside. The cable van pulls up and the technician gets out. "I'll be right back."

As Scully flips through the tape, Mulder runs out the door. He runs towards the cable van.

"Hey! Hey!" Mulder shouts. The technician gets in the van and drives off as Mulder runs after him. "Hey!"

Shrugging, Mulder begins to scale the pole, going after the transmitter he knows was just installed.

Scully has come out in the meantime, and her expression isn't pleased. "Mulder, what are you doing?"

"I'm coming down." He starts to climb down.

"What is it?"

"I found a cable trapper scrambler running from the pole into the house."

"Maybe it's a job for Special Agent Pendrell and the SciCrime lab."

::Oh! Or maybe for batman:: Mulder jumps down onto a car. Scully reaches for the device.

"You want it analyzed?" she asks.

"Yeah, but I'll do it."

He starts off. This time he notices that Scully is dismayed. "It makes more sense for you to go down and interview Helene Riddock, since you're...less abrasive when it comes to upset people. Get her version of the story. Maybe she knows what this thing is." Scully gives him a suspicious look. "Is there a problem with that?" ::besides you watching crazy tapes, that is.::

"No, that's, that's fine, I'm..."

"I'll stay in touch. Call you as soon as I know something," he promises.

She nods distractedly, and he's thrilled that he'd thought to ask Amy to stay. Things don't seem like they're going to go any smoother this time, but as long as they're not at Maggie's he thinks he can handle it.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

Mulder is driving down the road when his phone begins to ring. "Mulder."

"Where are you?" Scully asks sharply.

"I was just about to call you. Look, I'm on my way back. You may have been right, Scully, at least partly. I think there is a foreign signal being introduced into these people's homes through the television set." There's silence on the other end of the line. "Scully, are you there?"

"I'm here. One of the officers lent me an office," she tells him. "Come here, okay."

"Okay. I think they may be running some kind of test." There's no answer." Scully, did you hear what I just said?"

"So, you had it analyzed?"

"Yeah."

"I just talked to Agent Pendrell, he said that you never showed up."

"I didn't take it over to Pendrell."

"Then where were you?"

"I had the guys do it. I'd rather talk about it when we get on the landline, okay? We've dealt with these kind of people before. We know what they're capable of," Mulder says, deciding that she ought to know who "the guys" are and be less wigged out.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" His surety melts away.

"There, that noise."

"Scully, is there something wrong?"

"Mulder...Mulder, who's listening to..." she trails off and is silent.

::crap.:: "Scully, look, I'm going to be right there, okay? Don't go anywhere. Don't..."

As soon as the line goes dead, he dials the number the detective gave him for the station.

* * *

By some stroke of luck, it turns out that the office Scully mentioned isn't in the station, it's in the adjoining office building that the precinct has been renting cheaply for overflow since it was dilapidated and unrentable to anyone else. "Here, she's in here. Ready?" Mulder whispers to the officer who has come to assist.

The officer unlocks the door. "Ready. On the count..." Scully chain locks the door.

"Wait..." He's not sure if he's talking to Scully or the cop.

He bangs on the door and Scully stumbles back, startled. Breathing heavily, she walks over, picks up her gun and aims it at the door. As the officer opens the door, he is stopped by the chain lock. Scully fires six shots at him. She then runs the other way as Mulder kicks open the door.

"Get back, call for backup," he growls to the officer, who runs off to do so. Mulder looks around the disheveled motel room.

"Scully! Scully!"

He kicks open another door to find that the back door is wide open and Scully is nowhere to be found. ::Again! At least I know where she's going to end up.::

Knowing that it'll take a while for her to end up holed up at her mother's, he goes through the motions talking to the gunmen. Since he's essentially given them a busywork assignment, it's the least he can do to at least listen to their findings.

* * *

Margaret Scully's House

9:30 p.m.

Mulder taps the knocker three times, waits, then does it again louder. Having no response, he looks at the window, peers in, then bangs the knocker four times. Margaret answers the door, but only enough so that her face is shown.

Mulder decides to get directly to the point. "Maggie, is she here?"

"Uh, no," the older woman stammers.

"You haven't been answering your phone."

"Well, when I hear from her, I'll call you, okay?" She tries to close the door, but Mulder holds it open.

"I need to see her."

"Fox, please, go away..."

"I can't, she's my wife," he says simply and pushes his way past her. Maggie doesn't resist.

"Please leave Fox, please leave," she begs.

Scully steps out from behind the wall in the main room, aiming her gun at Mulder. Mulder turns around.

"Dana, put down the gun!" her mother shouts.

"Scully?" he asks uncertainly. Margaret walks over and stands next to Mulder, shielding him. Mulder wants to cry.

"I told you, Mom. He's done it, Mom. He's here to gloat."

"Gloat about what?" His puzzlement is genuine, because he has no idea what she's talking about. The last time around she thought he was going to kill her, but that doesn't seem to be the case now.

"Put it down, Dana," Maggie urges.

"He's given away our babies," Scully spits out. "Just like his bastard father did to his sister."

"Scully?" He takes a step forward.

"Just step back," she warns. "I could kill you for this, even though I'll get them back, damn you."

"Sammy and Page are with Amy, at home. I asked her to stay late."

"Lies." She cocks the hammer of her gun and Mulder nearly wets himself. She seems even more determined now, mother's instinct he supposes.

Margaret steps up next to Mulder. "Dana, you're not yourself. He's telling you the truth."

"It's not the truth, Mom. He's lied to me from the beginning."

Mulder shakes his head slightly. "I haven't-"

"He's just used me for leverage. Giving him the babies will keep him safe, but they'll hurt them."

"I could never do that to them, Scully. I love them. I love you. I'd rather die than have any harm come to any of you," Mulder pleads. The accusation that he's used her comes to close to the truth, even though he believes he's acted in her best interest, and his mind shrinks away from it. He's never even contemplated being found out before.

Scully looks like she is about to cry. "I heard you say it, Mulder. That they could have them both and we could have more, just as long as they left you alone. You used them as pawns in a game."

"That's not true, Dana. I'm sure it's not," Maggie protests.

"It is."

Margaret steps in front of Mulder. "I want you to listen to me..."

"Mom, just get out of the way!"

"You trust me, don't you?" Scully is fighting back tears, her gun trained on her mother now. "You know that I would never hurt you. That I would never let anybody hurt you. That's why you came here, isn't it? You're safe here. Put the gun down, Dana. I'd never let anyone do anything bad to my grandchildren, and I know there own father would never do something like that. Deep down, you know it too."

Scully stares at them, very distraught. Margaret steps towards her daughter. "Put it down. Put the gun down, Dana. Put it down."

Scully points her gun away as she and her mother press their foreheads against one another. Scully falls into her mother's arms, sobbing. Margaret and Scully kneel down to the floor as Scully cries.

Looking over her daughter's shoulder, Maggie speaks to Mulder. "Call your nanny and get her to give Page the phone. Then she'll know that I'm right."

White-faced, Mulder pulls his cell phone out and does as he's told.

* * *

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center

May 2nd, 1996

1:43 p.m.

Mulder gets to the door to a hospital room, knocks and opens it. Maggie smiles encouragingly as he enters the room. He puts his hands up as if having a gun pointed at him and smiles. Margaret walks past him, smiling.

On the TV a newscaster drones "...runway 12H. The runway generally reserved for..."

Mulder turns off the television and sits down in a chair next to Scully. "How you feeling?" he asks. Maggie asked him not to come the first day that she was in the hospital, and he agreed, even though he didn't want to. Page and Sammy had already been by with Maggie for a brief visit to reassure her.

"Ashamed. I was so sure, Mulder. I saw things and I heard things, and...it was just like the world was turned upside down. Everybody was out to get me. "

"Now you know how I feel most of the time."

"I thought you gave them our children."

Mulder nods. "I'm not surprised."

She gives him a confused look. I did some checking. Joseph Patnik thought he was murdering a Bosnian war criminal, a man the media described as a modern-day Hitler. It turns out both Patnik's parents were Holocaust survivors."

"I'm not following."

"Helen Riddock was scared her husband was going to be unfaithful to her. You see a pattern developing here? What if this, this video signal somehow turned these people's anxieties into some kind of dementia? Yeah, a, a virtual reality of their own worst nightmares?"

"Like me thinking that you'd betray our family. I was so far gone, Mulder, I thought that you had gone to the other side.'

"What do you mean?"

"That Cancer Man, the man who smokes all those cigarettes, I was sure that I saw the two of you sitting in your car out in the yard. You were arguing with him, about Page and Sammy. I thought you were going to give him one of the kids. It's a crazy idea now, but it didn't seem so then."

"Ah, maybe not so crazy."

"What do you mean? You're not your father, you'd never give our kids away. "

"Well, somebody's behind this, we just don't know who."

"You think it could be him?"

"I don't know." They look at each other for a second.

"Why don't you try to get some rest?" He leans down and kisses her cheek. "I'll bring the kids by tonight."

* * *

He stands and walks out. Looking around outside the room, he sees Doctor Lorenz at the nurse's desk and starts over.

"Doctor Lorenz?"

"Agent Mulder. I was just about to check in on your partner."

"My wife," he corrects. "What, uh, course of treatment have you outlined for her?"

"At this point, nothing more than bed rest. We still haven't been able to determine what brought this on. As far as I can tell, there's nothing medically wrong with her."

"That didn't seem to be the case the night before last."

"No, it wasn't," the doctor agrees. "It's got me puzzled. Her M.R.I. was negative, but the spinal tap revealed high levels of serotonin in her brain."

"You think that would account for her strange behavior?"

"High serotonin levels have been associated with mania. But the good news is, as of this afternoon, her levels are pretty much back to normal."

She smiles and walks past him. Mulder thinks for a second, then turns around. "Doctor Lorenz- " She stops and turns around. "Would you have made a diagnosis of amphetamine abuse for someone in Agent Scully's condition?"

"Not given her serotonin levels, no. That wouldn't make any sense."

"Thank you." Mulder turns and starts walking as he pulls out his cellular, then dials. "Braddock Heights. Yeah, I need the number for Frederick County Psychiatric Hospital, please."

He stops walking when a voice answers, "Ward three."

"Yeah, this is Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I need to talk to Doctor Stroman, please."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Stroman's no longer here. I believe he's returned to Washington."

::Once a rat, always a rat.::

On the way to the meeting with X and the murders, Mulder can't but help compare the good Doctor to Lucy Householder. Some people choose the same actions all over again out of a sense of desperation and others do it for personal gain. Knowing that the man he's about to find dead falls into the later category makes his death a little less galling an hour later.

* * *

Hoover Building

Skinner's Office

May 10th, 1996

Mulder sits across from Skinner while the other man is reading over a document.

"This is your final report, Agent Mulder?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see more questions than I do answers. You don't know who manufactured the device you found or what its purpose was."

"No, sir."

Scully knocks on the door and walks in.

"Agent Scully, welcome back," Skinner greets her.

She walks over to the desk. "I'm sorry I'm late, I just got back from the document section."

"What did you find out about the two men Mulder found executed?"

"The cable company employee had no criminal record. In fact, there was nothing remarkable about him whatsoever. We found a medical license under the name 'Doctor Stroman' in Falls Church, Virginia. He died in 1978."

"What about their killer?"

Scully shrugs and is about to speak when Mulder cuts her off. "He remains an unknown subject."

Skinner looks at him, slightly suspicious of Mulder's answer. Neither agent chooses to elaborate.


	35. Hex & The City

June 14th, 1996

Mulder and Scully barely have had time to put their things down when Kimberly calls and tells them that the ad wants to see them immediately. They exchange a look as they head for the door, both wondering if they've done something to annoy their boss.

"Good. You're finally in." Skinner's gruff tone increases their apprehension, especially Mulder's. ::I don't remember doing anything dumb last time around.::

"I need you to pack when you get home this evening and to arrange for childcare. You're going to be catching a flight to New Orleans on Sunday night and will be returning on Saturday afternoon."

"What's the case?" Scully asks.

"No case."

"I don't understand."

Skinner steeples his hands. "I'm sure it's not something that you're aware of, but the ADs have a monthly poker game. We had a game last week, and I won a trip to New Orleans airfare and hotel for two included - which is why I'm sending you."

"But sir, why wouldn't you take the trip yourself?"

"I'm not a leisure travel type of person...I saw enough exotic locales in the service to last a lifetime. The two of you are good agents, but other than maternity leave, it's been years since either of you took any time off. Even good agents get burned out, and I can't afford for that to happen in this office, so consider this vacation to be mandatory."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Go and have a good time. That's an order." Skinner's voice is still gruff, but there's a glint of humor in his eyes.

As they head back to the basement, Mulder casts a sidelong glance at his wife. He expects that as soon as they get behind closed doors she spout out a list of reasons why they can't leave for a week: Sammy is teething, the evil little dog needs to get his shots, she doesn't want to impose on her mother-

"Skinner is a nice man," she tells him instead with a dreamy look as soon as the door clicks shut.

"Huh?"

"It was so nice of him to think of sending us on a romantic getaway."

Mulder smirks. "I doubt that he had romance in mind. He was probably hoping that this will keep us from snapping and shooting up the Hoover building someday. "

"Even so, it's still really nice. This trip is going to be great."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Even if you insist that we go looking for famous ghosts."

"Nope, I will only do what you want. I get my fill of ghosts at home."

"Funny, I hope that's not the only of your wants completely fulfilled at home," Scully says archly.

"You tease." Mulder's eyes widen in appreciation. "You know that the answer to that is a resounding yes."

"I do know, but it's nice to hear you say it."

Mulder gives her a hopeful look. "Do you suppose we could stop on the way home and shop for some sexy swimwear?"

"Okay, but if you want to pick out my suit, I get to pick out yours."

Mulder hesitates for a moment, visions of revealing Speedos in his head. "You drive a hard bargain, but you've got a deal." Smiling to himself, he wonders what adventures this unexpected trip will bring.

* * *

June 17th, 1996

"What's the matter, Scully?" Mulder asks. It's been a perfect day, hell, it's been a perfect everything so far in New Orleans. After waking up well rested from an overnight flight, they decided to do the tourist thing on this gorgeous day, first visiting the colorful French Quarters, now walking down a loud but not too crowded Bourbon Street, and working up an appetite for some seriously unhealthy crawdads and po'boys. On such a pleasant, balmy day, he can't understand why the love of his life has such a pensive expression on her face.

"You're going to think it's silly," she says, and it's apparent she thinks so.

"No, I won't," he argues, "you know I'll believe anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she shoots back, then sighs, stopping on the sidewalk. "I miss our kids. I miss working. I," she smiles a little, "I even miss our haunted house."

He blinks, then frowns, and checks her temperature by placing the back of his hand on her forehead. She swats it away, and he chuckles. "Hey, I feel a little weird leaving everyone behind, too. But it's either take a sanity break now, or the Bureau will force us away from chasing little green men."

"Gray," she corrects him, and he grins. Pouting, she says, "You made me do that."

He kisses her forehead and holds her hand. "I know. But remember, the kids are hanging out with your mom and brother Charlie's family, so they're in good hands. The bills have all been paid for and the ghosts are guarding the house. Heck, even the cases have slowed to a trickle that I can't even find anything worthwhile in the tabloids." He smiles as she shakes her head. "Consider this a well deserved vacation, G-woman."

Scully looks up at him with those amazing green-blue eyes. "Does that mean, God forbid, that if anything like an X-File rears its ugly head, you'll stay away?"

Mulder blinks. "Well, I don't know. If it had anything to do with supernatural attacks on adult videos stores, that could be a hard sell," and winces as she punches him.

* * *

The two of them enjoy a leisurely dinner at one of the many venues promising great edibles and great entertainment. So far, the music is a sassy, easy jazz ensemble providing tasty music that sticks to the diners' ears as the delicious food sticks to their stomachs.

"Mmm, this is nice," Scully sighs, leaning against Mulder in the dim lighting. "No Mardi Gras craziness, no buying voodoo charms," she gives him a sidelong look as the sax player wails onstage, "And no case or kids to keep us up all night."

Mulder smirks, wrapping his arms around her. "You mean we won't be up all night doing something else?"

She returns the smirk. "Only if you behave yourself," she says, "paying the bill would be nice."

He puts a hand to his heart. "You wound me, Scully," he says, mock-hurt, " As a gentleman, of course I'd treat my wife to dinner."

"Would you?" she asks, raising that infamous eyebrow. "Even without sex?"

He smiles, he can't help it. "Well, that's a really good bonus, but I promise," he says, raising his hand like an Indian Scout, "for the rest of this trip, I'm footing the bill."

Likewise, she raises her hand like a Girl Scout. "Then I promise," she says in a sultry voice low enough for only his ears, her hands doing things to him under the table that he'd never dream her capable of doing in public, "to be great in bed for the rest of this trip."

Mulder suddenly raises his head, looking for a waiter. "Check, please!"

* * *

Apparently, they're not the only couple infatuated with the sultry surroundings in the sinfully decadent mansion-turned-hotel they're staying in. However, neither FBI agent takes a second look at their hotel, preferring to practically tear each other's clothes off while trying to kiss and fondle the other as best they can. They barely make it to the bed as they continue to strip each other down without falling over, panting eagerly, hungrily for the main course. Scully makes good on her promise, and then some, causing Mulder to forget entirely about a little something called "protection" until after the fact. Groggily, he asks, "Scully?"

"Mm," she says, absently kissing his chest while her hands play over his hip.

God, he really, really hates to ask. "Are you on the pill?"

She stops, and he swallows a sigh. "No." She puts a finger on his lips. "Just because we've had sex doesn't guarantee a kid. Neither does a condom guarantee no kid," she reminds him.

He nods, feeling a slight twinge of guilt in that complicit act. "Well, yeah," he starts, but her finger returns to his lips.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've got some," she says, "unless you want to sleep." Her eyes, her voice, even her wandering hands say she's far from sleep.

Mulder smiles widely, his hands reclaiming her body. "No, these days, a redhead is causing my insomnia," and she giggles as he shows her just how awake he is.

* * *

In the morning, Mulder flips on the TV out of boredom, his thumb first hitting "mute" before the "up" button as he goes through channel after channel, not wanting to wake his wife. It does feel weird to be awake and not feeding any little ones, or changing them, or poring over a casefile while keeping evidence out of Page and Sammy's reach. He glances over at the sleeping redhead on the bed. Well, one thing hasn't changed, waking up to a drop-dead gorgeous naked woman in the morning, and grins.

Tossing aside the remote, he decides the morning is too good not to share, even if he may risk the wrath of Scully. Besides, she's looking too damn sexy half-covered under the satin sheets, and there's no kids around to interrupt. Tentatively, he kisses her jaw, then works down her neck, his fingers stroking her silken skin on her favorite spots. As she moans, he gets bolder, and bigger, but waits until she's awake before even approaching the coveted zone.

"Mm, Mulder," she sighs, and smiles, her eyes opening sleepily. "Good morning."

"It will be," he smiles back, and continues to bring her slowly but surely into alertness. It isn't long before she takes control and thrusts her hips against his, demanding that he give her what she wants. "Scully," he groans, :censored:

As he fills her with unimaginable pleasure, Scully isn't thinking of anything except this talented and imaginative wake-up call. "Mulder!" she gasps, :censored:

"Oh!" he breathes :censored:

As their hands begin exploring each other, ready for another tryst, Scully breaks away, hating to do so. "Mulder, look!" she says, pointing at the TV.

Surprised and a little disappointed, he gets off of her and turns around, then hits the "mute" button again. Onscreen, the unseen reporter declares, "Local authorities are baffled by these recent events." Footage of ritualistic symbols in blood are scattered throughout what appears to be the inside of a crack house, and chickens walk over several pale corpses. "Again, we apologize for such graphic images on the morning show, but if anyone has any clues as to who perpetrated such a grisly crime, please call the police or Crimestoppers at-," Mulder clicks the TV off.

"Sounds like an X-File to me," Scully says, resigned.

"Yeah," Mulder says, wondering if he's being disloyal to his wife getting almost as excited over a prospective case as he is in bed with her.

* * *

Outside, it looks like a crack house, even if the official story describes it as an abandoned building. The two agents look at each other, their hands briefly on where their weapons are hiding, before walking towards the eye of a small human tornado. A tall, bespectacled man lets them past the crime scene tape, but stops them at the doorway. "I didn't think this place would be crawling with feds," Detective Jeremy Harris says, shaking Mulder's and Scully's hands.

"Crawling?" Mulder repeats, as Scully gives the forensic team ample berth to work in. He can't see anyone else from the FBI, unless they all look like cops.

Well, save one. "Agent Monica Reyes, these are Special Agents Mulder and Scully," Detective Harris says, tapping the shoulder of a tall brunette.

She turns around, and her smile is warm, even in a grisly scene as this. It unnerves Scully, but to Mulder, the familiarity is welcome as they shake her hand. "I didn't realize this would warrant out-of-state attention this quickly." Reyes smiles pleasantly, her large dark eyes sizing them up just as fast.

"We were," Scully starts, but Mulder interrupts, "We specialize in the unexplained."

"Good," Reyes says, and turns her attention back to the crime scene. "What I don't understand is why someone would sacrifice people and not the animals. I mean, these days, everything is very above-board, so much so that a lot of the local churches don't want to jeopardize their nonprofit status in ritualistic sacrifice, much less human."

Mulder is peering at one of the walls with a flashlight. "And these symbols have nothing to do with sacrifice. These are pretty much benign."

Reyes nods, surprised and impressed. "Yeah, everything except this." She points down with her own flashlight to one of the bodies not yet carted away. "It appears the killer or killers were very by-the-book in terms of voudoun symbolism except here." The pentagram carved into the dead man's chest is apparent to the living.

"I'd like to autopsy the bodies," Scully says, already following the bodies out the door.

The tall woman waves her hand. "Be my guest," she says, and smiles back at Mulder. "I'd love to see how specialists in the unexplained handles this."

* * *

"Mulder, this is weird," Scully says a couple hours later over the phone.

"Define 'weird'," Mulder says, having just questioned the owners of the roaming chickens and wondering if the X-Files should relocate.

"Well, I was looking for traces of bufotoxin, like that last case of voodoo we dealt with, but there's nothing on the tox screens for anything like it. So, no zombies, no bad voodoo," she says, taking off the wraparound glasses.

"That's good, isn't it?" he asks, getting into his car.

"Kind of. All the wounds on each victim were in the same places, so it appears some kind of ritual was taking place, but that's not what killed them."

"No?" Mulder wonders, intrigued.

"No," she says heavily, "And here's the weird part. Agent Reyes has a theory that whoever killed these men did it by transferring their souls rather than by knifing them." Scully hears nothing for a moment, then says, " Mulder? Are you sure you don't have another sister in New Orleans?"

He laughs. Sounds like Reyes, all right. "Maybe she's right," he says, "but I'm pretty sure I don't have another sister." He pauses. "Unless you think I should call my parents and check."

"No, Mulder," she sighs, "I guess you're not the only agent with crazy theories."

"Makes me look sane in comparison, doesn't it?" he asks. There's nothing but silence at the end of the line, and then disconnection. He grins, putting away his cell phone. Who knows, maybe Reyes could join the team earlier and give him and Scully more vacation time. Yeah, right, and aliens will fly out of his butt.

* * *

The next morning, Mulder grabs his cell phone, his hand automatically hitting "answer" As he says, half-awake, "Mulder."

"Agent Mulder," Reyes' warm voice says, "hope I didn't wake you."

"What happened?" he asks, sitting up as Scully mumbles in her sleep.

"I think those autopsies were a mistake," she says.

"Why?" His curiosity's piqued now.

"I believe the souls of those bodies, whom we thought were dead, are possessing the chickens."

"What?" He squawks so loudly that Scully mutters herself awake.

"You and your wife had better come down here." She hangs up, and Mulder groans.

"Mulder?" Scully says sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Better get dressed." He sighs. "It's going to be a long day."

The redhead looks at him with crusty eyes, then nods. She's learned to trust his judgment on this part of their cases, if nothing else.

Mulder watches his wife go to the bathroom by herself, and sighs longingly. So much for their vacation, making sweet sweet love morning, noon and night. Well, he'd like to think so, at least.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" The tall brunette asks the husband-and-wife team of agents. They are all standing in the barn, surrounded by poultry, feed, and dirt.

Scully, looking amazingly together despite being awake only half an hour before, is nonplussed. "It looks like chicken scratch."

Reyes' large dark eyes look from one agent to the other. "It doesn't look like something significant?"

Scully's eyebrows go up. "Like what?"

"Like," Reyes leans over and motions with her hand, "writing."

"Chicken scratch, writing, I get it." Mulder smirks.

Reyes straightens up and sighs, as if the brightest student in the class has turned out to be a dimwit. "No, as in writing writing." She smiles encouragingly, as if to help him along.

Mulder squints, then hunkers down to squat among the clucking chickens. "Nope, still don't see it."

"Okay, maybe the angle's wrong," she says, and repositions Mulder and Scully. Then she stands at the far side of the barn, as if to place herself impartially. "See? S. O. S."

They both make faces trying to see what she seems to. "Maybe it's an optical illusion with red and green colored corn," Mulder murmurs, "I'm colorblind in one eye."

Scully frowns up at him. "How did you pass the eye exam?" she asks in an undertone.

He grins down at her. "Slept with the examiner- ow!" Rubbing his arm, smiling innocently at the questioning Reyes, he answers in a low tone, "I made my good eye do double duty, jeez." In a louder voice, he says, "Sorry, we don't see it."

"Are you certain the farmers haven't tried to train their poultry?" Scully folds her arms.

The brunette shakes her head. "They're nice people, if a little nutty."

"They're not the only ones," Scully murmurs, her gaze going from the tall woman to her husband. She still thinks they're related, but perhaps only in a mental institution kind of way.

"They have motive and opportunity," Mulder says, "And their business is poultry."

"You'd think so," Reyes says, "They do better with their cattle." She points outside to another barn and grassy acres beyond.

* * *

A stakeout, however, reveals the truth, and even Reyes shakes her head. "I can't believe it," she says, then laughs while the cops lead the farmers away in handcuffs. "That's not something I say very often."

"Sounds familiar," Scully grunts, looking at her husband.

He's still looking at the barn. "They take bird-brain to a whole new level," he says reverently. "To think the chickens were the ones responsible for the farm's success."

"Most people often underestimate animal intelligence," Scully counters, "numerous species have been trained to perform hundreds of tasks, bred for specific traits like hunting, performing, racing. Mulder, the first astronauts were monkeys, and they have communication skills, too." She remembers their case at the zoo a bit sadly.

"Yeah, but those were dogs, horses, four-legged types, and monkeys are even closer to us on the evolutionary scale, Scully," Mulder crows, "but these are chickens! Chickens! Do you know what this means?"

"No," Scully says flatly.

"Another reason for scientists to mess around with poultry?" Reyes asks. "They're already altering genes to make them healthier for human consumption, I wouldn't be surprised if that kind of tinkering with nature didn't also carry over some added benefits to the chickens themselves."

Mulder is taken aback, as if his own argument has been stolen. Dang, I keep forgetting she graduated with honors from a prestigious college, he thinks, I wonder how many people she's arrested who thought she was a complete flake. Then he nods. "Although usually genetic engineering brings very little positive benefits for those being manipulated."

"Genetic manipulation is one thing," Scully says, "running a farm is another. And," she pauses, as the barn seems to have gone silent, "so is murder. We still haven't figured out who murdered those people in that abandoned house."

Reyes opens her mouth, but her cell phone rings, and she smiles a brief apology as she answers it. She walks off, muttering into the phone and, in the semi-darkness, appears to be talking to herself.

Mulder takes the time to murmur into his wife's ear, "So, do dangling loose ends get you all hot and bothered?"

Scully glances down at the bulge in his pants. "That's a new nickname."

As they share knowing smiles, Agent Reyes joins them. "That was Ben Lee, one of the neighbors of the quote-unquote abandoned house. Apparently, he was getting tired of waiting for the cops to shut down the illegal activities going on next door and took matters into his own hands. He turned himself in not too long ago." She sighs. "I was so close."

"Cheer up," Mulder says, "some of our cases don't have such tidy answers."

Scully looks at him. "I never would've guessed genetically modified chickens, Mulder."

"I was hoping for more alien experimentation on animals, but this is cool, too," he agrees as she rolls her eyes. "And the bad guy turned himself in. If that isn't a happy ending, I don't know what is."

Scully looks at her husband, then at the patient, still-smiling agent. "You know, if you ever get bored, you can always apply for an opening in our division," she says, wondering why she's offering, proffering a hand.

Mulder looks similarly surprised, but smiles as Reyes takes his wife's hand and shakes it firmly. "Is that a hint for me to clean up the office, dear?" He, too, shakes Reyes' hand.

Scully snorts. "I wish. No, it would be nice having more help, we might actually have a real vacation for once."

"Well, thanks for taking the time out on your vacation to help out," Reyes smiles, "And if you ever think of coming over during Mardi Gras, look me up."

"Will do," Scully smiles back, and the two women wave at each other before Reyes walks off. "I like her, Mulder. She's a little weird, but I like her."

"You're a little weird, but I like you, too," Mulder murmurs, chuckling as she makes a face.

* * *

"I'm bushed," Scully sighs as they stumble into their room, practically zombies. It's been a long day and a long night, and now, as usual, everything from their unofficial case is hitting her at once. She yawns and stretches, then flops down on the bed.

Mulder flops down on the bed beside her, shaking her and the bed considerably. "You wanna shower first, or should I?" he mumbles.

"You first," she says, "I think I'll drown myself in a bath."

"Okay," he says, stripping off and wandering into the bathroom.

Not ten minutes later, he steps out, feeling somewhat more awake in his sweatpants and t-shirt, only to see his wife is sprawled on the bed, her eyes fluttering on the edges of sleep. "That's not fair," he grumbles, as she manages to take most of the space on the bed, despite her small size. Feeling more than a little selfish, he nudges his wife. "Scoot over, Scully," he says, "come on."

Jostled back into wakefulness, she blinks. "Is it my turn?" She yawns, tugging off her blouse.

"Uh, yeah," he says, following her to the bathroom. Once inside, he turns the water taps on, then pours in some of that bubbly stuff she seems to like. When the tub is reasonably filled with water and bubbles, he turns to his wife, who is now very, very naked. "Are you awake, Scully?" he asks, half-hoping she says no.

"I'm fine," she smiles, stepping into the tub, "thanks."

He drinks in the sight of his partner and wife, smiling as a blush creeps up her face. "I know you are," he says, stripping off his clothes.

"Mulder?" she asks, her quickening heartbeat telling her the answer, even as she sinks into the concealing bubbles.

"I'm wide awake, too," he says, joining her in the tub as the water sloshes over the sides.

"Mulder, you're splashing," she tries to scold him, " Mulder, come on, oh!" She gasps as her hands come in contact with something that definitely isn't the soap, and she giggles. "Mind if I play with this for a while?"

:censored:

"What?" she asks, smiling.

"Sometimes I keep forgetting you're as horny as me," he says, laughing when she splashes frothy bubbles at him. "Thanks for reminding me."

"As horny as I am," she corrects him primly, even as her body language is less than prim, the bubbles sliding off her glistening skin and revealing creamy perfection. In fact, if he doesn't know any better, she's looking downright predatory, leaning over him as if she might get kinky and bite his neck or something. Whatever she's got planned, he's got a hunch they'll enjoy it, judging by that gleam in her eyes.

And for the next several hours, in and out of the tub, Scully proves his hunch correct.

* * *

July 4th, 1996

11:43 a.m.

"Okay, about where in Central Park did your brother say?" Mulder squints haplessly against the bright sunlight. It's a gorgeous summer day in New York, which means that all the vendors are swarming the place like flies, and the humidity combined with heat produces nothing less than brain damage in most people. He can see evidence of this brain damage by the drooping baggy pants the young men are wearing, and the frightening amount of tattoos some young women are sporting on their now-bare skin.

He blinks when someone's snapping their fingers at him. "Mulder," Scully says, carrying Sammy in front, "you're not babe-watching, are you?"

"Heck, no," he says in a very unconvincing fashion, and she sighs. Page, riding piggyback on him, sighs also. "Hey, hey," he says, leaning towards Scully, "I'm a heterosexual male, I'm not blind, but I loooooove my wife and kids." He beams winningly at his redheaded wife, who merely shakes her head, but he does catch a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth.

"As I was saying," she says, walking ahead of him, "while you were, um, distracted, Charlie said he'd meet us by the tree facing a statue."

"And that narrows it down to maybe fifty spots," Mulder drones, shifting Page a little as he readjusts the diaper bag in one hand and the picnic basket in the other. He still can't believe they have a picnic basket. He also can't believe Scully didn't bean him for teaching Page to say "pic-a-nic basket" like Yogi Bear. "You know, for a guy who works on satellites, you'd think he'd be a bit more specific."

"He probably didn't think it would get this crowded," Scully says defensively, ignoring her husband's snort. "Anyway, I would think that you'd - HEYYY!" It's a good thing Sammy's strapped to her, otherwise she'd accidentally drop her baby in her mad dash to try waving and running at the same time.

Sighing, Mulder tightens his grip on the bag and basket and hauls ass, making sure to keep his daughter from falling off. He's surprised that she can run so fast, given that her legs are shorter, but then again, she's not carrying two bags as well as a child. Huffing, he resolves to go back to doing laps again. He sees Scully enthusiastically throwing her arms around a tall man with hair even more red than her own, and can't help but smile.

As he nears the Scullys, he trips over something and goes down. Hard. And the first thing he thinks is, Page! Is she okay?

Ow, ow, ow, Mulder thinks, his training having spared him nothing more painful than a bruised ego as he quickly sits up and looks around. His daughter is about a foot away, crying, and he rushes over to her. "I'm sorry, baby," he says, "Daddy tripped over something."

"Sorry about that," a man's voice says from behind.

Mulder turns around and is surprised to see Agent Doggett, that is, Detective Doggett, standing in front of him with a sheepish expression. "Mr. Doggett," he says, holding out his hand.

"Agent Moldah," Doggett mangles the name in his inimitable Southern version of a New York accent. "Hey, sorry about that. Me an' Luke were just playin' Frisbee." He holds up the offending object.

"And I guess I slipped on that. Um, you've met my wife," he says, when the curious Scullys have joined them. "And this is her brother Charlie, and," he pauses, unsure what the etiquette is.

Scully smiles, taking up where he left off, as well as looking over her daughter. "And his wife Elaine, and their son Brandon." The Chinese-American woman is about as petite as she is, and their little boy is a handsome mix of Irish and Chinese. "Mr. Doggett, what a surprise."

Doggett shrugs as his son joins them. "Soonah or latah, you meet everyone in the City," and grins. "Hey, this is Luke," and he takes a little girl from the boy's arms, "And Hannah."

"Is your wife all right?" Scully asks, concerned.

"Huh? Oh yeah," Doggett says, " She had a business meetin' to go to." He shakes his head. "Don't see why private sector can't have a holiday like the rest of us." It sounds like an oft-told argument, and then he smiles guiltily. "I'm sorry I messed up your picnic."

"Hey, we never got started," Charlie grins. "Now this is starting to look like the kind of family picnics I remember. Lots of kids, lots of food, lots of sun, somebody getting hurt..."

"That wasn't fun," Scully makes a face at him.

"How was I supposed to know about jellyfish?" Charlie argues as they go to their picnic spot, the Doggetts and Mulders in tow. "Or when Bill dared you-"

"Don't," Scully interrupts him, then turns back sweetly to her husband. "If Charlie tells you anything about 'when Dana was little,' hit him."

"That's my older sister," The tall redhead grins, affectionately squeezing her and making her mock grimace.

Doggett chuckles as his son arbitrarily declares himself the leader of the other mobile kids, even as the grownups try and sort out the food and beach blankets. "Reminds me of my family picnics, too," he admits.

Mulder asks Doggett a question he's always wondered since the other man joined the X-Files. "So what brings a Southern gentleman like you up north to NYC?" he says.

Something crosses the man's eyes briefly, but is barely visible to Mulder, perhaps only because he's looking for it. "My wife," he says, "I met her when I first joined the force, and hell, despite what you see on TV, it's a great place to raise a kid."

Mulder nods, still slightly in awe that Luke's alive and now the older brother of a baby sister. "Well, kid plural now," he says, gesturing at Hannah, "I can tell Luke's probably gonna beat up whoever's unlucky enough to ask Hannah out when the time comes."

"Her boyfriends would have ta get through me first," Doggett says, shaking his head. "I don' even wanna think that far ahead."

"Then don't," Scully says, giving her husband a look. "Why don't you try Elaine's spring rolls before the flies eat them up?"

"Sure thing," he says, helping himself as the dark-haired woman beams.

* * *

"How long are you going to be in New York?" Scully asks her sister-in-law, even as she bottle-feeds Sammy. It's nice to be able to just hang out with another woman, under the shade of a leafy tree, and relax, she thinks idly.

The Chinese-American woman looks up at her husband, who is jawing with Mulder and Doggett about various sports teams and laughing at one or the other's favorite underdog as they pursue the manly art of barbeque. "The way things look, maybe a year," she says.

There's a slightly wistful tone that Scully recognizes from her mother. "He might as well have joined the military, the way you have to constantly relocate," she sympathizes.

"I've heard you and Fox do quite a bit of traveling yourself," Elaine says, smiling as her son and the tow-headed boy slow down enough to include Page in their games. "I'm surprised you already have two kids."

Scully smiles back. Long ago, she would've freaked out had anyone told her she would be a mother of two on top of being a doctor and FBI agent at this point. But being with Mulder has made her loosen up on some things, both in her personal and professional life, not that she'd ever tell him that. "I'm surprised, too," she admits. "But then again, I never thought I'd be out in the field. I started out teaching at Quantico, and I was sure I'd simply climb the ladder there."

Elaine nods. "Life never seems to go the way you planned, does it?" she says. "I went to med school and ended up an editor's assistant for a big publishing firm, you went through med school and ended up an FBI agent."

The redhead nods. "Well, at least you get to read fiction. It seems like I'm living it," and she grins, knowing her job's reputation even among her family. "By the way, what did you think of the latest Kay Scarpetta?" And they end up peaceably discussing forensic techniques for a good while.

A sudden movement catches their attention, and Elaine turns her head to see her son tumbling around the grass with the other kids. "Pinch me," she says, and Scully looks at her strangely. She chuckles. "That boy's been glued to the TV so long, I thought Charlie would install a satellite dish on his head," and her redheaded sister-in-law laughs. "It's so nice to be with family," she says.

Scully nods. "Yeah, it is," she says, then nudges her sister-in-law with her free elbow towards the menfolk. "Look at them, I wonder if they've spent all this time talking baseball?"

Elaine laughs. "Oh God, Charlie's probably trying to convert them into Red Sox fans."

* * *

"Now what are they laughin' about?" Doggett wonders, shifting his baby girl on his hip as he flips another burger.

"Women," Mulder rolls his eyes, "God only knows." And continues munching his hot dog.

The tall redhead swallows the last of his burger before answering. "They've probably been talking about the latest forensic techniques," Charlie muses, then stops when the other two men look at him. "Elaine's a big mystery buff, and Dana's a pathologist," he says.

Mulder grins. "You officially win the award of Farthest-Jumped Conclusion," he says, ignoring the irony that it could easily have gone to him. "I can see how you and Scully are related."

"Why don't you call her by her first name?" Charlie wonders. "Besides, being a Scully myself, it just sounds weird."

Mulder shrugs. "Weird is what I do," he says, and now Doggett chuckles.

"Ya don't say," the Southern transplant says, and Mulder has a feeling of déjà vu. "Barbara would probably ignore me if I called her by her maiden name."

"Is it that bad?" Charlie grins.

Doggett grins back, but shakes his head. "Nah, but it's a guy's name. If I called her 'Patrick,' she wouldn't know I was talkin' to her."

"I see what you mean," Mulder says, picking up his Coke. "Yeah, she'd probably look at you funny."

"I hope you at least have some sickening nicknames for my sister," Charlie says, returning to his question from another angle. "If Elaine called me 'Scully' all the time, I'd at least hope for some variety."

"She calls me 'Mulder'," Mulder shrugs. "It beats 'Fox'."

"But Fox is a cool name," Charlie argues, "well, it kinda sounds Native American." He looks to Doggett for confirmation. The other man shrugs.

"Tell you what," Mulder says, "you tell me what kind of nicknames you gave Scully, I mean, Dana, when she was younger, and I'll call her Dana more often."

An evil grin spreads across the younger man's face. "You sure about that?"

Doggett gives the other man a worried look. "Moldah, maybe some things are bettah left unsaid," he says, "I come from a big family, too, and most of what we called each other ain't fit for mixed company."

Mulder brushes the other's man's worries aside. "Hey, I had a sister, too, and it's just us guys," he says, "how bad can it be?"

* * *

"Mulder," Scully frowns at him as they go through the semi-arduous task of buckling everyone in the car, "now can you tell me what you were all laughing about?"

A number of nicknames run through Mulder's excellent memory, and he clamps down on the snigger that's threatening to escape. If there's ever a time to exercise his cool exterior, now would be it. "Nothing," he mumbles quickly, starting the car.

"Mulder?" She tries again, but seeing she'll get nothing out of him for now, she sighs and leans back against the seat. "It was nice seeing Mr. Doggett and his son again," she says casually.

"Yeah, it was," Mulder answers, and the sobering reality of the consequences of his wish frees his mind of any hysterical sobriquets. "John and Charlie made plans to hang out again."

"That's nice," Scully says, hoping that Elaine would get along with the as-yet-unmet Mrs. Barbara Doggett. "We should do this more often."

"Do what?" Mulder asks, thinking she could be referring to anything from being in New York to having a barbeque.

"Leave home without being on a case," the redhead says, glancing at him. His eyes are still on the road, so she goes on. "It's actually relaxing once there's no worries about chasing monsters, interrogating delusional witnesses, or having to write a report about the whole mess."

"So," he says casually, guessing she's forgotten about his earlier evasive maneuver, "what were you and Elaine talking about?"

She's about to give him some inconsequential answer, but seeing as how he was somewhat pigheaded about her small question earlier, she changes her mind. "We were discussing forensic techniques," she says mildly.

Suddenly, Mulder erupts into a fit of laughter so hard, he has to pull to the side of the road.


	36. Home

Home, Pennsylvania

July 10th, 1996

Standing near the boys' baseball diamond, which had so recently been the site of a grisly discovery rather than just boyish pastime, Mulder bends down and reaches for the ball. His hand draws back empty, since he's of no mind to play this time around. Instead he goes to Scully and takes the tape measure from her, and gives her a rest while he writes down the rest of the particulars in a small notebook.

Scully looks down at the numbers when she notices his bemused look. "Compression marks indicate the shovel blade to be approximately six and three-quarters inches. Uh, the angle of movement and deeper indentation on the right side of the mark suggests a left-handed individual."

Though he nods absent-mindly, Mulder's gaze is fixed on the porch of the Peacock's house. ::I hate this fucking case.::

"I've collected soil specimens and, uh, although numerous shoe impressions were made from the sandlot game, I think a, uh, a couple of dental stone casts will prove invaluable to the investigation."

::I should just pull out my gun and start shooting right now and get this over with.::

"Meanwhile, I've quit the F.B.I. and become a spokesperson for the Ab-roller," Scully says, apropos of nothing, which gets his attention.

"Look at that ball. In a couple of years we'll have to sign Sammy up for T-Ball," Mulder says, hoping to prolong this moment - the moment before they go to examine the hideously deformed little corpse.

"He can't even walk yet, don't you think you're jumping the gun a little?" Though her tone is arch, she's smiling at him.

"Page too, of course. I don't want to be sexist, since baseball is good for all growing kids. God, this brings back a lot of memories. My sister played too...all day pick-up games out on the vineyard, ride your bikes down to the beach, eat bologna sandwiches. Only place you had to be on time was home for dinner. Never had to lock your doors. No modems, no faxes, no cell phones. I like where we live, but places like this have charm too."

"Here?" She snorts dismissively. "I know I don't have to worry about you suggesting we move some place like this."

"You know that how?"

"Mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for two minutes, you'd lapse into catatonic schizophrenia."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do. You know, our work demands that we live in a big city, but if I had to relocate someday...it'd be to place like this."

"And leave our gigantic house for some small two story clapboard? It'd be like living in Mayberry."

After a rumble on the road a truck pulls up and a man gets out. It's all Mulder can do not to give him a hateful glare. This is the moment that the idyllic-ness of the scene evaporates and transforms from pastoral dream to genetic nightmare.

The man politely inclines his head in their direction. "Agents Mulder and Scully?"

Mulder reluctantly nods to him. The sheriff walks under the yellow tape and shakes Scully's hand. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Andy Taylor."

"For real?" Mulder asks with a smile in spite of himself. He offers the other man his hand.

"Can't thank you or the bureau enough for coming out. It's just me and my deputy, and...hell, we never had anything of this nature."

"Do you have any thoughts or, uh, suspects?" Scully asks. Mulder grimaces behinds their backs, his eyes looking for signs of _his_ suspects again.

"The population of Home is only a few hundred. Everybody knows everybody, pretty much," the sheriff replies.

"Well, were there any local women who were pregnant and now suddenly aren't?" Looking back at her, he notices what seems to be a look of nausea cross her face. He doesn't blame her, since his stomach feels sick too. He could never do what had been done to the victim to his child, never no matter what was wrong with it.

"No. I just saw Mary Ellen and Nancy. They're both doing fine," Sheriff Taylor says, proving just how small a town it really is.

Eager to have the case done so they can leave, Mulder jabs a thumb in the air." Hey, Sheriff, who lives in that house there?" Taylor's eyes follow his thumb, but the other man says nothing. "Did you question them?" Silence. "'Cause they've been watching us the entire time."

"That farm belongs to the Peacock family. Three boys now. Well, men. Guess you could call them human. Their folks were in a bad car wreck a while back and we suppose they died." Taylor makes not attempt to disguise his distaste.

"You suppose?" Scully asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we tried to administer medical attention, but the boys hauled the bodies away. Took them home. They haven't been seen in ten years, so...we suppose they died." The man shrugs.

"Have you questioned the men?" she persists.

::That's my girl, you ask the hard questions.:: Mulder thinks.

"The Peacocks built that farm during the Civil War. It still has no electricity, no running water, no heat...they grow their own food, they raise their own pigs, they breed their own cows...raise and breed their own stock...if you get my meaning."

::That's not putting too fine a point on it.::

"It is, however, the closest residence to the crime scene," Scully points out.

"Those boys are feeble, Agent Scully...and sad. They wouldn't have any idea what you were talking about."

"Well, they could've witnessed..."

"Look, this town is my home. I love it. It's quiet...peaceful. I don't even wear a gun." Mulder nods, but he can't help but wish that the man did. "I've seen and heard some of the sick and horrible things that go on outside my home. At the same time, I knew we couldn't stay hidden forever...that one day, the modern world would find us and...my home town would change forever. And when I saw...it...in the ground...I knew that day had come. Now, I want to find whoever did this...but in doing so, I'd like it if the way things are around here didn't have to change. I know this is iffy bureau jurisdiction...but I didn't know where else to turn. So I called the bureau in Pittsburgh, and when I described the victim...they said I should see you. "

"Well, maybe we should take a look at the victim then," Mulder tells him, his mouth tasting of ash.

* * *

Police Station

Home, Pennsylvania

The moment Mulder has been dreading arrives. The refrigerator door is pulled open, where the baby is sitting on a tray, a washcloth draped over it. Taylor pulls it out and walks over to Mulder and Scully.

"We don't have a lab or a morgue. I've got a room down here, might be a bit cleaner," Taylor says apologetically.

As he's leading them to the room, another man walks in. "By the way, this is my deputy, Barney."

"Fife?" Mulder says, anticipating the reaction.

The deputy grimaces. "Pastor!" He storms off before Mulder can say anything else.

The room is as tiny as Mulder remembers, so he finds himself fleetingly glad that Scully's her normal svelte self, since she never would have been able to do the autopsy while expecting their babies - their simply was no extra space for a round belly.

"Uh, I could use a little more elbow room," Scully complains as the men crowd behind her.

"Thing is, see, folks have been dropping in to ask about the case and I wouldn't want anybody to pop in and see this," is Taylor's nervous excuse.

"Well, you could just lock your door to the office," Mulder points out.

"Oh, folks know I never lock the door. They'd start rumors."

::Rumors are the least of your worries, pal.::

Taylor backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Scully puts on rubber gloves and pulls up the covering, revealing the most deformed baby in history. Even though he's seen it once before, it's worse than he remembers so he gasps and looks away.

"Oh, my God...Mulder...it looks as if this child has been afflicted by every rare birth defect known to science. I mean, I, I'm going to have to order DNA typing from the crime lab, but...there appears to be abnormalities associated with Nev-Laxova Syndrome, Meckel-Gruber Syndrome, estrophy of the cloaca, I mean, I don't even know where to begin." Tears well up in her eyes which makes Mulder want to wrap his arms around her, but he knows that would only prolong the time they'd spend looking at the victim, so he keeps his arms to himself.

Swallowing hard, Mulder looks down at the bent pink body. "I guess we can rule out murder as the cause of death, huh?"

"Well, I don't know about that." She pulls out some tweezers and probes the baby's mouth with them. "There's evidence of occlusion due to dirt in the nose and mouth...indicating the dirt has been inhaled. This baby was born alive."

"There's something rotten in Mayberry," Mulder says, trying desperately to break the tension.

They walk outside. A baby is crying as it is pushed by in a stroller. A perfect baby, like both of their children.

"Imagine all a woman's hopes and dreams for her child and then nature turns so cruel. What must a mother go through?" Scully asks as they settle on a bench and drink in the fresh air.

"Apparently not much in this case if she just threw it out with the trash."

"I, I guess I was just projecting on myself."

"Why do you say that? You'd never do anything like that to a child of yours, even if it was as damaged as our victim is."

"I'd like to think so," she tells him.

Mulder bumps her with his shoulder. "Nothing like that would ever happen to our kids anyway. You lucked out by finding yourself a husband with a spotless genetic make-up and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed and started pumping out the little Uber-Scullies. Or maybe it's Uber-Mulders."

"Spotless, huh?" she asks, leaning forward slightly when he makes a move to rub her back

"Hmm? Well, aside from the need for corrective lenses and a tendency to be abducted by extraterrestrials involved in an international governmental conspiracy, the Mulder family passes genetic muster. We'll just have to get those new microchips implanted into the kids so we can track them if they're ever picked up by the grays."

"Mulder, those are for pets," Scully protests.

The smile fades from Mulder's face when he realizes what he said about chips - at least that hasn't happened to her in this lifetime. He shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Now, Scully, that child inside is a tragedy. Some young parents, probably scared kids, disposed of an unwanted birth...in a very certain sense, infanticide is involved, but this is not an F.B.I. matter."

::If I pretend to believe that, maybe we can go home and forget all about this.::

"But from what I know from about genetic defects, Mulder, it's unlikely that child is a result of a single polygenic mating."

"We should let local authorities investigate that." ::please please please::

"Those defects, Mulder, are autosomal dominant disorders, and from the degree, I'd say, mutations that go back many generations."

"Scully, uh, Sheriff Taylor, uh, implied that the boys in that family were not really the type that could easily get dates."

"But he also implied that they practice inbreeding. Now we all have a natural instinct to propagate..."

"Do we?"

"Yes, and not just you and I, even if that's what you're thinking of from the look on your face," she says slyly. "There are theories which pose that our bodies are, are simply vehicles for genes needing to replicate."

"Yeah, yeah, but there's no sister. The mother's been dead for ten years."

"But if the instinct and the need is strong enough, they will answer it any way that they can. Now a woman gave birth to that child, Mulder, and my guess is, against her will."

He realizes his defeat. "And kidnapping is a bureau matter." Dragging his feet, he follows her as she goes to start the car.

* * *

Peacock Residence

Home, Pennsylvania

With Scully in the lead, they approach the front steps. Before they get to the front door they walk over to the white Cadillac sitting on the lawn. It has no license plate. Mulder skirts a pig's head with flies swarming sitting on the steps as they walk up them. Mulder knocks on the screen door, but there is no answer. He reaches for the door handle.

"No, there's no probable cause."

Frowning in frustration, Mulder takes out his flashlight and shines it around inside. More flies buzz and rusty tools and dirty dishes clutter the place, making it look like an agricultural frat house. Before long the beam of light lands on what they're looking for: blood on the floor. Taking out their guns, they step inside carefully and quietly. Mulder puts his hand in an evidence bag inside out, picks up the scissors in the pool of blood, then turns the bag inside out, enclosing the scissors. He shoves the bag in his pocket as they look at the bloody footprints on the floor. Scully takes out a picture of a footprint taken off the field.

"They match," Scully whispers.

Mulder looks for the shovel off to the side, it's where he thought it would be. He picks it up and they look at the blood on it.

"This room alone should convict them," she whispers again.

"Yeah, if we can find them. They probably bolted when they saw us coming." Mulder leads them cautiously down a hallway. "We'll alert Sheriff Taylor to issue a warrant for the brothers' arrest, put out a county-wide A.P.B."

"And check any prior missing-persons for a woman, and check the vehicle identification number on that Cadillac."

A sense of dread falls over Mulder as they begin to turn away from the hallway. ::This is the beginning of it. They know we're here, so tonight they'll murder the sheriff and his wife. Tomorrow they'll booby-trap this house, and that'll lead to Barney's death, which is a shame since he could probably go pretty far if he didn't have less than twenty-four hours to live. Tomorrow?::

Mulder impulsively points his flashlight down the hall, looking for the booby-traps that'll confront them tomorrow. There aren't any. ::They haven't done it yet, us being here now must be why they do it. They haven't done it yet…::In three steps he catches up with Scully, who hasn't realized yet that he paused.

A hand on her shoulder stops Scully, and she gives Mulder an expectant look. "What Mulder?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Voices."

"You're hearing voices?" Her expression is half amused, half alarmed.

"Not like that. Actual human voices. Well, if you can call the Peacock brothers human."

"Saying what?"

"I'm not sure. It sounded like a threat, and there was a woman's voice too, calling for help," Mulder lies easily.

She turns, about to walk down the hall where Mulder is looking. "We have to go help her, Mulder."

"No. Not just the two of us. You saw all that blood, these men have no qualms about murder. Just you and I, we'd be outnumbered, and that could further endanger the victim as well as ourselves. Let's go outside and call for back up."

* * *

Although Home doesn't have much in the way of a police force, the nearest large city is only twenty miles away, so it only takes a few minutes for back up to arrive en mass. Mulder can't help but feel a sense of jubilation as he sees the officers arrive. Sheriff Taylor is there as well, and Mulder steps back to let the older man direct the attack.

Taylor looks at the men who surround him. "I've issued arrest warrants for George Raymond Peacock approximate age thirty, Sherman Nathaniel Peacock, approximately age twenty-six and Edmund Crieghton Peacock, forty-two. My deputy cautioned me that he's seen the men firing muskets, so they are to be considered possibly armed, and undoubtedly dangerous."

The officer who seems to have seniority nods to his men, all of whom are helmeted and wearing kevlar jackets. "You heard the sheriff, proceed with extreme caution. Let's move out."

Before they make a move, Mulder calls to them, "If you find the victim, send us word. Kidnapping is a bureau matter, not a local one." The men nod and begin creeping towards the home.

"I'm surprised you're not trying to lead the charge, Mulder," Scully says as they watch the men.

"If they need help we'll assist, but part of asking them to know their boundaries relies on demonstrating we know our own," he says with a shrug. "I was getting bored of ticking off the local authorities anyway."

She shoots him a look of disbelief before turning her attention to sheriff Taylor. "What about our victim, did you get any missing persons reports that point to her identity?"

"Deputy Pastor's on it right now."

"Sheriff Taylor, do you recall over the last eight to ten months any vehicles you found and considered to be abandoned, but which might actually belong to kidnap victims. We saw a white Cadillac in the Peacocks' front yard."

"We get so many of those, Agent Scully. A car breaks down, they move on. We'll probably find out from her who she is long before anyone could figure it out by tracking down the owner of the car."

Scully gives him a tight smile. "So long as she's in a condition to tell us who she is."

* * *

There are some shouts inside, but no screams and no sounds of gunfire, so the two agents and the sheriff are able to manage their anxiety, and none of them goes running into the house like a crazy person.

Scully points at the pen of pigs that takes up a lot of the yard near them. "Mom was telling me a couple of days ago about Charlie's little boy Brandon. She said it was hard to get my nephew's attention during our trip to New Orleans, and that she couldn't really get him too interested in playing with her or his cousins. Apparently this is because he watches 'Babe' fifteen times a day. I'm surprised that he didn't have a fit on the 4th of July given Charlie didn't have the movie with him."

"And people call *me* 'Spooky,'" Mulder snorts. "I'm beginning to see the light regarding your dislike of TV for small children."

"Bah-ram-ewe!" she says and shrugs when Mulder give her a funny look. "Mom says he wandered around the whole time saying that."

"Charlie and Elaine should consider getting him counseling."

More shouting proceeds the front door of the house opening, and officers frog-marching the three Peacock brothers out of the house. All the fight has gone out of the ugly men, and they are almost docile as they're thrust into waiting police cars.

A young officer walks quickly towards Mulder and Scully. "The victim is still inside," he tells them breathlessly.

Mulder looks at the man's name badge before responding. "Thank you officer Morton. Does the woman need medical attention?"

The young officer frowns. "There's another officer with her now trying to figure that out. She's in rough shape, but I think she's been that way for a while. C'mon, I bring you to her."

Scully nods, but speaks to the Sheriff, "Call an ambulance anyway, please?"

"Of course."

Morton leads them through the dark corridors, and into a large, dimly lit room. Mulder spies something on a table, and reaches for it. He holds up a paper with the headline "Elvis Presley Dead at 42." There is a picture of Elvis under it. Mulder makes a sad face and Scully looks at him strangely. ::I guess convincing her to name one of our kids Elvis is going to be an uphill battle.::

Mulder drops the paper as the two hear the mummer of a male voice, and the frantic reply of a slightly more feminine one. As they walk in Scully looks at the pictures on the wall of past Peacocks, all deformed. They approach where the other officer is crouching and look down. A deformed woman looks away, screaming.

"No! Get out, get away!" she shrieks, making Scully jump.

Mulder is a little more sanguine, given he's not as shocked by her appearance. "It's all right, ma'am! We're federal agents here to help you." He nods towards the officers, indicating that they're free to go.

"Go! Get out of here! Go away!"

"They've got her strapped to some kind of board or something," Mulder says, shining the light down. It's very clear that the woman is a quadriplegic.

"Get away! Get away! Go!"

"Ma'am, we're here to help you. Calm down. Ma'am, we're here to help. We're from the F.B.I." The woman screams louder. "It's all right, it's all over."

He and Scully look at her amputated limbs, unsure of what they can say. "We're from the F.B.I., we're...we're here to help...we're going to make sure that you're safe. We're - we're going to make sure that you get home."

Scully looks back at the picture of the man and the woman on the porch. They are the same woman. The woman sobs. "Mulder, she already is home. It's Mrs. Peacock. She's their mother."

Mrs. Peacock looks at Mulder and hisses. "When the ambulance gets here we'll have them help us get her out of the building." He walks to the window and looks out at the three police cruisers that are already loaded. "They can give her a medical exam before they bring her to the station."

Scully looks faintly puzzled. "Why would they bring her to the station rather than taking her statement here?"

"To arrest her, Scully. I'm sure she's an accessory. At least she aided and abetted."

"We're only assuming. We can't prove anything."

Mulder shrugs slightly. "Whether she should be charged with anything or not is for the local PD to sort out. The way I think it goes here is that Edmund is the...the brother and father of the other two. Which means that when Edmund was a kid, he could ground the other two for playing with his things. She's guilty of something. Let her know that her sons are in custody, and that we'll be taking her in as well." He pulls out a walky-talky and begins to talk to Sheriff Taylor about the estimated arrival time of the ambulance.

His wife returns to the woman's side. "Mrs. Peacock? You are in immediate need of medical attention. Agent Mulder and I are here to help you." Scully's tone is gentle.

Mrs. Peacock looks at her. "This is our home. Why leave it?"

"Whatever pain you may be..."

"Don't feel pain. Runs in the family. Have to check the boys, see if they hurt themselves." The woman's voice is thick.

"They're in police custody now, but where not injured. What about you, are you in pain? Even after the accident?"

"Right arm was torn off. Saw it sitting there across my dead husband's lap. Boys took me home...sewed me up just like the family learnt in the War of Northern Aggression. Whole time, felt the same as if been making breakfast." Even over the staticy conversation he's having, Mulder can hear Scully make a faint sound of disgust. "They're such good boys."

"Mrs. Peacock, they murdered your baby. That has to be punished."

"They did what had to be done. A mother has to understand that."

Scully turns away just as the siren wails into the driveway. Sighing himself, Mulder goes to her and threads an arm around her waist. All he can do is be thankful that she has no idea how much worse things could have been.

* * *

Deputy Pastor nervously smokes a cigarette outside, obviously waiting for them. "Sheriff Taylor had to leave to supervise the transport of the prisoners." He holds something out to Scully. "This came from the federal crime lab overnight."

Scully looks through the contents of the package, oblivious to the shrieks as the paramedics exit the building with their angry charge. Mulder's just glad that the woman will be soon out of sight and hearing.

"Damn it. The lab screwed up the DNA test on the infant." Scully points to pages in her hand. "Multiple maldistribution, chromosomal breakage, maldivision of the centromere..."

"You suspected these abnormalities," Mulder reminds her.

"Yeah, but this shows far too many gene imbalances, even for inbreeding. It would have to be a lab error." She shows him two slides of the DNA strands. "This child's cells would have had to divide triple-fold in cell metaphase."

Instead of asking her to translate into English, he plays along. "Triple? Hey, Scully, what if...each of the Peacock brothers was the father of that child?"

She stares at him incredulously. "Mulder...I know the Peacocks epitomize "keep it in the family" but only one sperm in thousands from a single individual can penetrate an ovum membrane, let alone from three separate males."

"What if generations of autosomal breeding could produce such a mutation? You saw their family pictures. These people have been into sanguinity for generations."

Scully shakes her head. "I don't think so, not even in a case like this."

"Don't discount it as impossible just because it's highly unlikely, Scully."

Her fingers tickle him, making him jump. "When you didn't want to go charging in there you had me worried, but here's the Fox Mulder I've come to know and love."

Mulder smiles wryly. "Are you saying I amuse you?"

"More than TV ever could."

* * *

Washington, DC

That Night

The kids are sleeping soundly, so the two tired agents decide to call it an early night themselves. For once Scully doesn't say anything when he strips off his clothes and leaves them puddled on the floor; in fact she does the same. Smiling to himself, he thinks it'll be leverage the next time they have a laundry argument.

Once they're in bed Scully burrows against his side and looks up at him. "Mulder, how many kids do you want?"

He thinks of his hopes of keeping her from danger in the coming months and of William. "Four."

"Just four?" She looks a little disappointed, which surprises him.

"Well, at least four," he amends, giving her a curious look. "How many kids do you want?"

Her cheeks pink a little. "I don't know."

"I can tell by the look on your face you've got a number in mind, Sweetheart."

She shrugs against him. "It's not so much a number… When I was a young I read all the classics, and so many of them seemed to hold the idea that God gives you as many kids as you need in high esteem. And as dumb as it is, I've always liked the idea of leaving it to God. No doubt a side-effect of a catholic upbringing. I think I probably would have had more siblings than I do if my Dad hadn't been away so often."

"Or if your mother had fewer morals than she does," Mulder murmurs, getting punched in the shoulder for his gall. "So you want to stop using birth control?" Mulder can't help but feel deeply amused.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Mulder. Not just to satisfy some sort of silly wish left over from girlhood."

"Well, I don't know. I find the idea of this sort of experiment intriguing," he admits. "It's not as though we can't afford to have more kids if we wanted, not with uncle Saul's money invested as it is. They say the more educated people are the fewer kids they have, which I think is kind of selfish. The world needs smart babies to balance out all the dumb people reproducing like bunnies. And god knows we'd all be better off with more Mulders than Peacocks. You might be able to talk me into this grand experiment, but I have a couple of caveats."

"What would those be?" Scully asks lightly. It takes Mulder a few seconds to focus on her question because her fingers are wandering along one of his thighs.

He pouts." You don't negotiate fairly. Those caveats would be: one that this experiment ends before your 40th birthday. Although I have no doubt whatsoever that you'll be as lovely in 2004 as you are right now, you know as well as I do that the risks of having a baby with problems goes up once the mother passes that age." He gulps hard. "I'll, uh, get a vasectomy as your birthday present that year."

"And? You said caveats, plural."

"We go back to using birth control if it becomes in our best interest to do so. If a doctor tells you to stop having babies, if we end up with as many kids as we can handle…we end the experiment."

"Of course. You really don't mind if we end up with five or six kids?"

He begins to get excited about the idea. "Three or four more kids as great as the two we have already? We're going to have the best family. And when they're old enough to play sports they're going to crush the opposition."

"Mulder!" Scully laughs. "You're a wonderful man."

"Nah, you're just deluded. Scully…" He looks down at her blissful smile, then becomes a little nervous. "Those books you read, Cheaper By The Dozen wasn't one of your favorites, was it?"

"Don't give me ideas, Mulder," she says with a laugh that doesn't reassure him. "I was more a fan of ' The Five Little Peppers And How They Grew'."

"Just checking. Maybe I should have added a third stipulation that the total number of kids we have remains a single digit."

"Too late now," Scully says primly.

"Scully!" Mulder's protest is cut short when Scully begins to distract him by rubbing up against his chest. "You really don't play fair."

Although most of his mind focuses on the interesting things his wife is doing to his body, the back of his mind is already plotting, trying to think of ways to use Scully's confession to the best advantage. She sure has gotten into a lot of trouble, so it's hard to think of the best times to conceive future Mulders. Of course, Scully's distractions soon obliterate all coherent thoughts from his mind.


	37. No Monsters Here

July 14th, 1996  
5 p.m.

"Mulder, I'm going to walk over to the post office, okay?" Scully asks as soon as they pull into the driveway. "I got a card yesterday that said I had a certified letter, probably something to do with one of our cases."

"Sure it's not a package? I could drive you over if it's going to be something heavy," he says, thinking that it's a mile round trip.

"It said a letter. Be right back."

Mulder senses that there's something wrong as soon as he steps into the house. He looks around frantically, but instead of finding either of his children, he sees that Amy is staring at him, the fingers of one hand kneading the hem of her t-shirt. She's not covered in blood, and all her limbs look intact, so he takes a deep breath.

"Amy, what's wrong? Is there something wrong with Page or Sammy?"

"Oh, no. They're both down for naps. It's um, me."

"I see. If you're in some sort of trouble, Scully and I might - "

She shakes her head making her dark curls bounce. "It's not trouble exactly…I should have told you this sooner, but I just didn't know how to. Before I agreed to take this nanny position, I applied to grad school. I got waitlisted, which as you know is almost always the kiss of death. I didn't really think much more about it…until I got a letter a couple of weeks ago.

"I got accepted to the Harvard law program, full scholarship."

"Wow, that's great, Amy!" Mulder congratulates her. "It's quite an honor to be accepted into that school."

"I know. I just feel bad because I'm going to have to leave in about six weeks. Is that going to be enough time for you to get another nanny?" The look on her face is extremely apologetic.

::Yikes. Scully's going to have a fit because the kids really seem to like Amy.:: "Oh, sure. We'll just call the agency and let them know when you're leaving, and they'll find someone for us. Don't worry about it, we'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to leave you in the lurch…I could start later."

"Don't you dare. This is far too important to put off just because you might temporarily inconvenience your employers. Worst comes to worse we'll ask their grandmothers to pitch in for a little while. They always complain that they don't get to see the kids enough anyway." ::Well, my mom would if she didn't have a heart of stone.::

"If you're sure, I'll call them tonight and accept."

"I'm sure. Who knows, maybe a few years from now you'll be a lawyer involved in trying some of the criminals Scully and I deal with."

"Yeah maybe, I do want to be a prosecutor. Do lawyers do that too?"

Mulder blinks. "Do what?"

"Well, I've always thought it was kind of strange that you and your wife call each other by last name. I know a lot of women keep their maiden names, but I've never heard any called by them before."

"Ah. I don't think lawyers do, but I know that many law officers and feds do all day every day while working, and off work too if they fraternize. It kind of becomes habit."

"Makes sense," Amy agrees. "And thank you so much for not being mad. I think I hear your wife, so I guess I better tell her what's going on."

* * *

Waldon's Medical building  
Washington, DC  
July 16th, 1996

As he walks down the hallway, Mulder unconsciously tugs on his belt, trying to make it lay flat again. His hands drop to his sides as Scully walks out of her doctor's waiting room. He smiles and takes her arm, leading them both out the exit. "Have we done something to really piss Skinner off?"

"I don't think that making us go to our required physicals falls into the realm of what Skinner would cook up if we really annoyed him," Scully tells him as they cross the parking lot. "This is more of the insurance company the government uses sticking it to us."

Mulder shudders. "It feels like a punishment. I don't mind most of the exam, but the whole turn your head and coughing thing is terrible. I really don't like having my genitals handled by a man I only see a few times a year."

"It's too bad you get a different doctor every time you injure yourself," Scully says with a straight face.

Mulder grins at her. "Yeah, at least if it was a steady doctor-patient relationship I could demand he buy me dinner first. Speaking of doctors, you're a doctor…how come you can't do my physical?"

"For one thing, I work exclusively with dead people, so I don't have much of a bedside manner." Mulder thinks fleetingly of her rough treatment of his cut years into the future. "And for another we'd never finish the exam once we got to the genital handling."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Mulder attempts a seductive look, but her amusement ruins it. "Your exams must be even worse than mine. The idea of an 'internal exam' is almost too horrifying to contemplate."

"They pretty much are horrible, but you learn to live with them." Mulder notices a subtle change to her expression. "During the exam I asked the doctor about having more kids because I think we agreed last month that we both want a larger family-"

"Yes, your feminine wiles swayed me to that opinion," Mulder teases.

"She said that it's fine." Scully gives Mulder an amused look. "Which is a good thing considering that you and I have always been over-achievers. Apparently we brought back a little reminder of our vacation without even realizing it."

"Really?" Mulder's eyes light up. "But you haven't even been sick."

"Amazing, isn't it? That's why I didn't realize it myself. I didn't even notice I was late until she asked me to tell her when my last period was."

Mulder nods, doing the math in his head. "So sometime in March, then?"

"Late March." She agrees, then smirks. "Skinner is going to love us."

"Skinner has no one but himself to blame," Mulder deadpans. "It was his idea for us to go on a romantic vacation, after all."

"That's your idea of romance? Jumping in to assist on a case and lots of sex?"

"Isn't it yours?" he asks innocently, ducking away from her.

"Maybe we can get Skinner to close down the X-Files office when it's convenient for us for a change," Scully shoots back.

Even though the closing of the office is a sore spot for him, he grins. "Stranger things have happened."

* * *

August 1996

The doorbell rings, and Mulder races to answer it. It could be the answer to his, and Scully's, prayers, ever since Amy left for grad school. He opens the door to find a short bespectacled Asian girl in a t-shirt and jeans, stepping back to get a better look at him. "Hi, I'm Rachel from the Guardian Angels for Little Angels," the girl tells him as they shake hands. She has a surprisingly strong grip for someone even more petite than Scully, he thinks, and hopes his kids are in good hands.

Scully's already cutting up a melanin-deprived African-American male, and Mulder's raring to go, hoping to finish off a case that's managed to get itself a little under his skin the second time around. "Let me show you to the nursery," he says, as her owlish glasses take in everything.

Rapidly, he makes the kids' introductions to their new nanny, feeling vaguely as if Mary Poppins should be blowing down the chimney or something. Or was that the reference letter? He really should pay more attention to the Disney movies, but this case has got him on a tight deadline with international aspects involved. "Page, Sammy, you behave," he says, kissing them on their heads, "and Rachel, our cell and other emergency numbers are on the fridge. Thanks!"

She nods, looking at Mulder's retreating back. "Nice to meet you," she shrugs, then looks at the kids, shifting her huge backpack. "This is gonna be fun," she says, looking from the little girl to the even littler boy. "I don't suppose your parents left feeding times for you, did they?" she asks Sammy, who is goggling up at her. "Didn't think so."

"Rach-all?" Page asks.

"Yeah?" the new nanny says, hefting Sammy up on her hip.

"Gotta potty," she says, and is somewhat pleased to see a look of sheer panic cross Rachel's face.

When Mulder and Scully return to their home late one night, their case finished, filed, kaput, they find Rachel pacing back and forth in the living room, muttering to herself, biting her thumb. "Rachel?" Mulder asks, wondering if the ghosts harassed her or something.

"Wha-? Oh," she says, stopping her pacing, muttering and biting. "I'm so sorry!" she says, and bursts into tears.

Scully, clearly confused, goes over to comfort her. "What's wrong?" She pauses in mid-hug. "Are the kids okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel sniffles, rubbing her fingers under her glasses to wipe her eyes, "they're okay. But," she pulls out a tissue from her pocket and wipes her nose, "the dog…"

"What?" Scully asks, relieved about her children's safety but now worried about her dog's, and sits her down. "What happened?" Curious, Mulder sits down, too, wondering if Queequeg's luck finally ran out this time around.

"I was walking the dog, when it ran off the sidewalk to bark at a dog across the road," the nanny says in a ragged voice, "and then a car..." and then she bursts into another wail.

Scully is patting the girl, even though it's her own dog that got run over, not Rachel's. "Where's Queequeg?" she says in an admirably calm voice.

"At, at the vet's," Rachel says once she's recovered enough breath to answer. "I'm sorry, the, the damage, it was too much. They, they had to put him to sleep." She looks desperately at them. "I'm so sorry," she says again, "I understand if you want to fire me."

"What?" Mulder says, roused out of his post-case stupor. "No, no, it was an accident," he rushes to reassure her. Or maybe he's reassuring himself. Either way, it's obvious the girl's torn up about the whole thing, and God knows she doesn't need a Mulder-sized guilt complex. "Listen, if you want to take a couple of days off, that's fine. But we'd really appreciate if you'd still be our nanny." Scully looks at him, surprised, but doesn't argue.

"Really?" Rachel blinks behind her glasses, then looks at them both. "Thank you!" Impulsively, she hugs Scully, then Mulder. "Thank you so much!"

Bemused, the FBI couple watch as the small Asian girl grabs a black backpack about a third of her size, swing it onto her back, and rush out the door. There is a squeal of tires and her car disappears off into the night. "Maybe we should run a background check on her, just in case," Mulder says.

"How old is she?" Scully asks.

Mulder shrugs. "I guess I'll find out," he says, feeling a bit put out now that there's more work to be done, even if it's for a personal matter. His wife kisses him on the cheek, then walks upstairs to the nursery, probably to reassure herself of their children's health. He walks over to the in-house office and powers up the computer, sighing deeply.

It isn't long before he goes through the usual rounds of security, but bypasses them easily, having done so many bgc's for the bureau back when the FBI first shut down the X-Files, not to mention the second go-round. "Here we go," he mumbles, and calls up her files easily.

"Anything interesting?" his wife's tired voice says from behind.

"Not really," he says, as she wraps her arms around him. "She's older than she looks, but this is her first nanny job. In fact, she's working two other jobs on top of this one… According to her work records, she's pretty reliable, even if she specializes in working night shifts." Then a thought brightens his face. "Maybe she's a vampire."

"Mulder," she groans, "it's just possible that she's a night person. Please don't turn everything into an X-File. Amy was normal, and I'm sure Rachel is, too."

"Or maybe not," Mulder says, but wiggles his eyebrows and grins. "It's late, we just finished a case, and Queequeg is dead. I think that's enough on our plate for tonight."

Scully nods, and there's a slightly glazed look in her eyes. "Queequeg's dead," she repeats, and her eyes well up. "Oh, Mulder," she says in a wobbly voice, and now Mulder turns around to wrap his arms around his wife, feeling slightly guilty that he doesn't have the least bit of remorse over their late, little bit of a dog. "She told Page and Sammy that Queequeg's in heaven."

"Well, that's nice," Mulder says, for lack of anything better to say.

She looks down, remembering her sleepy babies and envying their innocence. "I hope she's right," she says, then opens her mouth for a monster yawn. "I want to put this whole night and wake up not having to deal with serial killers or dead dogs."

"Amen to that," he says, kissing her forehead. "Let's go to bed."

She smiles and leans against him, closing her eyes. "Sounds like a great plan."

Together, the two agents stumble sleepily upstairs, safe in each other's arms, and ready for nothing except the softness of their bed and the sweetness of dreams.

* * *

Fair Grounds  
September 21st, 1996  
12 p.m.

Although he promised himself that he'd never put a child on a leash, Mulder has to admit that he formed that opinion before he had to deal with two little children in a crowded place. Page will no longer endure being strapped into a carriage, and his back begged him not to be a pack mule, so Page is tethered around the waist. The birthday girl doesn't really seem to notice the loop of cloth that keeps within arm's reach, and she toddles happily in front of him.

::This was actually a good idea. If there are any monsters at the fair, at least they can't run off with her without taking my hand with them.::

"Daddy! A cow!" Page's excited shriek makes Mulder grin, and Sammy crane his head over the side of the stroller to see what his older sister is yelling about.

Recalling that the baby has recently begun to imitate animal noises when listening to Page play with a Speak n Say, Mulder leans down. "Sammy, what sound does a cow make?"

"Moooo!"

"There's my smart boy!"

As Mulder stands up, an arm slings itself around his waist. He looks down at Scully and smiles. "You're sure you can eat that?" The funnel cake that she's holding looks good, so he wouldn't mind helping her dispose of it if necessary.

Scully nods. "Surprisingly yes. Just the smell of fried food set my stomach off with these two, but with this baby it seems to be all I crave."

"I think we need to buy a fryer then," Mulder tells her, sneaking a pinch of her funnel cake. "It was easy to get ice cream at two am, but I'm not sure there are any artery cloggers open at that time of night."

She shutters a little. "I never thought I'd own a fryer."

"I bet your mom didn't own one. She seems like the type that would have made you kids suffer through healthy foods whether you wanted to eat them or not."

"Actually, it was the captain that was the food tyrant. He was one of those 'stay until you clean your plate' parents. I guess that was pretty common of people who were born not long after the depression - their parents had food on their mind more than most and they passed it on to their kids."

"At least they made sure that you ate," Mulder says quietly. "My parents were kind of indifferent that way. I developed an unnatural fondness for Spaghetti Os since I could handle cooking them on my own."

Scully looks up at him and sees the faint pain in his eyes, and can readily imagine him as a twelve-year-old boy trying to get himself something to eat. She and her siblings could cook too, but in their case it was because they wanted to, not because Maggie wouldn't. "At least your cooking is more versatile now."

"So you're saying you wouldn't be thrilled if I bought an industrial size can of Spaghetti Os and made them for dinner tonight? They're nice and soft and pose no choking hazard for Sammy, as long as I don't spring for the deluxe ones with franks or meatballs."

The looks she gives him, one that says 'you better be kidding', nearly makes Mulder laugh out loud. "I'd rather you didn't. But if you wanted to attempt to make homemade donuts after we buy the fryer, I'd have no objections."

He decides to tease her a little with information she'll think he's making up since the foods wouldn't be invented for years yet. "You know, I think I heard it's possible to fry a twinkie."

"Why would anyone fry a twinkie?"

He shrugs. "Why would anyone fry a turkey?"

"No one would fry a turkey, Mulder. Turkey is fairly healthy, as meats go, when cooked in the oven, so why would anyone want to make it as bad for you as fried chicken?"

"They're courting a heart attack?"

"Yeah, probably…" Her face takes on a contemplative look. "Do you think you could fry a pickle?"

His stomach gives a sudden roil. "Look woman, just because you've suddenly developed as cast iron stomach it doesn't mean that we all have. If I fried a pickle I'd probably be tried for war crimes."

Page, sick of listening to her parents' incomprehensible conversation, reaches up and tugs on Mulder's hand. "Wanna see baby chik'ns."

They go and see the chicks. And the ducklings. And the bunnies. And lambs. And piglets. And goats. Within two or so hours they've visited each and every one of the animal sheds, and both kids seemed to enjoy seeing all the creatures great and small that the fair offered for exhibit.

Except for the sheep. Mulder thought that the kids would enjoy watching the sheep being sheared, but when he glances down expecting to see a smile on Page's face, he is shocked to see that her face is crumpled and she's on the verge of tears. He scoops her up. "What's wrong sweetie? You don't like the sheep?"

She waves a small hand towards the sheep shearers. "They hurting the sheeps!" she wails.

Mulder cuddles her. "No no, they're not hurting the sheep, Page. The sheep are just fine."

"They cryin'!" she insists, and he becomes more conscious of the bleats of the sheep. Before the sound had just blended into the background for him.

"You see what that woman is holding in her hand?" Page bravely looks where he's pointing and nods, bumping his chin with her head. After wincing, he continues. "Those are just a kind of scissors. All they're doing is giving the sheep haircuts."

"Haircuts?"

"Yup. Remember when Sammy got a haircut last week? He cried too just like the sheep. But he wasn't hurt and was fine when it was all over."

"Sammy long hair is all gone."

"It is." And that makes Mommy kind of sad, he adds to himself. "Soon as they're done the sheep with be fine too." He points to a calm, fully sheared lamb. "See that one? He's all done and he looks happy."

"Yeah," Page agrees, but her livestock worries have tired her out, so she puts her head on his shoulder.

"You tired?" Mulder asks, tickling her a little. "I thought we were going on rides when Mommy gets back from the bathroom." Scully's missed the sheep trauma because she's taken Sammy to the bathroom for a diaper change.

"Rides? Daddy, I wanna go on rides." Page suddenly perks up.

"Oh, I see, you were only a little tired."

"A little," she agrees.

Scully leans back against Mulder as they watch the boat ride take their children around and around in slow circles. Sammy is strapped in next to his sister on a green boat, and his wide eyes are far bluer than the six inches of water that the ride's mechanism drags the "boats" through.

"He sure looks happy," Mulder murmurs into Scully's hair. He can already tell that he's going to be the only one awake on the drive home.

"There are no monsters here, right Mulder?" Scully asks with a yawn.

"Where here?"

"The fair."

"Not that I know of."

"That's nice."

"The fact that there are no monsters at the fair is nice?"

"Well yes, but the fact that we've come to the fair to enjoy ourselves, and see live cows, rather than to be looking at ones who have been killed by aliens is nice."

"You admit that aliens kill cows?" he can't resist teasing her.

"Oh sure. Why not."

Instead of commenting further he tightens his embrace on his wife and watches his smiling children go round and round.


	38. Unruhe

October 11th, 1996

Washington DC

6:30 a.m.

"Hi mommy!"

Scully can't help but smile at the cheerful greeting. Unlike Mulder, Page seldom wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. Or crib more accurately. Buying their daughter a "big girl" bed is on her and Mulder's to-do list, but Scully is secretly reluctant to see that transition. Every morning she can't help but think that the kids grow so fast.

Eventually she notices her daughter's quizzical look and realizes she hasn't say anything in reply." Morning Page."

As soon as Scully picks her out of the crib, Page wiggles to get down. She does, however, patiently submit to being changed into jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, and only whimpers a little as Scully brushes her shoulder length blonde hair.

"Mommy and Daddy no go work?" Page asks, giving Scully a hopefully look. The toddler has recently begun to realize that there are days her parents work, and days they don't, so they figure it's only a matter of time before she grasps the concept of weekends.

"Sorry kiddo. We'll be home all day tomorrow, though." It's only because of the child's still iffy sense of time that Scully dares telling her that, since cases have a way of not respecting Saturdays.

"Okay."

The exaggerated hangdog look that Page gives her is almost enough to make Scully laugh, but she bites her lip instead. "You and your brother will have fun with Rachel today, Page."

"Un uh."

"Don't you like Rachel?"

Page's nose wrinkles. "Rach-all dumb."

"That's not very nice, Page."

"Mama! Mama!" Sammy's voice, along with the sounds of his hard shoes, carry into the room before he's even reached the doorway. Page doesn't seem to mind that she's in her own room, but her brother wakes up every morning still looking for her, so as soon as Mulder dresses him, he makes a beeline to Page's room.

The little boy's hair is sticking up in spikes on his head, but he looks completely dressed, so he didn't escape before Mulder got him clothed.

"Has anyone seen a little red-headed boy, about two feet tall?" Mulder asks, completing the family gathering.

"Our daughter just informed me that she thinks that the nanny is lacking in intelligence."

"Have you spoken to the woman, Scully? Page has a point," Mulder tells her. Scully just shakes her head.

"Daddy! Stay home tomorrow," Page demands.

"As you wish, your majesty."

"Silly daddy." Page giggles, which causes Sammy to giggle too.

"No no, say 'brilliant Daddy'." Mulder's protests fall on deaf ears.

"Well, I think you're brilliant, Mulder," Scully tells him as she slings an arm around his waist. When he does likewise, he feels a tiny kick under his hand. She just smiles at him and covers his hand with her own. He wonders if it's the first time she's felt this baby kick too.

"You have to say that, you're married to me," Mulder tells her.

"I don't recall that being in our vows."

"It was in there," he insists.

The nanny's arrival a few seconds later ends the conversation, but Mulder keeps thinking about it as they drive to the airport to travel to their newest case. ::Can a man be both brilliant and silly?::

* * *

Traverse City, Michigan

10 a.m.

For once the rental agency has had the car they need when they need it, so they're on the road earlier than either of them expected. Mulder is driving while reads the case file and looks at the photograph that the druggist took of Mary LeFante.

"Have the local police been contacted by this woman's abductor? No demand for ransom?" she asks.

"No, unfortunately. It's going on three days."

"Any additional leads?"

He shakes his head. "No, no hair and fiber evidence either. The rain washed it all away. The autopsy did come back on the dead boyfriend, though. It's a puncture wound through the left eardrum and into the brain, possibly from a long needle or awl."

"I'm still not sure how you and I figure into this investigation."

"Don't you see the photo?"

"I assume that was taken by whoever it was who abducted her."

"It was taken by a sixty-five year old druggist moments before she was abducted. That's a passport photo from a local drugstore. The druggist who took that photo is the last known person to have seen Mary LeFante. Only he claims that wasn't the photo he was taking. He says the photo he was taking was normal in every respect. He only came forward to the police when he heard the woman was missing."

"Well," she reasons aloud, "Whoever it was that took this photo was obviously privy to the woman's abduction."

"That is what you would think," Mulder teases her.

"And I'm sure you've got a more obvious theory, like she was abducted by aliens." She shoots back.

"Nah. In Michigan werewolves are the most likely suspects." When she doesn't reply, he gives her a quick look and sees that she's not smiling. "I was kidding, you know."

"Do I?" she asks with a sigh.

* * *

The residence of Mary LeFante

Their visit to the drugstore is a carbon copy of the day that Mulder dreamed about for years, right down to the way that Officer Trott comes into to apologize for probably wasting their time. The fact that nothing has changed so far begins to worry Mulder, so he sticks close to Scully when they visit the missing woman's house.

The officer doesn't stick around after he briefly introduces him to the man leading the investigation. "Inspector Puett. These are agents Scully and Mulder."

The man nods in their direction. "I'm a United States Postal Inspector. My office is investigating a mail theft - one which we've traced to your missing person, Ms. Mary Louise LeFante."

"She was a postal employee?" Scully asks.

"She works as a sorter at the Kurland Hills Branch. Not coincidentally, a number of unsigned credit cards in transit through that branch never made it to their respective owners." Inspector Puett displays a bag of credit cards recovered at the scene.

"Mary LeFante was intercepting them," Mulder remarks.

"And her recently deceased boyfriend was signing them. We ran him, he was into forgery, check fraud, you name it."

Mulder's attention is drawn to a series of pictures held down by a magnet.

Scully, however is still mindful of the case." Mary LeFante's passport photo. Do you know how soon she wanted to leave town?" Puett shakes his head no. "Did she know about your investigation?"

"Probably, though we didn't focus on her specifically until this week after she came up missing."

"And you think that she faked her own disappearance?" Scully asks.

"Well, it looks that way to me."

"Yeah, but why would she stab her boyfriend through the ear? The magic was gone? Did you find a camera anywhere here?" Mulder wants to know, and Puett shakes his head again.

Leaving the inspector to his own devices, Mulder and Scully go upstairs into Mary's bedroom.

"So you're thinking this woman planted that photo of herself in the drugstore?" Scully wants to know.

"What would be the point of that?"

She shrugs and watches him rummage through the bedroom's walk-in closet. When he backs out he's got a Polaroid camera in his hand. "Stand back, Scully, it's loaded."

After he takes a picture of her, he snaps several more pictures at random.

"What are you doing?"

"In the sixties, a bellhop named Ted Serios became kind of famous for taking what he called 'thoughtographs'. He claimed that by concentrating on an unexposed film negative, he could create a photographic representation of what he saw in his mind. He did landscapes, cathedrals, the Queen of England." ::And in a few years people will make a fairly unscary horror movie that rips off the concept.::

Scully raises an eyebrow, which makes him grin. "Thoughtographs?"

"Also known as 'skotographs.' The literature on thought photography dates back almost to Louis Daguerre."

"So that makes it legitimate?"

"Look at that," he says, pointing at the pictures he has laid out on the bed. The images on the prints are starting to emerge. Each one shows a distorted picture of a screaming Mary, not unlike the drugstore photograph. There are also several distorted skull-like images on each photo.

She takes a step back." Oh my God!"

"I think he was here, Scully."

"Who was here?"

"Mary LeFante's abductor. I think he stalked her. He could have come up right here. I think he came in here and he looked at her through the window, this close. Close enough to affect the film in that camera."

"Psychic photography? Mulder, I think that it's obvious that somebody doctored these images and planted them to be found here. Maybe as some kind of a smokescreen."

"Meant to conceal what? This isn't about mail fraud, Scully, that's just incidental. What if...what if...someone had this ability? An image like this would be a peak into that person's mind."

"Into their darkest fantasies."

"The fantasy of a killer, one who stalked his victim," he agrees.

* * *

Traverse City Hospital

An Hour Later

Mary LeFante is being wheeled through the hospital on a stretcher. A doctor, an orderly, and Mulder and Scully walk beside stretcher.

The doctor frowns and stares at the woman. "She's completely non-responsive. We did a preliminary tox screen on her found traces of morphine and scopolamine."

"Twilight sleep," Scully says.

"The dental anesthetic." Mulder nods. "I thought they stopped using that a long time ago."

"Twilight sleep isn't used very often, but it still is sold and a person who knows how could make it. It's basically a painkiller cocktail. It's also for women in labor. But it wouldn't account for her condition." The doctor's frown deepens as he and Scully discuss the necessity of a PET scan.

* * *

In the adjoining room, Mulder, Scully and the doctor watch as another technician operates a terminal that shows the results of a scan of Mary's brain. The scan shows the brain in blue, but there are large green areas and several red areas. Scully grimaces as she sees the results.

"Oh my God," Scully whispers.

"What is it?"

"She's been given what's called a transorbital lobotomy. It used to be known as an icepick lobotomy. It involves inserting a leucotome through the eye sockets."

"So we're looking for a doctor? Someone with training? Nurse Ratched?"

"Not judging by this," the doctor tells him.

"Whoever did this, Mulder, did it wrong."

Through the speaker, they hear Mary moaning from the examination room.

"un...un...unruhe...unruhe..."

Officer Trott comes in as Mulder is requesting that someone go get Mary. "We just got the call. There's been a second abduction."

* * *

The Midlothian Corporate Park

All too quickly they're standing over another body. "Charles Selchik, certified public accountant." Mulder motions to an outline of a body marked on the floor. "Dead from a stab wound through the ear...cleaning crew found the body."

"What about the missing woman?"

"His secretary, Alice Brandt, age 32. Her family confirmed that she was working late last night."

"What's her connection to the first victim?"

Mulder shrugs. "Apparently none, but if the M.O. remains the same..."

"Yeah, the clock is running."

"Yeah. I keep thinking about that word that Mary LeFante was repeating - 'unruhe.' I checked the Michigan phone directory. It appears under three different spellings but none within 80 miles of here."

"It might be significant as a word."

"That's what I've been thinking. Apparently in German, it means trouble or strife."

"Unrest."

"You took German in high school, Scully?"

"College."

"Unrest, huh?"

"I'm working on these crime scene photos from the first abduction. If we're lucky, we're dealing with someone who gets a vicarious thrill from returning to the scene of a crime."

"He wasn't there, Scully."

"How do you know?"

"It would have affected the photos. Trott, what did you find?"

"Nothing much. There's no cameras or film here whatsoever. It's all just accountants' offices so I don't know why there would be."

"Is that what we're looking for here, Mulder?" Scully asks. "More evidence of psychic photography?"

"That may be the only evidence we get."

"I've got a bureau forensics team coming up from Detroit," Scully tells him.

"What's here for them to find? This guy is obviously very good at what he does. He's left behind no witnesses, no latent prints. The only thing he's left are those photos, which leads me to believe he doesn't even know that he has that ability."

"We haven't found any new psychic photos here either."

Scully sees something outside and looks down at a photo. "Wait a second." She then walks to the window for a better look. She is looking at a sign over the scaffolding that she went through earlier. "I want to show you something."

She and Mulder are walking back through the plastic-shrouded scaffolding. They approach a distinctive sign for the Iskendarian Construction company." Right here. This." She shows him a photo from the first crime scene that shows the same sign in the area. "And look. It's the same company. What if the kidnapper was working construction at both sites? From these two vantage points, he would have been able to pick out the two women."

"You may be right, Scully, you should check it out. Let me know what you find."

"Where are you going to be?"

"I'll be back in DC. I want special photo to run this. I still think the answer is in here."

"What if it's not, Mulder? This woman's time is running out."

"Well, that's all the more reason to fully investigate the one and only hard piece of evidence we do have. I'll be in touch." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "I noticed earlier that your battery wasn't charging correctly, so I got you a new phone."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me, thank the government. I charged it to business expenses."

"Even better."

He leans down and kisses her on the forehead. "I'll be back in 3 or 4 hours, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

While Mulder goes to the photo specialist in DC to get the information he already knows about and stops by the house to remind Rachel that they might have to stay the night on their case, Scully explores the area and discovers Gerald Schnauz, and brings him in for questioning when she finds the implement, a leucotome, that he used to injure his victims. Mulder flies back immediately and they begin the interrogation as soon as he arrives.

Scully takes point in the interrogation." Alice Brandt. The second woman that you abducted. That's her name, Gerry. Where is Alice Brandt?"

Schnauz adopts an innocent expression. "I don't...I have no earthly idea what you're talking about."

"Tell us where she is, Gerry."

"I'm sorry. This is a case of mistaken identity or something. I honestly...honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

Looking angry, Scully shows him a plastic bag containing the leucotome. "Explain this."

"We're running sheetrock today. I use that to start the holes in the sheetrock, to keyhole in all the fixtures."

"No, you used this to kill the two men."

Schnauz keeps up his façade of innocence." What two men?"

"You used this on Mary LeFante," Scully insists.

"Who? What? Wait, a minute ago it was Alice Brandt. I don't believe this, I do not believe this is happening."

Mulder notices his wife is about to boil over, so he jumps in." You want to tell us about the first time you were arrested, Gerry? In 1980, you attacked your father with an axe handle. You beat him so severely that he spent the remainder of his life in a wheelchair."

"I was not jailed, I was institutionalized. I had a kind of chemical imbalance."

"Yeah, Gerald Thomas Schnauz, diagnosed and treated for a paranoid schizophrenic disorder six years in Melvoin Psychiatric Hospital, released 1986. So what you been up to since 1986, Gerry?" Mulder asks.

"Taking care of my father. Looking after him 24 hours a day. Making amends. He, uh, passed away January."

"Says here that you have a sister. Where is your sister, Gerry?" Mulder asks.

"She passed."

"Actually, it says here she committed suicide in 1980. That was a bad year. What else happened in 1980, Gerry?"

"Well, John Lennon got shot. Where the hell are you going with this? What are you, Sigmund Freud? Why don't you cut the BS?"

"Then why don't we get back to Alice Brandt. Where is she?" Scully demands to know.

Schnauz stares at Scully. "You look troubled."

"Hey, Gerry. This your father?" He shows Gerry the image of the thin watching man from the enhanced photograph.

The other man gasps. "Where'd you get that?"

"You left it for me. You left it like a fingerprint. Is this what you see when you close your eyes, Gerry?" He shows Gerry the complete photograph. Gerry studies it carefully. "Is that what you see? Gerry...tell me where Alice Brandt is."

"She's safe from the howlers. She's all right now." Schnauz's voice is wooden.

"Gerry...Tell me how I can find her."

* * *

Another hour later they've found Alice Brandt's body and called in to the station to have Trott formally book their suspect. When they get to the station themselves, they learn that Schnauz freaked out and hit Trott in the face, causing him to hit his head on a desk which knocked him out. Trott is just coming around and has no idea where Schnauz went after he lost consciousness.

Standing in the processing room, Mulder remembers when he saw Trott's blood on the floor. The disturbing thing about Trott's hale condition is that Mulder did nothing to cause it. It makes him wonder if his death was just a matter of chance the first time around.

Mulder is still trying to get answers out of Trott when Scully enters. He motions her over.

"Mulder. We just got a report of a strong-arm robbery. It's at the drugstore where the first victim disappeared."

* * *

The Drug Store

When they get there officers are still examining the scene, while a paramedic attends to a wound on the druggist's head.

Scully's voice is gentle when she leans over the injured man, which is surprising to Mulder since the man had been her first suspect." What happened?"

Half listening, Mulder goes to an automatic photo booth and inserts some money.

Scully concludes her conversation with the druggist then walks over to Mulder. "It's Gerry."

"He took the passport camera and all the film in the store," Mulder remarks.

Scully nods. "He also took morphine, scopolamine, hydrobromide and insulin syringes. He's making more twilight sleep."

"He wants to continue his work." The camera in the photo booth beeps and a flash goes off.

"You know, that job site that I arrested him at, Mulder. What if he's...what if he's already picked out his next victim? There were...there were apartment buildings on all sides."

"You think you interrupted his stalking?" Mulder asks.

"Alright, I'll go bring the car around in a minute. I just want to wait for this. "

"Okay." She pulls a face. "This kid is lying on my bladder, so I'm going to use the restroom while you get the car."

Mulder nods, giving her a smile she doesn't understand and waits for his picture. When it's ready he frowns, since it looks exactly like it did the last time: Scully screaming, surrounded by grotesque beings. ::I don't get it. I'm getting the car, how could it be unchanged?::

* * *

Meanwhile

Scully is washing her hands when the restroom door swings open. She doesn't think much of it, since the drugstore was quite crowded, but she catches sight of Schnauz in the mirror. "What are you doing?"

The last thing she remembers is being thrown off balance and the sink coming at her.

* * *

Mulder drops the picture and runs towards the restrooms. The door to the ladies room is still swinging, and he spots a back exit to the store, that door is still in motion too. He throws it all the way open and runs out into the parking lot.

He runs out and around the building but doesn't see her. The Explorer pulls out from behind a truck and speeds away down an alley. Mulder chases on foot.

"Scully! Scully!" The Explorer turns at the end of the alley and speeds away. "Scully!"

Running behind, Mulder is soon panting, and realizes that it's useless to follow on foot, so he turns on his heel and goes back to the rental car. ::This isn't happening. It can't. I don't give a damn about blowing my cover, I'm going there right now before he hurts her.::

* * *

Schnauz's Lair

Scully regains consciousness and looks around the room, which is a small area with padding on the walls. She is tied to a dentist's chair with duct tape around her wrists and ankles. There is a dentist's table next to her with the leucotome. She sees the figure of Schnauz, wearing his construction apron, at the other end, muttering. "Es ist alles in Ordnung."

She shakes her head to clear it, then has a horrifying thought. "Oh my god, did you drug me?" she asks in a high voice, fearful for her unborn baby.

"Shhhh...no drugs, you hit your head."

In a surprising move of compassion, Schnauz walks over toward the chair and frees one of her hands, bringing it to her forehead so she can feel the cut. . He then starts tearing off more pieces of duct tape, and clumsily refastens her hand to the chair.

"It's over, Gerry. Let me go right now."

"Ich werde dir helfen. Du wirst deine Unruhe bald vergessen. "

He starts to cover Scully's mouth with duct tape. She thrashes. "Aufhoeren! "[ Stop!] "Ich habe keine Unruhe." [ I have no unrest.] "Ich habe keine unruhe. (ch bin gar nicht unruhig. Ich brauche nicht gerettet zu werden." [ I don't need to be saved.]

He frowns at her. "Yes you do. Everybody does, but especially you."

"Why? Why me, Gerry? Do I remind you of your sister? Why did your sister kill herself, Gerry? What did your father do to her?"

"He didn't do anything. It was the howlers."

"OK, then let's talk about the howlers," she says quickly.

"They live inside your head. They make you do things and say things that you don't mean, and all your good thoughts can't wish them away. You need help. You've got them - right there." He touches Scully's face between her eyebrows. "Don't you feel them?"

"I don't have them, Gerry. My children took them away when they were born."

He gives her a surprised look. "Your children?"

"Yes. I have a little girl and a baby boy. They're innocent, and innocent things take away the bad things in people's lives."

"They are innocent." Schnauz's agreement sounds uncertain, which makes her more desperately hopeful.

"You wouldn't want to destroy something innocent, would you? I'm having another baby in March…if you hurt him or her then you'd be letting the howlers win."

"They made you say that, just now, because they know I'm going to kill them." He picks up the leucotome from the table.

"I'm not, I'm not." She shakes her head. "Put your hand on my belly, Gerry, then you'll see for yourself that I'm not lying."

Trying not to shudder, she feels him put his hand on her stomach, and the baby within gives an obliging kick that makes the man widen his eyes. "You're not lying."

"No, I'm not."

"The howlers wanted me to hurt you to destroy something innocent," he whispers.

"That's why you shouldn't listen to them."

Schnauz collapses against the wall, sobbing. He doesn't even notice when Scully works her hand free and quietly calls Mulder, who is already about halfway there.

* * *

Traverse City Hospital

An Hour Later

"What happens to Schnauz now?" Mulder asks as he pushes Scully's wheelchair out to the car. The nurse strong-armed her into it, scowling as she repeated hospital policy until Scully had got in, and glancing over his shoulder Mulder can see that the woman is still glowering. ::I guess there's something to doctor's making the worst patients. I shudder to think what might have happened between Scully and Nurse Ratched had there been anything more to this visit than a look over.::

She looks up at him and shrugs. "They took him up to psych. My guess is that he's going to be institutionalized or spend the rest of his life in a hospital for the criminally insane."

"At least he won't be able to hurt anyone else." ::And he should consider himself lucky that he's not dead.:: "Maybe he can make some money for candy by selling thoughtographs."

"Funny." She smirks. "It's sad, though, Mulder. This man's father abused his daughter, and the only way Gerry could cope with it was to create these howlers so he could remain loyal to his father."

"It's not as sad as those women's deaths," Mulder says soberly. "It could have been you."

"But it wasn't."

::Not this time. Let's hope it continues to go that way.::

He stops the chair at the curb. "Out of the chair, woman. We've got two kids who are looking forward to spending all weekend climbing over us."

"Would you think I was crazy if I said I didn't think that sounded so bad?" she asks as he puts his arm around her waist and leads her towards their nearby car.

"No. There are a lot of reasons I'd say you're crazy, but that's not one of them. Owww." He lifts up his newly sore foot. "Well, at least you weren't wearing heels."


	39. The Field Where I Died

Washington DC

November 3rd, 1996

7 p.m.

The phone ringing shatters Scully's dream, and she bolts upright, grabbing at the receiver. Her mind is so foggy she's half-sure that it's Mulder calling about some trouble he's in, but as her fingers close around the hard plastic, she hears him reading to the kids down the hall and realizes his danger was only something in her dream.

Puzzled, she holds the phone up to her ear and croaks, "Hello?"

"Dana?"

The cool, collected voice is immediately recognizable. "Mrs.. Mulder."

"I keep telling you, call me Teena."

Except she hasn't, she and Scully rarely speak so it's only come up twice at most. "Sure, I'll try to remember that. Let me go get Fox-"

"Actually Dana, it's you I called to speak to," Mrs. Mulder interrupts.

"Me?"

"Yes. I had a horrible thought earlier today. My granddaughter is two years old." Scully can't figure out what's horrible about that. She's settling on reassuring her mother-in-law that being a grandmother doesn't make her age faster, when the older woman begins to speak again. "Samuel's only one, so there's still time, if only just, but I'm not sure about little Page."

"Time for what?" Scully asks blankly.

"Preschool registration."

"But preschools don't accept children until they're three. Page won't be three until late next summer."

"I know when my granddaughter's birthday is," Mrs. Mulder says frostily. "Good schools have waiting lists that one should get on as soon as possible. Actually, you could probably sign the third child up now as well."

"Wouldn't not having a name or gender yet make that difficult?" She has a hard time resisting the urge to scream for Mulder to come and deal with his mother.

"I'm sure it's something they deal with, but you could have an ultrasound if it bothers you."

"Um…To be honest, Teena we haven't really thought about sending the children to the sort of preschool you're talking about. We want them to go to the preschool that many of our colleagues send their children to. It isn't as prestigious as the type of place you're talking about, but it has won many honors, and it would be good for them to spend time with children whose parents have similar careers, since they won't be the only children there who are occasionally separated from their parents when those parents are on cases."

"Yes, well, that all sounds very nice. But it wouldn't hurt if I sent you some brochures to look at would it?"

Scully balls her fists, but forces a polite tone." Of course, send them and we'll give them a read."

"Wonderful. Have a good night, Dana."

"You too…Teena."

As she hangs up the phone, Scully can't help but think that her husband's neglected childhood might have been a blessing in disguise. Of course she immediately feels guilty for the thought.

* * *

Temple Of The Seven Stage

Apison, Tennesse

November 5th, 1996

5:15 a.m.

"Federal agents! We are armed!"

After the troops in riot gear storm the compound, Mulder and Scully enter at a distance, listening to the muted protests of adults being rounded up and the cries of scared children. The whole "temple" is disarray. One poster on the inside of a door reads "Behold I am ALIVE For evermore Rev 1.18 The room is otherwise empty.

Frowning, Mulder turns to his wife. "Somebody tipped Ephesian off. He knew we were coming."

"He's somewhere here on the compound." They hear some shouts, and Scully calls out to their unseen companions. "Did you find Ephesian?"

Agent Bates comes into the room shaking his head. "No. We've covered ninety percent of the compound…."

"We have to find him," Scully insists.

"There's no sign of the weapons, they've hid them somewhere."

Mulder walks out the door without a word to his wife or Bates.

"Mulder. Mulder!" Scully's face looks irritated, but she pauses to speak to Bates before following Mulder. "Tear this place apart."

She nearly has to run in order to catch up with Mulder, because his long strides have taken him far from the main building already. "Mulder? Mulder, where are you going?"

Instead of responding, Mulder looks out at the field. "Intelligence reported no hiding places beyond the yard."

Mulder picks up the pace, jogging, followed by Scully. He stops again, being led on by something. "Did you see someone?" Scully asks, and still receives no answer. She grows suspicious of the field as well and clutches her gun tighter, starting off. A small voice can be heard. Mulder looks around for the location and sees wood glinting out from the dead grass.

The low rumble of a voice comes up from the ground." My God, in the name of the city. My God..." A woman's voice, getting louder as Mulder bends down to the hatch and Scully keeps his gun trained on it, having seen it as well.

"Amen." A male voice.

The woman again. "As in heaven..."

Mulder flings the door open and he and Scully stand over the dark hole, guns aimed at the man and six women inside. "F.B.I."

They are all holding glasses of red liquid. The woman who had been talking raises the cup to her lips.

"No!" Mulder dashes in and smacks the cup out of her hand. She gasps, then spits in his face. Mulder flinches, but stares at her, filled with a double sense of déjà vu over her familiarity.

Vernon attempts to sooth the agitated women, who are upset at their loss of heaven, staring in dismay as death seeps out of cups on the floor. None of them resist when handcuffs are placed upon their wrists.

* * *

Federal Command Center

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Interrogation Room

Given that he thinks that the charges they have Ephesian and his wives up on aren't going to stick, Skinner is letting more rough edges than usual show. He allows Mulder and Scully to interview Melissa after Mulder thinks that it's her voice on the tape that set the investigation in motion, but not before barking at them.

"We need to get this over with and soon. If this turns into another Waco the bureau will have all our heads, and none of us will be deemed fit to even wash the windows of the FBI fleet vehicles."

To ease the interrogation along, Scully is accommodating, and allows Melissa to smoke, even though both she and Mulder consider it a vile habit.

The cigarette in her hand trembles a little, betraying her nervousness. "My name is Melissa Riedal-Ephesian, I'm twenty-five."

"Melissa, do you understand your right to have an attorney present in this questioning?" Scully asks.

"It's okay."

Mulder, sitting across from her, stares at her. Seeing dead people alive is getting to him. " Where are you from?"

A confused look fills her face. "I, I don't know."

Scully nods sympathetically. "What about your family, where do they live?"

"My real family is here."

"How long have you lived there?"

"A year."

"How long have you been married to Ephesian?"

"A year."

"Does it bother you that he has other wives?" Mulder asks. "I know it'd bother my wife." He doesn't dare look at Scully, fearing her potential reaction. ::Not that there's anyone else I ever considered marrying.::

Melissa's response is to quote something, perhaps biblical, perhaps not. "And on that day, seven women shall take hold of one man, saying 'we shall eat our own bread, we shall wear our own apparel, only let us be called by thy name to take away our reproach.'"

"That's quite a faith you have in Vernon there, Melissa. Agent Mulder is right, I'd have a tough time if my husband had so many children with other women."

A tear starts to roll down Melissa's cheek. She shrugs, smirking.

"Do you have a child by Vernon?"

"Someday. Vernon has to wait until God tells him when the right soul is ready to be reincarnated. That's why Vernon's children are the most sacred members of the temple."

"We were told that Vernon's been hurting the children."

Melissa takes another slow drag off of her cigarette.

"Have you ever witnessed any child abuse at the temple, Melissa?" Scully asks.

Melissa drifts off as Scully and Mulder watch her intently, waiting to see what she says. Suddenly, she slams her fist down on the table, her face scrunched, her eyes narrow. Her voice is not only like Sidney's, but it is Sidney's.

"Lookit! I don't know where you two are getting that from! I mean, I saw a couple of things, I mean, you know, it, it, it could have been anything, right?"

Scully shoots her a shocked look. "Melissa?"

"Melissa? No. I don't know nobody called that."

"Sidney?" Mulder asks instead.

"What is this? The McCarthy hearings? No, no. Don't, don't know anybody by that name, no." Scully looks at her notes, aghast. Mulder isn't so surprised. Scully writes down "multiple personalities" and shows it to Mulder. "I saw a couple of things. It could have been anything, right?"

Mulder swipes the notepad from Scully. "Sidney, can you tell me who the president of the United States is right now?"

"Who is the president of the United States? What the hell kind of dumb question is that?"

Mulder writes down "past life." Scully looks over at Mulder as if he's leaping to conclusions. "That is a stupid question. Harry Truman!"

Scully looks back at Melissa, wide-eyed. She leans into him lean, whispering. "You're claiming Sidney is her past life just because she mentioned Joe McCarthy?"

"It's not just that. Somehow I just knew."

They look back at Melissa, who calmly takes a drag from her cigarette, back to normal.

* * *

Federal Command Center

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Mulder is looking at a map of the bunkers when Skinner walks in, carrying a folder.

"Ephesian and his wives are being arraigned tomorrow morning. That's about fifteen hours to come up with something." He throws the folder down onto his borrowed desk.

Mulder gives him a disbelieving look. "Come up with something? We found 'Sidney.' Voice spectrogram confirms that Melissa Riedal's vocal pattern matches the A.T.F. 'Sidney' call."

"Melissa Riedal is not cooperating," Scully reminds him.

"But there is a personality in her that wants to. We need a psychological catalyst. I suggest we take her back to the compound. Maybe exposing her to that environment with Ephesian present will somehow enable Melissa to talk, or a personality inside her."

"Agent Scully, could this be some kind of a stall or a staged diversion? It's my understanding that multiple personalities are rare."

"They're extremely rare. In fact, many in the psychiatric community do not believe that dissociative identity disorder exists."

"What we witnessed meets the criteria established in the D.S.M.-IV. The presence of two distinct personality states that would currently take control over behavior, including the "protector" identity, Sidney. The inability to recall important personal information. She couldn't recall her own hometown. Transitions from one personality state to another are usually a matter of seconds and are often caused by psychosocial stress. Sidney appeared when we mentioned the children had been abused."

Skinner looks at Scully. "But you remain unconvinced?"

"I believe the disorder exists, but in this case, under these circumstances, I would have to know more."

"With all due respect, sir, Scully's background is a medical one, not a psychiatric one. I would think that my own education would put me in a better position to evaluate Melissa than Scully would be."

Skinner looks surprised for a moment, apparently having forgotten Mulder's seldom brought up specialty. "If Melissa has multiple personalities, would her...his...testimony even be admissible?"

"Judicial precedents have established that dissociative personalities are responsible."

"Yes, but we are responsible for Melissa Riedal," Scully says.

"What we are responsible for is the potential loss of fifty lives."

"Then do it," Skinner tells them before walking out.

"You didn't even have the courage to tell Skinner what you really believe...that Melissa Riedal is being invaded by her past-life incarnations," Scully complains.

"Because he wouldn't believe me."

"I don't believe that you feel responsible for those fifty lives...or Melissa Riedal. You are only responsible to yourself, Mulder."

"That isn't true and you know it," Mulder says angrily. "You ought to know me better than that."

"Mulder…"

Before she can say whatever it was she had in mind, he's stormed off.

* * *

Temple Of The Seven Stars

4:27 p.m.

It makes Mulder feel a little badly to let Scully upset "Lily," a child personality of Melissa's but he doesn't intervene, since he knows it will bring back Sidney. Before long it does.

"Lookit, leave the kid alone. Hear me? She doesn't want to talk, right? No way. I'm sending her home."

Mulder gestures to Scully, indicating that he wants to speak to the woman. "Sidney, you can all go home. You can all be safe if you tell us where they hid the guns."

Melissa gets up and walks to the end of the room. As Mulder did the first time he was there, she looks through the window to the door on the other side. She walks through both doors, Mulder and Scully quick to follow. Scully shoots him a worried look, but keeps up with them.

"The weapons were placed in the bunker which they had built the night before."

Scully takes out her notepad and writes it down. "That's why they weren't on the A.T.F. reports."

"The federals would arrive in the morning, just before the sun." She walks out a little farther into the field. The agents follow, Scully taking notes. "Realizing the government's might and number, most believed they, indeed, would never again see the light of day...just as they had watched their brothers die days before on Missionary Ridge." Scully looks up at her, recognizing the name. Melissa walks slowly again.

"We had received word of General Cleburn's retreat from the Union army. As a nurse, I had been ordered from Hamilton County to meet the troops, but...in actuality, I was searching for him, knowing that he would attempt to remain in Tennessee rather than retreat to Dalton. I found him here amongst the others who had been lost as General Thomas pushed through the Confederate line. The federal troops would appear from that direction." Melissa points over to the tree line where the sun is setting.

"Rather than retreat any further, they fought them...hiding us in the bunker. Inside, I could smell the smoke, hear their rifles...feel their bodies as they dropped onto the ground above. Every last one. She fights back her tears, and fails. "Twenty-sixth of November. 1863. I was here." Scully puts her notepad away with a deep sigh, and Mulder looks at Melissa. "As were you. This is the field where I watched you die."

* * *

Tennessee Backroads

Mulder looks away from the road long enough to glance into the review mirror to confirm that Melissa is sleeping. When he sees that she is, he fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Scully notices. "Who are you calling?"

"I'm arranging for a therapist trained in hypnosis to be at the command center."

"Because hypnosis is used in the treatment of dissociative identities to bring forth a patient's various personalities?" Her voice is challenging.

"She wants to talk, Scully. It's a matter of getting it out of her."

"No, it's about regressing her to a past life." Frowning, she pushes the phone down. "Don't do this to her, Mulder. This poor woman's mind, her life, is in shreds. Just being married to Ephesian indicates that, that she is susceptible to suggestion."

Mulder thumps on the steering wheel with one hand. "You, you were there, Scully! You saw it. You heard it. Why can't you feel it?" the look Scully gives him is half-ashamed, and half-worried. "How could I know about a bunker in a field where I've never been?" ::At least I'd never been there before the last time, anyway.:: he thinks.

"And why is it that Vernon Ephesian is, reported by you, a paranoid sociopath because he believes that he lived in Greece a hundred years ago, and you're not, even though you believe you died in that field?"

::Because I know there are different lives than these, and he doesn't. Of course, I can't tell you or you'll have me committed.:: Instead of saying anything, he looks back to the road and lets a stony silence build between them.

* * *

Federal Command Center

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Once they get to the center, Mulder has to cajole Melissa into cooperating. "It's for the best."

"No, I don't want to do this," she protests, giving the building distrustful looks.

"We just want to know if you saw anything to substantiate the charges against Vernon. If there's nothing at all that you've repressed about the bunker or child abuse, it'll help clear Vernon's name." Mulder lies glibly. He doesn't dare to look at Scully, knowing that she doesn't approve of his methods.

"There's nothing." Melissa mutters. "I won't tell them anything that'll make Vernon look guilty."

"Then you have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

**

A few minutes later Melissa is sitting in the therapist's chair, her eyes closed, and her fingers rubbing the armrest in an effort to calm herself.

The therapist's voice is low and soothing. "I'm talking to Melissa. In the last year, at the Temple of the Seven Stars, is there anything that happened that you thought was wrong that hurt you?"

Her voice is more confident than they've ever heard it to be. "Yes. There was a...woman who came to the temple. She and her son had been living on the street."

"What was her name?"

"Elizabeth. Her son was Scott. Vernon took a liking to the boy. He said that he was a prophet returning. He took the boy away from his mother."

"Took him away? How?"

"Vernon's children are the grandchildren of God, kept separate from the others. The mother's heart was broken. She was afraid. The mighty men...late...night...Liz sneaks in to see Scott. Oh, he was happy." She smiles briefly. "She bring, she brings him Butterfingers she stole from the kitchen."

Tears well up in Melissa's eyes suddenly. "Vernon...Vernon...Vernon catches them...the mighty men...they pull her away...and beat her in front of her son. The boy, 'no! No, mom...'"She sobs, remembering the little boy's anguish. "Vernon...Vernon...Vernon pulls him by...Vernon pulls him by his hair. Pulls down his pajamas, and he hit him. 'You're not a child of God...garbage,' he called him. Told him to sleep in the trash...with the rats. Oh, the mother...the mother cries...But Vernon beats him in front of her. Uh, oh, no, no, no, no..."

Mulder knows what will happen next, but the therapist stops nodding, and Scully abandons her notes when Sidney reemerges. "Lookit! Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant move. What do you want to know? Just, just leave Melissa alone. She doesn't need to go through that anymore."

The therapist looks over to Scully, who mouths the words "ask her where the guns."

"Where are the guns?"

"The...the bunkers, yeah. The, uh, uh...the Civil War bunkers, yeah. Vernon, Vernon, Vernon and his goons know, but I don't. I really don't."

Scully leans over to Mulder and speaks in a voice soft enough to keep from disturbing Melissa. "Maybe there's a map of the battlefield down in the records."

"You know how to find the other bunkers."

"Mulder..." Scully protests, obviously catching his idea of using himself and Melissa to find the answer.

"Melissa..." Mulder says, watching the woman tense up as she regains control of her mind. "It's me, Melissa. I want you to go back...back to the field."

She opens her eyes and looks over to him, studying hid face. "Oh...oh..." She reaches out to him, smiling. Her voice becomes brighter and a southern drawl seeps into it. "Your eyes may have changed shade, but it cannot color the soul behind them. We have come together in this life, this time. Only to meet in passing." She starts to cry, placing her hand over her heart." It is so heartbreaking to wait. I miss you."

They stare at each other before Melissa leans back in her chair, that past life fading. Scully leans over to Mulder again as he rubs the tears out of his eyes.

"Mulder, this is a product of her illness. She couldn't answer the question of the battlefield. She gave us no specific names, no information to prove her validity. There is nothing we can do to prove that this is the truth." Scully admonishes.

"There is one way," he insists.

"Mulder, Ephesian's arraignment is in two hours. There is no time to be doing this."

"Wouldn't you, Scully? Wouldn't anybody? If the answer was in you, wouldn't you want to bring it out?"

"Yes…" she admits with a sigh.

* * *

"I want you to go into your past, beyond your life as Fox Mulder. What do you see?"

Mulder sighs and moans, not liking what he sees. "Ghetto streets...shattered glass...bodies of the dead...I'm a woman...a Jewish woman...Poland. My son is with me. He is Samantha."

The therapist gives him a surprised look, because he and Mulder are not strangers." Samantha? I thought Samantha was your sister."

"In this life, she is my son." Mulder's eyes open, but what he sees is not in the room with them. "I see my father." He looks down, tearful. "He's dead in the street. He is Scully..." Scully's eyes widen slightly, as do the therapist's. "But now...he's gone on now...waiting for us. The souls...come back together...different...but always together...again and again...to learn. I can't go to my father."

Mulder shakes his head, almost crying. "Gestapo is standing next to him. An officer...he's Cancer Man...evil returns as evil...But love...love...souls mate eternal...my...husband...is taken away from me. To the camps. He is Melissa. We're always taken away."

He starts to cry, but then looks up, tears fading. "I'm rising...I'm rising now...I'm rising now...high above...my body. Above the field. My face is bloody. Near the bunker...the federals are gone...my sergeant is also dead. He is Scully.

"Sarah holds me. She is sad. She is Melissa. She lives...near...the battle...Hamilton County...her name is Kavanaugh. Sarah Kavanaugh..."

Scully reaches for her notepad and begins to scribble down the names.

"And my name...is Sullivan Biddle. She doesn't know...she doesn't know...that, that I'm waiting for her...that we will live again. We will live again. Oh, God...oh, my soul is tired."

Scully kneels down in front of him. "Mulder, it's Scully. Do you see any bunkers in the field?"

"My soul is tired. I want to rest." His eyes fly open. "But don't you. Don't let it happen again, not after all the effort…"

"Don't what let happen again?" Scully asks plaintively. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't let them beat you. Don't give into that cold embrace…." Mulder's voice trails off, and his head slumps onto his chest. Eventually both Scully and the therapist realize that Mulder isn't going to say anything more.

* * *

Washington DC

6:30 p.m.

"Yes you do have to eat this."

Page scowls and shakes her head, apparently convinced that her mother is trying to poison her with cooked carrots. "No no!"

"Yes."

When his daughter eyes him speculatively, Mulder decides that it's time for him to get up and go bring out the trash like he promised to. Bag in hand, he's approaching the can when he hears a rustle in the bushes.

"Who's there?" He wishes that he had his gun, but he and Scully locked them up as soon as they got home so the kids would be safe.

"Melissa." The woman steps out into the light, shading her eyes. "I need to talk to you."

It occurs to him to wonder how she got their address, but he decides that it's safe to assume that Vernon has no idea that she's there. "Yeah, come in."

She hesitates, but then follows him in.

"Hey Scully, we have a guest."

Scully raises an eyebrow when she sees the woman, but only says, "How are you?"

"Not too good." Melissa shivers, and then looks over at the kids who are still both in their highchairs. "I didn't know you had kids."

"Page and Sammy," Mulder tells her.

Sammy's eyes widen as he stares at Melissa. "Auntie, auntie!"

"No you goose," Scully tweaks him on the nose. "This is a friend of Mommy and Daddy's."

"Auntie, Sam?" Page asks, giving her brother a quizzical look.

"I'm not anyone's auntie," Melissa protests in a raspy voice.

"If you two don't mind, I'm going to bring the kids up for a bath while you talk. Unless you need me, Melissa?"

"No no." Melissa gives her a slight smile. "He'll tell you everything later, I'm sure."

As soon as Scully takes the kids upstairs, Mulder and Melissa go into the living room to talk. "I don't have anything against social visits, but I have a feeling that you didn't drop by to meet my kids."

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you." She fixes him with an anxious look. "What if I told you what you wanted to know?"

"About where the weapons are?" he asks eagerly, surprised by this unexpected opportunity to save the walking dead.

"The weapons, sure."

"Then we'd go and find them and then bring Vernon up on weapons charges."

"He'd go to jail then," she says slowly. "That won't work."

"We could get you immunity in exchange for your testimony." Mulder begins to feel his last chance to change things slip through his fingers. "You wouldn't go to jail."

Melissa shakes her head violently. "Couldn't do that to Vernon, he'd hate me. Coming here was a stupid idea. Stupid!"

"Wait!"

Before he can get to his feet she's already running out the door. Scully reappears a moment later. "What did she want?"

"Not immunity to prosecution, apparently." He sighs. "She decided not to tell us anything useful when it became clear to her that doing so wasn't going to keep Vernon out of trouble."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know you're disappointed."

"Yeah...did you put the kids to bed?"

"All tucked in."

"It's strange that Sammy seemed so convinced that she was family."

"He probably heard one of us say Melissa and thought we were talking about my sister."

"Could be," he agrees.

"I'm going to take a shower myself now." Scully informs him. "See you in a bit."

After she kisses him on the forehead and walks off, two things occur to Mulder. The first is that no one said Melissa's name until after Sammy called her auntie. The second thing takes his breath away. At the time he'd thought that Page had asked her brother if he was calling Melissa auntie. But she'd said "Sam," which she's never called her brother before, not "Sammy" so the question might have instead been "Auntie Sam?" A question of if it was their aunt, not what he'd said. He blinks, wondering how old Melissa really is. She doesn't seem young enough to be his sister reincarnated, but hard living can age a person…and now he'll never even have a chance to ask her.

The realization makes him feel a little sick to his stomach, and look even less forward to a tomorrow destined to be hopeless all over again.

* * *

Hamilton County Hall Of Records

4:12 a.m.

The town clerk isn't thrilled to be gotten out of bed in what she considers to be the middle of the night, but when Scully barks at her that obstructing justice is a jailable offense, she hurries over to the hall of records and lets Scully and Mulder in. As soon as she's shown them the right section to look in, she scurries off.

"I think you've put the fear of God into her, Scully," Mulder says with a smirk as soon as the woman is out of earshot.

"No, just the fear of the FBI." Scully traces her finger over a map of the battlefield. She folds up the book, which is "Maps and Battle Plans; 1863-1865." She looks over to the county register, containing files from 1800-1900.

Placing down a book, she flips through pages until she comes to the name she wants: "Biddle, Sullivan." Then she finds the next name: "Kavanaugh, Sarah." Gasping slightly, she pulls open a drawer containing photographs and digs through until she finds the picture that she wants. On the back, it reads "Sullivan Biddle, 1862." Scully looks at the picture for a second, then digs through and finds "Sarah Kavanaugh, 1858"

"I've found them, Mulder," Scully says, handing the pictures to him.

He stares down at them, trying to find a sense of familiarity, or to see himself in the man's face. Whatever Melissa saw, it escapes him.

* * *

Federal Command Center

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Slightly dazed, Mulder continues to stare at the two pictures placed in front of him.

"Ephesian's being taken down to his arraignment. He and Melissa are going to be released soon," Scully tells him. He realizes that she'd said other things, but he doesn't know what.

"Scully if, um...early in the four years we've been working together, the years we've been married...an event occurred that suggested or somebody told you that...we'd been friends together in other lifetimes...always...wouldn't it have changed some of the ways we looked at one another?"

"Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn't change a day." She heads for the door then looks back. "Well, maybe that Flukeman thing. I could've lived without that just fine." She smirks and walks out.

"And what if I told you that we've lived this life before, and I didn't save you? Would you look at me differently then?"

The empty room doesn't supply a response.

Before Melissa is released, Mulder plays back the tape that the therapist made. She listens to the entire thing without expression.

Once the tape runs out she speaks." I don't believe in it."

"Why?" Mulder asks.

"Those tapes are saying that we chose the lives we live before we're born, and who we live with. It's a nice idea. It's a beautiful idea. I want to believe. And if I knew it were true, I'd want to start over. I'd want to end this pointless life."

Mulder is chilled by her choice of words. He didn't know it last time, but this provides the reason for her taking her life. Staring at her, he realizes that this is just another ghost before him that he has no chance of saving. Still, he tries. "Sarah...if it were true...no life would be pointless."

Melissa looks from Kavanaugh's picture to Mulder. The door opens and Vernon looks in, his followers behind him.

"Melissa...it's time to leave." Vernon tells her in his customarily arrogant tone.

Melissa rips up the picture of Kavanaugh and walks out with it. Mulder sighs and stands, then folds his arms against the cabinet and lays his head against it in defeat.

When Scully returns she looks at him. "I've reported to investigators on the site about the possible existence of other bunkers."

* * *

Temple Of The Seven Stars

45 minutes Later

They're all dead, so many resurrected ghosts lying in Mulder's way as he tries to make it down the isle in time, this time. But he feels like his limbs won't move; dreamlike he staggers by the bodies of those who have already taken their poison.

"Behold...I am alive forevermore," Vernon finishes his prayer. He hands Melissa a fresh glass of poison as she sobs softly.

"Don't!" Mulder shouts, but it's too late. The cup is at Melissa's mouth, and she tips it back, swallowing its contents.

The poison works its evil magic almost immediately. Mulder reaches the woman and Vernon a mere minute later, but they're already dead. He looks down at Melissa who is clutching the ripped photograph of Sarah Kavanaugh in her wake. He starts to cry and takes the picture. Scully walks in with agents and stares at Mulder, who caresses Melissa's shoulder and looks out onto their field through the window.

* * *

November 7th, 1996

"At times, I almost dream.

I, too, have spent a life the sages' way and tread once more familiar paths. Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance an age ago...and in that act, a prayer for one more chance went up so earnest, so...instinct with better light let in by death that life was blotted out not so completely...but scattered wrecks enough of it to remain dim memories...as now...when seems once more...the goal in sight again."

Mulder puts down his pen, and takes out two pictures. He carefully affixes them to the page, spreading out the halves of the ripped photo of the woman.

If his spirit went on, and lived again, which life would his future self recall? The one he's living now, or the one he rejected for being too painful? And which would Scully's future self drudge up under hypnosis? The thought sends a shiver down his spine, but he doesn't know why.

He closes the book when he senses another presence in the room. "What are you doing, Mulder?"

"Journaling."

Scully nods. "My mom does that, mostly family photos with stickers and captions. Can I see?"

"Would you mind if I said no?"

"I don't mind," she tells him. "If you're done, Page is requesting you tell her a bedtime story."

Leaving the book on his desk, he gets up to go to his daughter, but he glances back. It's far more pleasant to delve into the world of talking bunnies and magic than to dwell on the long ago past, yet still he's reluctant to put those thoughts aside.


	40. Musings of a Cigarette : Paper Heart

November 12th, 1996

Scully tries not to trip over anything in the cramped, unlit warehouse that hosts the Lone Gunmen. She honestly can't imagine why anyone, even paranoid, delusional conspiracy theorists would suffer themselves to live like, well, computer equipment. Banging her shin into a plastic crate full of God knows what, she hisses a curse under her breath, trying to keep up with her husband carrying their daughter as well as balance her load of little Sammy. This better be good, she thinks grimly.

Ahead, the Gunmen are babbling excitedly. "It's insane, it's like an elaborate and dark conspiracy," Langly says, as they finally reach a blessed patch of light from a desk lamp.

Scully squints at him. "Look at you, you're shaking." She frowns slightly. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring the kids along, but there was no way she was calling a sitter in the middle of the night, and the Gunmen are usually pretty handy with their tips. She holds Sammy close, and finds Mulder unconsciously mimicking her as he shuffles Page in his arms for a more protective embrace while juggling the baby bag.

His light tone belying his actions, he says, "Whoa, whoa, what's going on?"

The bespectacled long-haired blond looks around, the small fluorescent light bouncing off his glasses. "Frohike's around," he says impatiently.

"Don't say my name, stupid," the short man hisses. "Now I have to kill you!"

Scully rolls her eyes, in spite of the seemingly tense situation, even as the suit-wearing Byers tries to reassure the eldest Gunman. "Langly and I performed three sweeps," he says, but is interrupted.

"I don't care," Frohike mutters.

"With the CPM-seven-hundred and did not detect a single bug," Byers finishes patiently, as if the shorter man hadn't interrupted.

Frohike glares at them all. "The CPM-seven-hundred is a piece of crap!" he says, crossing his arms.

"The acoustic correlator is reading only passive sounds," Byers tries again, practically shoving the odd contraption in the skeptic's face.

Mulder's impatience is wearing thin, and as Page starts to sniffle from the tension, he snaps, "I've been here twenty minutes and I still don't know what the hell is wrong! No one would kill you, Frohike, you're just a little puppy-dog." Okay, maybe a pug or bulldog, but who's counting, the tall agent thinks.

"I don't utter another syllable until the CSM-twenty-five countermeasure filter is activated," Frohike says obstinately, his arms still crossed firmly over his leather-vested chest.

Scully wonders why she's tempted to laugh, until she sees he reminds her of Page in her more bull-headed moods. Oh dear. Biting her bottom lip to keep hysterical giggles down, she watches as Byers hands Langly the first doodad, only to fiddle with another one. Where do they get these things? she wonders, then remembers how borderline these men are and it would be wise not to question too deeply where they get their equipment or information.

"No electronic surveillance known can cut through the CSM-twenty-five," Byers says confidently as Langly sighs over the rejected piece of spyware detection.

Scully, seeing everyone's feathers are unruffled now, finds an empty chair and sits down, relieved to take a load off her high-heeled feet. "All right, now tell us what on earth you're so close to."

Frohike pauses. "Not a 'what.' A 'who.' If you find the right starting point and follow it, not even secrets of the darkest of men are safe."

Mulder almost grins as his wife's eyebrow comes up, right on cue. "Cancer Man? Really?"

Frohike nods. "Pretty much everything," he says smugly. "Perhaps even his background." He pauses, as if listening for something, then continues. "Who he is, and who he wants to be." He smiles as Scully's eyebrow remains clocked at the upright position, while Mulder and the little girl sit forward with the same eager attention a storyteller craves from an audience.

In an almost conversational tone, Frohike starts off, "August twentieth, 1940, Mexico City. A Stalinist agent assassinated Leon Trotsky with an ice pick. At that same moment, a thousand miles north, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he appears. The father was an ardent Communist activist. During the Nazi-Soviet pact, he kept the N.K.V.D. informed about American plans to enter World War II. He was executed under the Espionage Act of 1917...before his boy could walk."

Then he remembers little kids are listening. "Hey, the jellybeans can keep a secret, right?" Frohike asks.

Mulder snorts. "You're lucky Page hasn't gotten around to asking 'why' questions yet," he says, "go on." He ignores his wife's long-suffering sigh, even as he whispers to his daughter, "Uncle Frohike's telling the story of a very bad man."

"Ohhh," Page says, and is silent. She's too sleepy to bother with the details, and for that, Mulder and Scully are grateful.

Clearing his throat, Frohike goes on, but his tone is like that of adults reading a fairy tale to children. "The mother, a cigarette smoker, died of lung cancer...before her son uttered his first word. With no surviving family, he became a ward of the state, sent to various orphanages in the Midwest. Didn't make friends, spent all his time reading...alone...and then...he appears to have vanished...until a year and a half after the Bay of Pigs."

"Pigs," Page giggles, and Mulder grins back at her, bouncing her on his leg. What? he mouths silently to Scully, who indulges herself in another eyeroll, but she isn't protesting just yet.

Once Frohike winds the story to a close, Scully stares at him in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?" she says. "You're saying the Cancer Man was the lone gunman?"

Langly holds up his hands. "Hey, our sources are legit," he says, "we wouldn't be taking these precautions, or dragging you out in the middle of the night, if they weren't."

"I'm sure," Scully says dryly, thankful that Sammy hasn't stirred awake yet. Unfortunately, it looks like Mulder's swallowed the damn theory whole.

"But that ain't all, kids," Frohike says, rubbing his hands.

"Before you go on," Scully says, "I need to warm up a bottle for Sammy," she says, "he'll probably be hungry in about an hour." She's got a sinking feeling they'll be sticking around for that time period, if not longer.

"Oh," Byers says, "of course. This way." And, as if he's a butler, he leads Scully to the kitchen.

Once they're there, it gives her some relief and worry at the same time. She's relieved that Sammy has something to drink and that the Gunmen actually have a decent kitchen, but worried that three bachelors keep it so tidy. Looking at them, she'd guess that only Byers would be neat, but can't see how he'd prevail over the other two to clean it. It's hard enough cleaning up after the kids and Mulder, too. "Byers, this is a lovely kitchen," she says, gingerly taking the heated bottle from the boiling pot of water.

He nods, understanding. "Actually, Frohike's in charge of the kitchen," he says, "he's really a fine cook, and doesn't let anyone get away with anything in here." He smiles. "One of these days, you should try his quesadillas."

She raises her eyebrows but smiles. "If he won't mind our family adding to the hungry mouths," she says.

"Oh, no, he'd do anything for you," and adds hastily, "all."

Her smile widens. "Of course," she says, and pretends not to notice the sigh of relief that escapes the primly-dressed man. "I think we should get some snacks for everyone else, too, since it seems we're going to be here for a while."

Byers blinks, then nods, grabbing snacks from a higher-than-she-can-reach cupboard, then pulling a six-pack of soda from the fridge. Duly armed, he leads her back out into the unofficial conference room.

They, and the food and drinks, are greeted with a muffled cheer, since Page has just fallen asleep. Settling down with a burrito in one hand and a can of Coke in the other, Frohike grins and resumes his story in a hushed tone. "As the man we now know and loathe as the Cancer Man listens to Martin Luther King Jr. on the radio, he's busy typing away on a pulp story."

Scully shakes her head, taking a judicious sip of soda. JFK, and now MLK. Maybe somebody's getting ambitious in the conspiracy theory set.

Mulder frowns. "He hates the Buffalo Bills?"

Scully looks at him, a little stunned. "Mulder, I don't think that's what's important," she mutters.

Mulder's shaking his head. "I can't believe he hates the Bills," he repeats, then a thought comes to him. There's one Bill he dislikes in particular, which reminds him of - his father. Oh. *That* Bill. Damn. Not like he's gonna share it with the rest of the class.

Frohike sighs, exasperated. "I'm not done yet," he says, "can I continue?"

Mulder puts a hand up. "Sorry, guys, nature's calling," he says, "um, one of you mind taking her?" Page is a dead weight in his arms, but he's not about to saddle Scully with two sleeping kids.

Langly shakes his head quickly, and Byers scoots back nervously, leaving only Frohike. "All right, all right," he says ungraciously, taking the sleeping girl in his arms. "Don't take too long."

Mulder grins. "You don't want me to wash my hands?" He exits before Scully can think of an appropriate retort at this ungodly hour.

When he returns, Scully is having a semi-hushed debate with the Gunmen about microwaving versus boiling water to heat bottled milk. Now Mulder raises his eyebrows as he reclaims his daughter, but none of the guys bother to defend themselves on this seemingly matriarchal issue, only underlining their positions on the heating bottles battle.

"Um," Mulder says, shifting his daughter for a more comfortable position without giving her a stiff neck, "could we get back to the Cancer Man thing?"

"Sure," Frohike says, "all I'm saying is that it makes more sense to do it on the stove," he finishes off his argument.

"You're just sayin' that 'cause Agent Scully says so," Langly whines.

"Guys," Mulder says in a warning tone. "You're gonna wake the kids." And you're acting like 'em, too, he wants to add.

"Okay, so at this point, I'm guessing Ol' Smokey and his friends might have been desperate," Frohike says, "like a certain blond acquaintance of mine."

"Frohike," Scully sighs, absently patting Sammy's back.

He takes her warning more seriously. "At that point, Mulder's work in the basement was getting attention on the top floor. That's why you were brought in," he tells her. Then he warms to his story again, retelling of Mulder and Scully's first meeting, reminding her afresh of the Smoking Man's presence even then, and she shudders, Sammy stirring a little in her arms.

Mulder, for his part, doesn't appreciate his life being turned into a chapter, much less a footnote, in that bastard's story, but he knows he's a part of it all the same, more than Scully or the others realize. He sighs, hoping and praying that none of his children will ever be touched by the tainted hand of that sick, twisted old man who would sacrifice his wife and daughter to unfeeling aliens and warped human scientists. And swears again that he will not be like either of his fathers when it comes to their families, never. He doesn't realize he's practically squeezing Page until she struggles against him, and guiltily eases his grip.

The snacks are gone, but nobody's making a move to refill. Frohike leans back against the computer-filled desk. "Henry David Thoreau wrote, 'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.' "He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his tired eyes. "His life has been anything but quiet, yet I believe nothing but desperate. He's the most dangerous man alive, not so much because he believes in his actions, but because he believes his actions are all which life allows him." He pauses, taking a sip of Coke. "And yet...the only person that can never escape him...is himself."

"So that's it?" Scully asks, an unchecked yawn escaping her mouth as she continues to bottle-feed Sammy.

Frohike nods, not insulted by her monster yawn. "So far, this is based only on a story I read in one of my weekly subscriptions that rang a bell. I'm going out to check on the private hacker source that has been working on tracking a few leads that can produce definitive proof, and then we'll have him nailed." He stretches and absently checks his watch. His demeanor changes into one of slight alarm. "Speaking of which, we have a source to check," he says, "could you leave by the front door?" The federal couple blink at him. "That's a door you can lock, this back door, well, we need to lock it up. Grab your gear, guys, it's funky poaching time." The other two Gunmen do just that, leaving the small family alone.

Scully across at her husband, who is picking up the baby bag in a tired, almost mechanical fashion. "Well, that was bizarre," she says dryly. "And almost a sad story," the redhead muses, "but then I remember what an asshole he is, and I don't feel so bad."

Mulder grins. "That's what I love about you, Scully," he says, "always putting things in a diplomatic way."

She glares, also standing. "I'm tired, I've just heard a crazy story that links one man to several conspiracies in a less than coherent fashion, and in a couple of hours, Sammy will be wide awake and I'll be dead on my feet." She yawns again, then smiles. "I wonder if they'll be renaming themselves?"

Mulder laughs, causing Page to stir a little. "I don't think so," he says, "I think they'll always be the Lone Gunmen."

She shakes her head, carefully navigating her way back through the darkness of the warehouse. "Now *that's* kind of sad," she remarks.

"Not really, there's actually a good story behind their name," he says as they reach their car. As he opens the door for her, she smothers another yawn. "For another time, maybe."

* * *

November 24th, 1996  
11:29 p.m.

Unable to sleep, Mulder stares down the clock. It blinks first, and rolls over to 11:30. He glances over his shoulder, and sees that Scully is curled up into a little ball, with her back to his. He doesn't blame her, because the day has been damp, and it got into his bones too. For a moment he considers getting up and checking on Sammy and Page, but he knows that it's just a diversionary tactic, so he won't have to think about what happened earlier in the day.

One hand over his mouth to stifle a groan, he lets the past two days play out in his mind.

* * *

Bosher's Run Park; Manassas, Virginia  
November 22nd, 1996  
5 a.m.

Because he knew the truth, he thought he'd avoid this episode in his life, but as soon as he woke up from the dream about the dancing red dot that lead him to a body, he realized that he may have moved on, but John Lee Roche hasn't. He's still guilty, still hasn't received justice.

So Mulder leaves a note for Scully and slips out of the house before dawn, and waits until he gets to his car to make a call to an excavator. He knows that she'll probably wake and look for him before long, but he feels generous, giving her a few extra minutes of sleep, even if it means that he's likely to be yelled at for wandering off without letting her know.

Unsurprisingly, he's kneeling in the dirt when he feels a not-too-gentle hand on his shoulder. He looks up at his wife with a grim smile. "It doesn't count as ditching if you're not awake when it happens."

"I don't remember agreeing to that rule," she says evenly. "You're damn lucky that Rachel is a night owl, since I might have had to kill you if I couldn't get someone to look after the kids. What's going on here?"

::Note to self, Christmas bonus for Rachel:: he thinks. "I'm not sure I can explain, Scully."

"You drove all the way out here and called for a forensic excavation at five A.M. on a

Sunday? What are you looking for?"

"Just give me a minute, Scully, okay?"

"Mulder, what are you doing out here?"

"I keep having this dream. It's about a little blond girl." He anticipates her question and adds, "Not Page." ::Or Emily either, thank god.::

She yawns. "You're saying that you're out here because of something you saw in a dream?" She doesn't look surprised when he nods, and he's not sure how he should feel about the fact that his wife is so used to his quirks. It makes him feel naked somehow, even though he's fully clothed.

The excavator shouts to Mulder, and he and Scully run over. She looks surprised, but he's just sad when they see that the excavator has uncovered a small human skull.

Mulder watches as the excavator is unearths the skeleton, scooping out the dirt around it. A grid has been placed over it to separate areas.

Scully looks up from the skeleton and pins him with a look. "So, tell me about this dream that found us a body."

"I've had...flashes of it before. And last night, it went on long enough to lead me right to her."

He interrupts himself and walks towards the two excavators. "I need the chest exposed."

"Yes, sir. It just takes a little time."

Mulder picks up some rubber gloves and kneels down where the second excavator was, who got up and walked away.

The remaining excavator is flustered by his action." Sir, let us do that...sir..." Mulder ignores him and digs in the dirt with his hands.

"Mulder, if you destroy evidence, we may never find out what happened here," Scully warns.

"I know what happened here. She was strangled. He used an eight-gauge electrical cord. He took something from the body post-mortem...a trophy. A piece of fabric cut from her clothes...in the shape of a heart."

"You're saying you got all these details from your dream?"

"No. I know this M.O. I know it from memory."

"Whose M.O.?"

"John Lee Roche. He killed thirteen eight-to-ten year-old girls." He's been digging gently as they talk, and now he exposes the chest partly, revealing ivory colored ribs, over which is a nightgown with a cloth heart cut out. "This makes fourteen."

Scully's look is one of horror that he seldom sees her wear around the dead, but then, most of the dead they see aren't small girls.

* * *

Autopsy Lab

Having briefed Scully about the case he'd had that put John Lee Roche away, he sits silently after the brief autopsy, staring at the skeleton of the girl. Her ribs have separated, and something about that makes Mulder wince, even though he knows it caused the child no pain. His eyes are focused on the cut out space where the cloth heart used to make the nightgown whole.

Scully comes back after a phone call. "I believe her name is Addie Sparks. She went missing from her home in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, in June of 1975. I contacted the Center For Missing and Exploited Children, ran a search through the database.

"1975 is too early."

She shakes her head in disagreement. "The match is right, Mulder. The, the, the height is right, the description of the sleeper is right."

"That would mean Roche started way before we thought he did. I screwed up."

Her eyes tell him that he's being too hard on himself, but he disagrees." Mulder, we're going to have to verify this. Are you up for that?"

"Let's get this over with," he says shortly. "This isn't news anyone wants to hear."

* * *

Norristown, Pennsylvania

Mulder and Scully pull up to the house of Frank Sparks. Children are playing nearby. Mulder uses the knocker and Sparks opens the door.

"Frank Sparks?" Scully asks in a polite, businesslike tone, which feels all wrong to Mulder. They're their to talk about killing a faint hope, not to sell girl scout cookies.

Unaware, mister Sparks greets them with a friendly glance. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm Agent Scully, this is Agent Mulder. We're with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May we speak with you?"

Realization blooms in his eyes at a speed that saddens Mulder. "You found Addie?"

Frank rubs the small pocket with a dollar sign stitched in that was found with the body.

"This was for the tooth fairy," he tells them, his voice husky with unshed tears. "When Addie was asleep at night, I'd...I'd come and put a quarter in this pocket. Her mother sewed it."

Mulder gives him a sorrowful look that Scully misses. The tooth fairy only serves to remind all three of them just how young the child was when she died.

"Where is your wife, sir?" Scully asks.

"She passed away last summer." His eyes drift away for a moment, lost in his thoughts, before he turns back to them with a half desperate look." So, you, you, uh...you're saying the, uh...the man that did this is already in prison."

"Yes, sir, and he won't get out," Mulder tells him, wondering what he should do with Roche now, considering how close to tragedy releasing him came to last time.

"You do this full-time, telling people...this kind of news?" Sparks asks.

"No, sir, not full-time," Scully tells him, and Mulder adds that it's not a desirable job.

"I used to think...that missing was worse than dead because...You never knew what happened. Now that I know...I'm glad my wife's not here. She got luckier."

Mulder's gave passes over a picture of a little girl on the mantel; he can't think of anything to say in reply.

"How many more people, uh...like me are you going to visit today?" Sparks asks. "Were there other victims...you didn't know about?"

Neither agent can formulate a good answer. Scully, because she doesn't know, and Mulder because he can't deal with talking about the two hearts that they'll soon find.

Afterwards, Sparks closes the door as they start back to their car. Predictably, Mulder sees the white car with the red dot on it that he saw in his dream.

"Roche's car...Roche drove a white El Camino, Scully. I saw it in my dream."

"What are you saying that means?" Scully asks.

"The cloth hearts he collected, he would have wanted to keep them close to him. For a traveling salesman, that means inside the car, right? He'd want his souvenirs close so he could relive the experience whenever he wanted to. Not that it would be enough to do that…" He let his voice drift off, knowing she'd think of the man's urge to kill, too.

"You're saying the hearts might still be in his car?"

"Well, he doesn't have them in prison, the cell is searched regularly, his mail is examined. His car was sold at auction in 1992, put beyond his reach. It's worth a look, Scully. We've got to find those hearts in order to count them."

"Don't you think the car might have been searched at least once already?"

"Not by me."

* * *

Lorton Reformatory  
Lorton, Virginia

Mulder and Scully deposit their weapons with a guard and are lead to a basketball court where Roche is shooting baskets by himself. He tears his eyes away from the hoop long enough to give Mulder a quick once-over. There's no hint of surprise on his face that he's seeing the man who put him in prison.

"Mulder. Long time, no see. You got a new partner."

"Agent Scully." Mulder acknowledges.

"Agent is pretty formal. From what I hear she shares more than your office." Mulder grits his teeth, annoyed that someone slipped that information to the inmate. "So what's up?" Roche is still aiming shots at the basket, as if there's nothing unusual going on.

"We found Addie Sparks, John."

"Congratulations, I guess."

"We also found your cloth hearts. All sixteen of them."

"Huh." His voice is casual, but there's a spark of interest in his voice.

"Sixteen victims, John," Mulder says. "How come you only said there were only thirteen?"

The ball sinks in the hoop. "I don't know. Thirteen sounds more magical, you know?"

"Why don't you tell us about your last two victims, then?"

"You're in here for life, you've got nothing to lose," Scully adds.

The prisoner shrugs. "And nothing to gain."

"You can gain one moment of decency in your life. You can finally let those families put their daughters to rest."

"I understand you take this very personally, Mulder." His look is sly. "I also hear that you know something about being a daddy. Gotta be tough, telling other daddies that their daughters are dead." The next shot bounces off the rim.

Mulder is speechless with rage, and wants nothing more than to track down whoever leaked the information and kill them.

"How about this?" Roche asks as he spins the basketball on his finger. "Sink one from there and I'll tell you all about the other two girls."

Knowing that it's futile, Mulder sinks the basketball anyway.

"You'd trust a child molester?" Roche asks, giving him a look of mock surprise. "You bring my hearts and give them back to me...I'll tell you everything you want to know."

* * *

Later

Mulder is already sitting at a table when a buzzing noise alerts him that Roche is coming in.

"Did you bring me my hearts?" The eager look that Roche can't quite hide turns Mulder's stomach.

"Yesterday, you said something about me taking it personally. Why did you say that to me? "Roche smirks at him." Where were you in 1973?"

"What, the whole year?"

"November. Twenty-seventh of November. Do you know what I'm getting at?"

"I was selling vacuum cleaners in 1973. I made a sales trip to Martha's Vineyard that year and...I sold a vacuum cleaner to your dad. He bought it for your mom. I believe it was a, um...Electrovac Duchess or the Princess model and...your dad and I talked about it at great length. He...he had a really hard time choosing."

"What do you know about my sister?"

"You bring me my hearts...and maybe I'll tell you more."

Figuring it can't get him in any more trouble than the last time around, Mulder follows though on his impulse to punch Roche in the face. It makes him feel a little better about relieving the case.

Looking shocked, Roche sputters to the guard. "This man...this man hit me."

The guard says he saw nothing, but Scully is furious because she did.

"He was there, Scully. He was in the house. He took Samantha."

"In your dream, Mulder. It was a dream. Your mind made it up."

"A dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet figured out how to ask, right? Something buried in your subconscious. You heard him in there, he knew something. He mentioned being on Martha's Vineyard."

"Is it a state secret you lived in Martha's Vineyard?"

"Well, how would he find out about that?" Mulder asks.

"Through the prison library. The inmates have access to computers and the internet. I checked. Roche logged on just yesterday."

They stop walking. "Looking for what?"

"The server records don't show, but on the net, Mulder, he can find out practically anything about you. Look, he is playing with you, Mulder. Not only is he making you think of your sister, he's trying to make it personal now by bating you by mentioning that he knows about your personal life. He is committing emotional blackmail and you are letting him. You walked into that room with your heart on your sleeve. He saw vulnerability, and he took advantage of it. You had a dream...a nightmare...and you, and you had it because of all the emotions that this case is stirring up for you. But...it was nothing but a dream."

"My last dream came true. Scully, do you believe that my sister Samantha was abducted by aliens?"

Scully looks away. "Have you ever believed that? No. So what do you think happened to her?"

"What are you saying you believe now?"

"I don't know. I don't know what happened. I don't know what to believe. I just know that I have to find out now."

* * *

The Following Day

Roche pulls up a seat and stares angrily at Mulder, who is seated across from him.

"I'm not talking to you if you're going to hit me again."

Scully looks at Mulder as well, who pulls out the two remaining cloth hearts and puts them down in front of Roche. Roche pulls open the bag and is about to pull out the heart when Mulder grabs his hand.

"No. You don't get to touch them. They stay in the bag. Name them."

"I think you know one of them already."

They stare at each other.

"Prove it," Scully demands, and Roche smiles.

"Watergate was on TV. You and your sister...were sitting in front of it...playing a board game with, uh, little red and, uh...blue plastic pieces. And you wanted to watch a TV show...the one, the one with Bill Bixby? What the heck was the name of that thing?"

"How could you know what I said?" Mulder asks.

"I was watching...from the window. I was, I was very careful."

"If that's true, tell me where my sister is."

Roche looks down at the hearts." Pick her out."

"What?"

"You choose the one that was your sister, and I'll tell you where she is. Hey, come on, it's a fifty-fifty chance."

Roche moves the bagged hearts until they are side-by-side in front of Mulder. "Either way, I'm giving you a victim."

The world seems to stop for a moment while Mulder ponders his choices. He could pick the heart on the right, and go down the same path again, one that would lead to something near to murder in a bus, or he could pick the other heart. He knows it's not his sister either, but it's still a hard choice. Which family does he find the truth for? Which one does he gamble away their chance for peace?

Mulder picks the one to his left. ::Fuck it. I'll tell Scully I had another dream and it told me where the body I know the location of is. This way he still loses.::

"That one? You're sure you want that one?" Roche teases.

Mulder gives him a triumphant look that seems to confuse the murderer. "It's a good choice. Okay, you want to write this down?"

* * *

Autopsy Lab

Mulder stands at the far end of the room, looking at the body, which is covered.

"Mulder?"

"It's not her, Scully."

"You're right, Mulder, it's not a match. It's not her."

"It's somebody, though."

* * *

Lorton Reformatory  
Lorton, Virginia

"It was a fifty-fifty chance."

"Tell us the name of that girl."

"It was Cynthia Saint Claire," Roche tells him with a gleeful look. "She lived in a green rancher in...East Amherst, New York. Mint grew outside her window. I stood outside her window atop sprigs of mint. It smelled wonderful."

Scully is clearly angered by his attitude and nearly hisses. "What year?"

"July...1974. I had her mother on the hook for an Electrovac Argosy, but at the last minute, she said 'thanks but no thanks.' She shouldn't have."

Scully looks up at him, no flicker of emotion now.

"Oh, well. I could have used the commission."

They sit in silence for a few seconds, the agents glaring at him. Mulder pulls out the last fabric heart. He slides it across and Roche picks it up, studies it, and slides it back.

"It's your sister."

Mulder plays along." If that's true, tell me where."

"You want to know a lot more than that, don't you? You want to know everything, right? The big mystery revealed."

"Drop the mind games," Scully barks.

"I can't just tell you. I know you don't believe me. You need me to show you, you need me to lead you through because...after all these years, anything less than that's not going to satisfy you, right?"

"You just want to get out of here," Mulder says.

"You're damn right I do...if only for a day or two. I'm realistic. And more than that, I...I can't wait to see your face."

"Oh, God..." Scully says, standing. "You're going to see the inside of your cell instead! You're going to rot there!"

"Guess the wife doesn't like the idea of me being free, Mulder," Roche says. "I thought you'd manage a woman better than this." He's clearly enjoying antagonizing the FBI. "If you don't mind, I'd rather you keep her home when we go and find your sister."

Mulder's next words wipe the smirk off of Roche's face. "Karen Ann Philiponte."

"Who?" Roche's face is suddenly guarded.

"Your sixteenth victim. She's buried in a state park in Forks Of Cacapon, West Virginia."

"That's not…Who told you that?" Roche squawks.

Mulder taps at his head. "We have a connection, you and I. I know all your dirty little secrets. Now that I've sent a team out to search, the world knows them too. You don't have any more cards, Roche. You played your last hand and didn't even know it."

Roche's glare is filled with hate. "I will get out someday. And when I do, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to take your daughter from your house."

"You'd be dead before you made it to the window," Mulder says calmly. "If I find out that you're ever given parole, I'll make sure that it's a very short one. You can consider that a promise."

"You're threatening me?"

"Warning you."

"If I tell- "

"How sympathetic do you think a parole board would be after knowing that you threatened to murder an FBI agent's child if you were ever released?"

Roche opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Rage is still burning in his eyes when he closes his mouth and turns his back to the two agents who are getting up to leave.

As they walk out of the prison, Scully touches his arm. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"For what?"

"Because you still don't have the answer you've been searching for. Because I thought that you were going to take him up on his offer and let him out of jail -"

"I'd like to think that sort of recklessness is behind me," Mulder tells her, ignoring her look of disbelief. "At least when it comes to convicted child murderers."

"How did you know where the other body was buried?"

"It came to me in another dream," Mulder tells her glibly.

A mischievous glint lights Scully's eyes. "You and Missy are going to have so much to talk about at Thanksgiving."

"You wouldn't tell her. Scully?"

"Just where child molesters are concerned?"

"Well, maybe a lowering of recklessness in general."

"Sell me another bridge, Mulder."

* * *

November 24th, 1996  
10:07 p.m.

"You still awake?" Scully asks as she sits on the bed.

He puts aside the book he was reading. "I was going to bed soon, but if you'd rather I didn't-" He gives her a come-hither look.

The sober look he gets in return ices his libido. "I was just watching the news, Mulder. You don't need to talk to the parole board, now or ever."

"Why not?"

"They found Roche dead in the showers tonight. Apparently revisiting his case informed inmates not previously in the know that he was a child murderer…"

"Justice finds its own way," Mulder murmurs. "I can't say that he didn't come to a fitting end."

Scully pats his thigh. "And you did find the last three victims. Think of it Mulder, he'll never hurt anyone again, and you've given people the thread they need to sew their wounds that have gapped all these years."

"Have you been reading poetry again?" Mulder teases.

"Just Where the Sidewalk Ends."

He gives her a mock disproving look. "I don't think you should read that stuff to Page."

"Why not?"

"Because the guy also writes erotica. It's oogy."

"Oogy?" A smile plays over her lips.

"It is. You should read her TS Eliot if you're going to inflict poetry on a helpless toddler. At least ole' TS knew enough not to dip his pen into multiple genres."

"She wouldn't understand a word of his poetry."

"Do you really think she understands Shel Silverstein? I'm not sure I do…"

* * *

November 24th, 1996  
11:49 p.m.

When the lights went out, a thought crept into Mulder's head, and burrowed into the back of his brain. He tried to pull it out but it held on with sharp claws.

Roche being dead was still his fault.

He didn't pull the trigger, but just the same, his re-involvement with the case lead to the same ending.

If he'd felt guilty, he could have probably accepted it and moved on, but he felt relieved, and more than a little bit satisfied. You weren't supposed to be glad when anyone died, but he was, and it showed him a part of himself that he didn't even know existed.


	41. Tunguska : Terma

_a/n: Everything from this chapter on is new postage to ffnet_

* * *

December 6th, 1996

Standing before the court, her stomach feels like a hurricane and her legs feel like jelly. Still, her back is straight, her chin is up, and her eyes, as her father once said, are like twin gun turrets as they face the men behind the bench. "I, Dana Katherine Scully, swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God." The gavel bangs, and she sits down. "I would like to read from a prepared statement." She barely hears the senator give the go-ahead, and, forcing her hands not to shake, she reads from a paper, "I left behind a career in medicine to become an FBI agent four years ago because I believed in this country. Because I wanted to uphold its laws, to punish the guilty and to protect the innocent. I still believe in this country. But I believe that there are powerful men in the government who do not. . . . men who have no respect for the law and who flout it with impunity. I have come to the conclusion that it is no longer possible. . ."

"Agent Scully- - this is not a soapbox, Ms Scully. Your statement will be entered into the record," a very disgruntled Chairman Romine interrupts her.

She almost thanks him for the pause, as she fears her voice was starting to shake. In as even a tone as possible, she says firmly, "With all due respect, Mr. Chairman, I would like to finish."

"This is not why we are here today."

She raises an eyebrow. "Then why are we here, sir?" The way she says "sir" is how some people would say "idiot," but the chairman ignores the rebuff.

"Agent Scully, do you or do you not know the whereabouts of Agent Mulder? Are you or are you not aware of Agent Mulder's present location?" Senator Sorenson asks, joining the fun.

Now why the hell would you care? Scully fumes inwardly. "I respectfully decline to answer that question," she says aloud.

"Ms. Scully, you cannot refuse to answer that question," the chairman rebukes her.

"I believe answering that question could endanger Agent Mulder's life," she answers, likewise ignoring the chairman's use of "Ms." rather than "Agent" or even "Mrs.."

The chairman purses his lips briefly, as if holding back a few choice words, then says, "You don't seem to understand. Your response is not optional; you are an agent of the FBI."

Duh, the redhead thinks, it's about time you remembered that. "Then if I could please finish my statement. . . that it is no longer possible to carry out my duties as an FBI agent," she reads aloud.

The senator has even less of a grasp of protocol than she does. "Are you tendering your resignation, Ms. Scully? Is that what you're trying to say?" he butts in.

She looks at him evenly. No, evenly would imply an equality of sorts, and she looks at him with more contempt than she would a bug in her house. "No, sir. What I am saying is that there is a culture of lawlessness that has prevented me from doing my job. That the real target of this committee's investigation should be the men who are beyond prosecution and punishment. The men whose policies are behind the crimes that you are investigating."

"Either you tell us what you know about Agent Mulder's whereabouts, or you will be held in contempt of Congress," Senator Sorenson snaps.

Scully stares at him, praying inwardly, Lord, I know I haven't been that faithful. But I pray that you bring Mulder back safe and sound, that I won't be separated from my sweet babies too long, that Mom will be okay watching the kids, and that all the men on this stupid interrogation gets a rash in embarrassing places like nobody's business. Okay, maybe not the last part, but please, please, Lord, keep my family safe. She thinks of her insane husband and holds back a sigh, intent on keeping her game face steady in front of her accusers.

"Agent Scully?" the senator prompts her.

Please, bring Mulder home and I'll have the kids baptized, she prays desperately, please!

* * *

Several Days Earlier

November 25th, 1996

It seems like a million years ago, but they'd caught Krycek in a homegrown terrorist bust. He'd told Mulder and herself about the men behind the assassination attempt on Mulder's dad, as well as the ones who left him in a North Dakota nuclear well. And then he promised to lead them to a new "bomb", a payoff that involved an international courier.

Krycek is still in his old clothes, while they'd showered and changed out of their SWAT gear. Another difference is that Krycek is handcuffed, but those are hidden under his sweatshirt as he leads them to the courier who, he says, will be carrying a diplomatic pouch. They see the man and give chase, Mulder handcuffing Krycek to a nearby railing. They lose the guy, but find the pouch.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Scully snaps, waving the pouch as they go back to the former agent.

"What?" Krycek asks, obviously ignorant.

"Let me expose it for you," Mulder says, grabbing the pouch from his wife and unzipping it to reveal a rock. "What did you get for Halloween, Charlie Brown?" he deadpans, rezipping it. Nobody notices his slightly pale demeanor, but his anger is evident as he storms off.

* * *

After dropping Krycek off at the all-too-willing Skinner's apartment for some much needed heart-to-heart, Mulder and Scully leave the rock at the Department of Exobiology in the NASA-Goddard Space Flight Center. Much as he enjoys Dr. Sacks' revelation that the rock came from Mars via Antarctica, he cautions the good doctor to use the utmost in precautions, remembering what happened the last time. Scully turns to look at him. "The entry into Earth's atmosphere would kill off most bacteria and microbes, Mulder," she says, "anything they can find about that rock would have to come from inside."

He nods. "Call it a hunch, Scully, but I think what's inside that rock is what Krycek and his unexposed men want." And I don't want you or anyone else getting exposed to what's inside. "Indulge my paranoia a little," he turns to Dr. Sacks, "and check your biohazard suits for any wear and tear." He smiles a little. "It could be nothing, or it could be something."

The scientist looks at Scully, who shrugs a little. "Like he said, indulge him."

Dr. Sacks frowns, then nods.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the basement office, Mulder hangs up the phone. Dammit, he thinks, I can't save Skinner, even as his wife walks in. They go through what, to him, is a familiar conversation, until he says, "Why all this effort to get it onto U.S. soil? I think what Alex Krycek has given us is the pivotal piece to an even larger plot." And then he remembers his stay in the Russian gulag and vows not to get caught in that same trap, now that the stakes at home are higher.

Unknowing of the events that transpired previously, Scully says, "What he's given us, Mulder, is a rock. Alex Krycek is a liar and a murderer."

Got that right, Mulder thinks, but says aloud, "Who wants to expose the same men that we do and will go to any lengths to succeed."

Scully looks at him levelly. "What I'm worried about is you, Mulder and how far you'll go. And how far I can follow you." She looks down at the ring on her finger. "Promise me you'll never go farther than I can follow."

"I," Mulder says, but his voice catches. I don't want you chasing after Krycek, he thinks, I don't want you in harm's way. I don't want to lose you. But I know you don't want to lose me, too. Dammit. "Scully, sometimes I wonder if you're farther ahead than I thought," he says as he goes to her.

"Mulder," she says, as he kisses her forehead. "Remember we're in this together."

He murmurs his agreement. "I know," he says before they kiss. He wants to savor this moment before everything goes to hell like he knows it will.

* * *

And go to hell it does, as Skinner tries to explain a dead body to the cops, Krycek leads him astray, and Dr. Sacks, ignoring the well-meaning caution, ends up in a vegetative state due to the black oil oozing from the rock leaking into his not-quite sealed suit. Fortunately, Scully and Pendrell have secure biohazard suits, and as they reveal their findings to him, his heart sinks. Dammit all, he thinks, I really don't want to have black oil dancing in my DNA again, getting taken over earlier was enough, as he makes travel arrangements with Covarrubias and drags a handcuffed, temporarily useful Krycek with him.

I hope this works, he thinks, as he calls Scully one last time out of Krycek's hearing. "Scully, I'm with Krycek," he says, as she starts to babble about Dr. Sacks. "Don't - No - Just listen to me," he says finally when she realizes he's not going to listen. "I'm with Krycek. It'll be a while. Be careful. I love you." And he hangs up, turning around to see Krycek trying to escape his bonds again. Brother, he thinks, getting back inside the car.

* * *

That idiot, Scully fumes as she hangs up. If Krycek leads him to a whole mineful of those rocks, or God knows what else, my husband will be in a persistent coma for what? The truth? Aliens? Some sick game that shadowy men are playing? As she and Skinner are called in before Senator Sorenson, her mind spins. Mulder never says something like "I love you"unless it's important or in intimate context. And this was far from intimate. What's going on, Mulder, she wants to shout, why can't I come with you?

After the senator and Skinner grill her, one for dubious reasons, the other for illumination and ass-saving, she has an idea why Mulder wants to keep her in the dark. And that idea is driving her nuts and giving her shivers. Dammit, Mulder.

She can't answer the question "Where is Mulder?" without driving a nail through her husband's reputation or her own. So she simply says, "May I make a phone call?"

Both Skinner and the senator give her blank looks. She takes that as a yes, and dials. "Mom, it's me," she says, "please look after Page and Sammy for me. This might take a while. Thanks." She'd call up Rachel, but has a feeling that if something out of the ordinary happened, the nanny would do something stupid that would put them all in danger, and she needs to know at least her babies will come through this all right. Dammit, Mulder, where the hell are you, she thinks, fuming.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Mama Russia, Krycek is thrown into jail. He wonders briefly what happened to that idiot Mulder, but then his worries about the FBI agent are replaced by worries about himself. **"I need to speak to someone!" ** he yells in Russian, banging the cell bars. He grins fiercely when a guard approaches. **"Your supervisor will want to see me," ** he says in upper-class Russian.

The guard looks at him suspiciously. He thought they'd imprisoned an American. **"Why would he want to see you?" **

Krycek grins, in spite of the bloody mess that he is. **"Because I know things." **

The guard stares at him, then unlocks the door. **"If he is displeased, you will die." **

Krycek, just glad to be free, answers back cockily, **"Trust me, he will not be disappointed." **

* * *

Washington DC  
Meanwhile...

Scully's worry increases as she watches the comatose form of Dr. Sacks. Please let Mulder be okay, she prays, and please let us find out what the hell is wrong with Sacks. And please don't let whatever infected Sacks get us, too. If the last case with Roche had her praying for her babies' safety, this case has her worried about herself and Mulder's. Well, I got myself into this, she muses as she answers Pendrell's concerns which mirror her own, but I'll be damned if my babies have to suffer as a result. "Are you seeing anything?" she asks Pendrell hopefully.

"The blood in the carotid artery looks slightly thickened...Possibly due to the decreased heart rate and blood pressure," he answers in a slightly distracted voice, his concentration more on what he sees through the microscope, but then he sounds startled. "Now what's this? What the hell is this?"

"What is it?" she asks, crowding next to him.

"I don't know," he frowns, "It looks like it's concentrated around his pineal body." Much as he enjoys the other woman's company, he knows she's married, and forces himself to voice his suspicion. "I think it's alive," he says as she replaces him at the microscope.

"It looks like a nest...some type of black vermiform organism attached to the pineal gland," she squints. This isn't the Holy Grail, but it's better than nothing, she thinks, we're close, but what exactly is it?

* * *

Back in Mama Russia, Mulder has ditched Krycek. There's no way he's letting himself get caught for the second time, and he watches from his temporary hideout as the treacherous Krycek gets hauled off to the death camp. He'd like to rescue the mysterious prisoner and former geologist who gave him the shiv the last time, but he knows there's no way of entering that gulag and coming out black oil-free. I thought I had more time to plan this out, he thinks, but that thing with Roche took some of my time, and now this. Dammit. Now Scully's facing the black oil and a senate subcommittee all by herself again. I hope she didn't leave the kids with Rachel, and with that worrying thought, he scans the area with his binoculars again.

Wonder where Krycek lost his arm? Mulder muses, putting his binoculars down. A rustle to his left has him ducking into the heap of leaves, but he gives himself enough room to prop his binos up. He sees a group of one-armed men and realizes the answer to his question. Guess it wasn't prison retaliation for letting me go, he thinks, sinking back into the camouflage again.

* * *

Washington, DC

Scully's ready to greet her mom and her children, then hit the sack, when her boss meets her at the door. Oh, hell, she thinks, as she questions, "Sir? What are you doing here?"

"I've been trying to reach you all day," he answers in his terse tone.

She finds herself apologizing, even though she's been worried sick herself, albeit not about her boss. "I'm sorry, my cell phone was turned off."

He stops her before she can unlock the door. "You owe me some answers, Agent Scully. Answers I don't have to the questions I'm being asked about this missing diplomatic pouch. The pouch presumably being carried by the man who was allegedly pushed off my balcony, and whose connection to a known felon I harbored in my house against all good sense, I'm going to have to explain to avoid perjuring myself before a Senate sub-committee tomorrow. Which, I might remind you, is a very serious crime in itself. Is it not, Agent Scully?"

Shit, she thinks. Scully inhales, then says, "Yes, sir. Sir, if I might explain...the contents of that pouch...it contained some sort of a biohazardous organism that is, luckily, being contained in a contamination laboratory at NASA Goddard, where I've been all day trying to determine its exact nature." You happy? she wants to add.

"Do you know what the pouch's intended destination was?" he asks.

Ask a question I don't have an answer to, she thinks. "No, sir, I don't," she says.

"Well, I do, Agent Scully, because I bent some rules this morning when I couldn't find you. To find out who was to receive it."

Now he's really got her attention. "Who was it?"

"Dr. Bonita Charne-Sayre. Are you familiar with that name?" he asks, and he half expects her to say no.

She frowns, remembering. "Yes sir, I am...She's a well-know physician...and a...a virologist who's looked in on presidents. She's also an authority on...on variola viruses."

"Variola?" he frowns.

She nods, unconsciously stamping her feet against the cold. "Smallpox," she says, debating whether they should continue this inside and worry her mother, "she's been a vocal proponent of eliminating the last remaining stores of the smallpox virus...destroying the only remaining vials in facilities here in Atlanta and the former Soviet Union."

"Well, she was killed tonight."

Guess that means we'll be staying outside, Scully thinks. "Killed?" she repeats.

"A horse stepped on her throat in a riding accident in Virginia," Skinner replies, in a tone that suggests he's not buying the "riding accident" part of the report.

* * *

Russia

As Krycek is leaving the camp to lead the supervisor and some guards on a manhunt for Mulder, a prisoner rushes the small group. Krycek is injured in the initial assault, but the guards soon haul off the crazed man and have confiscated his shiv. The supervisor gives his apologies, and leaves Krycek to find Mulder alone. "Fine, be like that," the former agent mutters, getting into a truck as its owner starts yelling at him. **"I'll return it!" ** he lies, heading off into the woods.

It isn't long before he hits the curvy road, and to his surprise, the brakes give out. "Oh, come on!" he yells, stomping vainly on the brake pedal. But it's no use, and Krycek jumps out of the truck, and the vehicle veers off into a ditch. "What else can go wrong?" he mutters, holding his injured right arm as he staggers to his feet.

The noise and wreckage have drawn attention, and Krycek's eyes widen as he finds himself surrounded by a group of men missing their left arm. What the hell, he wonders. He tells them in Russian he's escaped from the prison, and some of them buy his story. He wonders what's their story behind the missing arms, but decides to wait on that as he says, **"I am American...and I've been falsely accused of spying." **

**"Then your enemy is ours," ** the young man with the dead eyes says. **"We can protect you." **

* * *

Washington DC  
December 6th, 1996

Catching up to the senate subcommittee, Scully stands before the bench. "You don't seem to understand. Your response is not optional. You are an agent of the FBI," Chairman Romine says.

"Then if I may please finish my statement," Scully says, and resumes reading from her paper, "that it is no longer possible for me to carry out my duties as an FBI agent."

"Are you tendering your resignation, Agent Scully. Is that what you're trying to say?" Senator Sorenson practically leaps on it.

"No, sir," she answers in a steady voice. "What I am saying, is that there is a culture of lawlessness that has prevented me from doing my job - that the real target of this committee's investigation should be the men who are beyond prosecution and punishment," she takes a breath, "the men whose secret policies are behind the crimes that you are investigating."

"You have a legal obligation to answer the questions posed to you. Now," the senator is practically sharpening his knives, "either you tell us what you know about Agent Mulder's whereabouts, or you'll be held in contempt of Congress."

It isn't long before she's led down a sterile white corridor to a holding cell.

* * *

The only good thing about being in a Russian prison was that they fed you, Mulder thinks, feeling faint from lack of nourishment. He staggers out of his hiding hole, only to be dragged roughly to his feet by powerful hands. A voice shouts at him in Russian, and he mumbles, "No speak Russian," before passing out.

He comes to in the same trucker's house, with the trucker's wife tending to him. "No Russian," he mumbles again when the trucker yells and waves.

"American?" she asks and he nods. When she examines his arm, her face pales. "The test?"

Here we go again, he thinks, "No, this is for American smallpox. It's for identification," he explains.

"They are looking for you," she says, and he nods. "The other man, he crash my husband's truck," her face grows solemn, "with no truck, no job. Then we have the test." She looks at her son who comes in missing his left arm. "No arm, no test."

Mulder shakes his head and holds her shoulders. "You have to help me escape. I'll help you escape. You have to help me get to St. Petersburg." Oh, shit, he thinks, seeing the driver standing in the doorway with a large knife, and hopes his luck holds the second time around.

* * *

Skinner interrupts Scully's reading of the variola virus papers, and she welcomes it, for once. After the initial "how are you doing", he gets down to the basics, as she expected he would. "Then what are you doing?"

She sits up straight. "We were called before this committee to answer questions about a murder - about an intercepted diplomatic pouch - a pouch that was to be delivered to a prominent doctor," she leans forward, "a woman who is now dead, as is the man who was delivering said pouch, the contents of which have infected an exobiologist with a paralyzing toxin. Yet, what are we stuck on here? The whereabouts of Agent Mulder." She throws her hands up, then lets them fall.

"You mean it's the wrong question," Skinner notes as she puts the papers away.

"Several of the men on this committee are lawyers," she says, looking back at him. "It is my experience that lawyers ask the wrong question only when they don't want the right answer."

"Unless Agent Mulder has already found the answers they're looking for."

"Or someone wants to make sure that he doesn't find out," she says, hating to voice anything like distrust of public officials, but the way the case is going, she has no choice. As a scientist, as a rational human being, there are some conclusions that are undeniable when staring you in the face.

"These are congressmen we're talking about, Agent Scully," he argues.

She agrees. "I know that, sir. And it is my natural inclination to believe that they are acting in the best interest of the truth...but I am not inclined to follow my own judgment in this case." Or, in some other cases, but she dares not say that aloud.

Skinner stares hard at her. "You're going to follow Agent Mulder's? Is that it?"

He promised me he wouldn't go farther than I could follow, Scully thinks, he promised. She doesn't answer him verbally, but simply looks at him.

* * *

As she stands before the men at the senate subcommittee, Scully thinks, Here we go again. It seems like she's taken a stand for Mulder so many times before, but in this case, it's a literal one. And, like her belief about the cross around her neck, she does it on faith, faith that he'll come through for her. She still hasn't gotten any reply from her numerous cell phone tries, and neither has he tried to contact anyone else stateside, so all she can do is swallow her fears and stand before these men, these honorable men, and tell them not what they want to hear, but the whole Truth, and nothing but.

And, to her surprise, Mulder answers the question of his whereabouts, so to speak, by appearing in the room. "What is the question?" he calls out in a clear voice, as he joins her. Chairman Romine pounds his gavel several times for order, and finally gets it, even as Mulder squeezes her hand reassuringly.

The smile hasn't faded from her face as she continues. "Yes, sir. If I may, I'd like to finish making my point."

The chairman looks resigned. "And what is your point?"

She turns to Mulder, so many questions wanting to be asked and answered, but she forges on. Another man joins their table, Skinner, and he tells them about Dr. Sacks' death. Scully keeps her voice steady and relates the scientist's death to the subcommittee. As soon as the gavel pounds with the sound of futility, the redhead turns to her husband. "You idiot!" she punches his left arm. "Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry," he says, embracing her anyways as she chokes down a sob. Boy, she wasn't this violent before, he thinks, but then again, there wasn't a marriage and two kids before. "It's been a long, strange trip."

"Some other time," Skinner says, turning away from his agents' PDA. "There's been enough strangeness here to sort through."

Reluctantly breaking from his embrace, Scully says, "Mulder, I've made several connections about the toxin, about what it might be…"

"So have I," Mulder says, but thankfully, not from personal experience this time.

"Sir? I need to book two airfares to Boca Raton, Florida," Scully says, determination entering her voice.

Mulder interrupts her explanation. "Don't tell him why," he says, leading her away by placing his hand on her back. "He's got to confess everything he knows, remember?"

She nods, and Skinner gives him a wry look. "Do I need to tell you two to stay out of trouble?"

Mulder grins, and Scully sighs. "I think Mulder's going to have to do a lot of explaining before we get anywhere near trouble."

* * *

They end up calling in a quarantine on the nursing home, same as before, then jetting over to New York to question Terry Edward Mayhew, the so-called brains behind the militia. Mulder's impatient to get to Canada, but he doesn't want to alert his wife or anyone else about his time-traveling/alternate-universe anymore than he has to.

So they question Mayhew, he restrains himself from choking the man but winds up pulling his gun on him, and they get their answers.

When they reach Canada, Mulder wonders how on earth they managed to stave off hours of jet lag, then figures it's the adrenaline that's flooding his veins again. He's shaved off hours from their original time, and hopes he can make it to the rock before it blows up again, but as he jumps out of the chopper, the oil well blows up. "They're early," Mulder mumbles, as he rolls on the ground to avoid the fiery plume that's knocked the chopper. "Scul-lay!"

Fortunately, his wife, the chopper and the pilot are all right, but barely. "Mulder!" she screams, sprinting as fast as she can on high heels towards her husband. "Let's get out of here!"

He nods, disappointed, and they rejoin a very shaken pilot, who lights out of there like a bat out of hell. From his vantage point, Mulder can make out the shape of an old man standing near the top of the refinery. Damn that old man, Mulder thinks, whoever he is. He's grateful the first time around the old guy spared Scully's life, but this time, he didn't even come close to the rock. Shit.

* * *

Mulder's got a feeling that the scene in the courtroom will be even more pedestrian than the first time, and he's proven right, even as his wife silently applauds him for joining the fight. "It's not over," he tells her as the gavel sounds.

She stares at him for a moment. "It has to be," she says, "Dr. Sacks and Dr. Charne-Sayre are dead, as well as several patients at a convalescent home, as is the mystery man Krycek killed, as is Krycek," she looks away. "The toxin is still relatively unknown, and there is no known cure. The rock is buried in Canada. How many more must die before this case is done?"

Mulder thinks of the geologist imprisoned in the gulag, as well as the hundreds of other prisoners, the trucker and his family, and the countless families grieving for their loved ones in Boca Raton. "Guess that's why we made copies," he says, picking up the files, "so it stays an X-File. So that when we do have the answers, and the cure, it goes to the people who deserve them." Scully nods, her face just as serious as his, and they walk out of the courtroom together.

* * *

In St. Petersburg, Russia, the old man returns to his cozy little apartment, only to find it is occupied. Wearily, he says, **"Please, if you are here to ask another favor, I am retired...Comrade Krycek." **

Krycek simply smiles and congratulates Comrade Peskow on a job well done. His left arm, however, is replaced by a fake plastic one, holding a tea bag.

The old man smiles back and nods. **"Thank you," ** he answers, **"will you be staying long?" **

Krycek shakes his head. "Nyet," he murmurs, sipping his tea, **"I have more business to attend to." ** He rubs the back of his neck with his false hand as he stands. **"When I have more time, you must tell me how you eluded those pesky British agents during the Cold War, eh?" ** He smiles and walks out of the apartment.

Peskow stares after the younger man, who has a faint scar at the back of his neck, with a puzzled, thoughtful expression, but says nothing as he locks the door.

* * *

Los Angeles, CA.

"Alex, what's wrong?" Melissa Scully frowns as she greets him at the airport, and Krycek thinks she looks gorgeous even when she's worried. A sure sign that everything's not all right, he thinks.

He shrugs a little. "Had a little trouble on the job, but nothing prosthetics can't handle." His tone is light, but there's a small, suspicious worry in the back of his mind that she won't think it's just "a little trouble."

"Prosthetics?" she latches on to the key word.

Of course, he's wearing his all-purpose leather jacket and gloves and he hugged her with his still-attached right arm, so that doesn't help much. "This baby goes all the way up to the middle of my bicep," he says simply, pulling off his left glove, deliberately not looking at her.

Okay, so he's vain in a lot of ways. Doesn't mean he has to get deeply analytical about it. He waits until she says something, anything. Finally, he looks up and is surprised.

Melissa has a mischievous grin on her face. "I'm just glad the plastic's not somewhere important," she smiles, pulling him to her.

Now Krycek's got the same lazy smile on his face as her hands grab his ass. "Now you're just trying to butter me up."

"I could do that if you're in the mood," she says, "among other things."

"I know that," he growls, and finally angles down for a good long kiss.

The redhead's breathless when they pull apart, and he likes that. "I don't know if I can wait for the motel," she breathes, her eyes slightly unfocused.

"I know I can't," he agrees, and the two wanderers look for a spot in LAX with some space and privacy. Krycek being Krycek, he's got a number of options to go with, and he can't wait to drag her to the closest one. "Are you on the pill?"

She shakes her head. "Herbal remedy," her eyes glint when they see his expression, "and a condom should do the trick."

"Speaking of tricks," Krycek opens the door, smirking. "Wanna see what my prosthetic arm can do?"

She smirks back as they shut the door of the abandoned office, fully intending to occupy the room with their loud, lusty, sweating bodies.


	42. Leonard Betts

December 23rd 1996

"Sticky, Daddy!" Page's proclamation is punctuated with hand-waving and a whine Mulder knows will become semi-hysterical crying if he doesn't act soon enough to suit his daughter.

As he gets up to wet a washcloth, he thinks of the recent reeducation he and Scully have endured on the subject of stickiness: they now know that pine sap is sticky, and glue and cellophane tape, the tabs on diapers - Mulder overheard Scully telling Page that big girl pants aren't sticky, so he knows Scully is still determined to potty train her before the new baby is born and the fact that Rachel reports occasional successes just fuels her fire there - stickers, unsurprisingly, are sticky, and now cookie dough.

Page holds out her hands to be cleaned, and Mulder wonders if he and Scully have made some sort of fatal parental misstep; one that has put them on the path of raising a girlie girl.

Samantha, like Scully, had been a rough and tumble kid, always trying to keep up with her big brother. It hadn't bothered Bill or Mulder, it actually made not having a brother less of a big deal to him, but Teena not so secretly longed for a daughter who was sedate and would stand being dressed in frilly feminine clothing.

To this end she organized what young Mulder referred to as "attack of the prissy girls": she'd invite proper little girls over in the hope that they'd be a good influence on Samantha. Fortunately, at least in Mulder's opinion, her hopes had been in vain. He now worries that this wish will be fulfilled in her granddaughter.

Scully insists that this stickiness aversion is just a stage, and Mulder hopes that it is, or they'll all go insane long before Page is old enough to be trusted with using the sink taps on her own.

He throws the wash cloth into the sink before turning back to his small daughter. Hands now clean, Page gives him an expectant 'now what?' look.

Mulder doesn't know. When Scully lamented that Page was getting too bright to buy presents for with her along, he'd offered to keep an eye on both kids while she and Missy went to the mall. She'd taken him up on half of his offer, but had taken Sammy with her because she still needed to get him an outfit for Christmas because she hadn't found anything when she'd bought Page's dress. It seemed silly to him to buy a fancy outfit that the boy would only wear once before outgrowing, but it seemed to make her happy, so he went with it.

Back at the fort he'd had the idea that making Christmas cookies would entertain Page, but apparently he was wrong. Maybe some holiday cartoons would be a better bet.

"What do you want to do, Page?"

A serious look settles on the toddler's face. "Use the potty."

Mulder scoops her up, and resists the urge to tickle her - that might have a negative effect on her fledging bladder control. Instead he smiles widely and says, "If you get this potty thing down, you'll be giving mommy a gift she won't forget."

"Mommy wants uh potty?"

"Something like that," he agrees.

* * *

December 25th, 1996

7 a.m.

Just barely grasping the concept of Santa, Page got them up an hour and a half ago, and somehow managed to help her brother out of his crib. After enduring a lecture from Scully about how dangerous it is to do that, Page dragged them downstairs, still in pajamas, to fuss with the contents of her stocking and to get some breakfast on her. Her demands to open presents are fobbed off with the excuse that they need to wait for grandma to get there first. Page pouts a little, but is entertained by the small gifts in her stocking and the festive movie on the TV.

Missy arrives far earlier than Mulder would have ever guessed she'd get out of bed, and helps him get the kids dressed, which allows Scully time to dress herself. Unfortunately, Mulder is still in his jammies.

After asking Scully for the third time if she's sure that Bill and Tara want to rent a car to drive from the airport to the house instead of him picking them up, Mulder wanders up to the master bedroom intent on getting dressed before their guests arrive. Missy is playing with the kids, so he doesn't feel like he's abandoning Scully when he takes his time.

He's still pulling his red sweater - knit for him the year before by Maggie - over his head when he hears the front door open and the muffled greetings between siblings.

Scully appears while he's still threading his belt through the loops in his cords. "I'm afraid that you're not going to like what Bill bought the kids for Christmas…" Scully trails off, a fragile smile on her face and a hand on her belly.

Whatever it is, Mulder can hear both kids squealing happily over it down stairs. There's a small shout of protest from Page, and then heavy footsteps on the stairs. Bill pops his head into the room. "I guess I ought to have asked first, but Dana told me how you lost the dog that way…I knew a puppy might be a bad idea with a new baby coming. I hope you don't hate it, Fox."

Mulder reminds himself not to cringe at the familial use of his first name, and then looks at "it." And it looks back at him from its vantage in Bill's palms. It's mostly white, with an orange facial blaze and a short, curled also orange tail and bright blue eyes.

"Where's the rest of its tail?" Mulder asks, reaching a tentative finger out to touch the little creature. It responds by playfully reaching out a paw of its own.

"It was born this way. All Japanese bobtails are." Bill told him. "They come in all sorts of colors, but they always have this sort of tail. They're real good with kids…"

"Good to hear. Orange and white, that's kind of pretty."

"Yeah, I thought so too," Bill trails off when Page toddles into the room. "But I thought the black and white were pretty as well."

"Kittens, Daddy!" Page squeals, holding out another kitten in both hands. Bill's assessment that they're good with kids seems to be true, because the little creature doesn't mind being man-handled by the toddler.

"I know a breeder, and she offered me a discount if I took the last two from that litter," Bill mumbles. "I figured one for each of the kids."

"Well, I'd hate to break up a family," Mulder replies lightly.

"One's a boy and one's a girl, by the way." Bill grins a little, then ushers Page out of the room when they sense that Scully wants to talk to Mulder alone.

"You took that well," Scully says as soon as the door swings closed.

"They're cute."

"You're really not upset that Bill bought them kittens without telling us first?" Scully's voice is a little anxious.

Throwing an arm around her and drawing her close, he wishes that he could tell her just how okay he is with the gift. ::The same guy who once declared that Scully's son was a bastard now likes his niece and nephew enough to buy them kittens? You should be surprised I didn't pass out from shock instead of welcome the gift.::

"He means well," Mulder says with a shrug. "It's nice that he put a lot of thought into picking a gift that the kids would really like."

"Yeah, it is," Scully agrees, nodding under his chin. "I'm glad you don't mind."

"He doesn't have any kids of his own-"

"Yet."

"-yet, so you can't blame him for spoiling ours a little. Besides, Rachel is crazy about cats, so it's not as though we'll have to worry about getting someone else to look after them while we're gone on cases."

Scully smirks. "As long as she doesn't try to take either of them home with her."

Before either of them can say anything else about their nanny's likeness to want one of the kittens, Page is back. "Grandma here…presents now?" she asks in a wheedling tone.

"Why don't we go see grandma and find out." Mulder lifts her up quickly, making her shriek with laughter. ::This is how the holidays should be.:: "So, what are we going to name these kittens, hmm?"

"Teliko n' Piper," Page tells him.

Mulder groans. "You know, Mommy thinks that you don't pay any attention when we talk about our cases, kiddo. You do, though, don't you." His daughter giggles. "How come you can even say Teliko? You can't even say spaghetti correctly."

"We have skaddie for dinner?"

"No, we're having turkey, but you're changing the subject. You're not going to tell me how you can say that are you?"

Page shakes her head hard then smiles at him.

"Nana and Bumpa coming?"

"Yup, but not until tonight."

"Good, more presents me n' Sammy."

"Smart girl," Mulder praises her.

* * *

Completely unaware that his father is watching him, or completely unconcerned about it, Sammy toddles over to the Christmas tree. He puts his faces near the branches, and brings his lips up to one of the small twinkle lights. As he opens his mouth Mulder barks, "No Sammy!" and the baby takes a defeated step back from his intended prize. Again.

As he did the first two times his son has tried to taste the Christmas lights today, Mulder scoops the wriggly child up and attempts to restrain him on his lap.

It worries Mulder that his son seems bound and determined to court death by electrocution; and that case he and Scully had about that weird kid who could summon lightening comes uncomfortably to mind. However, he's more concerned that his son's behavior has to do with domesticality than something they'd need to open a casefile on.

::Are we not paying enough attention to him? Page has an edge over him on the demanding attention front because she has many more words than he does. Or maybe he's sensing the changes coming up in three months when the baby arrives. All the books tell you that acting out is common when a child feels as though their spot as the youngest is threatened… but is he old enough to be aware of that? Sure, he's older than Page was when he was born, but sixteen months still seems awfully young. I'm not even sure that Page really understands…But I wonder if she knows why he's after the lights. No, that's silly, but…::

"Hey Page, come here, please."

She reluctantly looks up from unsuccessfully trying to coax one of the kittens out from under the couch. "Daddy?"

Feeling foolish, Mulder lends down and asks, "Do you know why Sammy is trying to eat the lights on the tree?" To his surprise, she nods. "Why??"

"Thinks they're lolly ranchers."

As soon as he realizes that she meant jolly instead of lolly, he's filled with horror at the idea of someone giving his little son hard candy that's a choking hazard. "Who's been giving you jolly ranchers?"

Page wrinkles her nose. "Not give us. Rach-all not share," Page complains before giving him a winning smile. "Daddy, you teach her share!"

"Sorry, Kiddo, if she shared those you and Sammy could get sick."

"Sick is bad."

"Yes it is." Although Mulder's heart feels less panicked because the nanny hasn't been as thoughtless as he feared, he makes a mental note to ask her to leave the candy at home from now on - and to remove the Sammy-high lights after their guests go home.

Sammy twists in Mulder's lap until he can put his arms around Mulder's neck. "Hug."

"A very nice hug," Mulder agrees, hugging him back. "What about a kiss?"

After planting a wet kiss on his father's cheek, Sammy looks up with a serious expression on his face. "No bite."

::Two words together already?! I thought they said second children acquired language slower than firstborns.:: "Aren't you clever." Mulder looks over at Page. "Have you two been biting?"

Page shakes her head. "TV does."

"How?" he asks blankly. Her statement reminds him of the time he accidentally left his TV on a channel that played PeeWee's Playhouse.

Page pantomimes touching the TV's channel button. "Put hand and ziiiip. Ouch. Rach-all say it bite." She looks a little puzzled. "No teeths."

"No touch," Sammy adds.

Mulder's mind races as he tries to think of a way to explain static to a two-year-old, but she's already moved on. "We watch Santa? Daddy push buttons." She adds with a sly look.

"Oh, you'd like that would you?" He tickles both kids, making them laugh.

From the corner of his eye he notices Scully watching and thinks he hears her mumble to Tara something about "like having three kids already" but he doesn't mind. Getting to play with his kids on a perfect holiday is worth all the aspersions in the world cast on his maturity.

* * *

January 1997

Mulder twists his mouth unconsciously, remembering the last time they'd investigated this case. At least this time, there's no danger of Scully getting hunted by the cancer-hungry Betts, though there' no way he's ever going to tell her this. And considering the freaky cancer guy, he didn't want the kids to tag along on this case, even though he knows they're not at risk. Rachel must be raking in the overtime with us, he almost grins, seriously flaky nanny or no.

With that thought, he keeps up his end of light-hearted banter with his wife, as her curiosity, as morbid as his, has her prowling through the Pittsburg morgue. Correction, that is, the Monghehela, however the hell you pronounce it, General Hospital's morgue. He's not even sure the staff knows how to pronounce it, since every phone call or staff member says it "Moan-gllllla" or some misbegotten mangling as such. He's practically reeling facts from his prodigious memory when she wheels around and asks him point blank, "Mulder, what the hell are we doing here?"

He blinks, then smiles benignly. "Did I mention Mr. Betts has no head?"

She makes a face. "Yes. So? I mean, you're not suggesting that a headless body kicked his way out of a latched morgue freezer, are you?" Scully stares at him harder, but he won't shake his insane theory. "Are you? Because I think it's obvious this is some kind of bizarre attempt at a cover-up."

Now he raises an eyebrow. "Did you say cover-up? You know how words relating to conspiracy turns me on," and he leers.

The redhead sighs noisily. "Nothing so dramatic, more like body snatching for profit. There's a shortage of teaching cadavers at medical schools. An unscrupulous medical supplier might pay top dollar, no questions asked." She shrugs, her down-to-earth theory having more credence in her mind than a headless body busting out of its drawer.

Mulder looks around at the filled, unmolested lockers. "But why take damaged goods when there are so many top-dollar bodies around?"

A security guard interrupts their merry-go-round. "Sir? Those video grabs you asked for? We found something. These are from the emergency room camera taken at 4:13 this morning."

Moments later, both agents squint at the fuzzy black-and-white visuals on the TV screen, and the static at the top masks the identity of the morgue attendant's clothes thief. "Too bad not everyone can afford FBI-quality surveillance," Mulder sighs.

The security guard also sighs, but it's more frustrated. "But there's no sign of the body he stole. The thief just took off with our guy's clothes, what did he do with the body? We searched everywhere!"

Scully has a small smile, and Mulder groans inwardly. Oh no, not again. "There's one place I'm sure you missed," she says.

* * *

Minutes later, the security guard leaves them at the hospital disposal unit with more haste than Mulder thought necessary. What, didn't he want to help with the search? he thinks ungraciously. "So you think the body snatcher simply tossed the body there?" he asks. "Maybe we should get some of the staff to help out," he suggests hopefully, "I mean, if you're sure the body's in there…."

"Nonsense," Scully says, pulling on a face shield and arm-length gloves. She seems to relish her husband's obvious discomfort as she squishes around in the various human tissues, organs and other disgusting things the human body can produce, and the noises her hands make as she digs through the mess is almost as gross as the mess itself. "Give me a hand, your arms are longer than mine."

There is nothing, absolutely nothing on Mulder's face that resembles anything close to a willingness to help out. In fact, he's looking desperately around for some hospital staff, anyone, even Betts, to dig through that nastiness. Now Scully pouts her perfectly bow-shaped lips and breathes in a low, husky voice, "Mulder."

He gives her a level look, then pulls on a face shield and long gloves. "I'm not doing this because of your lips," he tells her grimly.

She doesn't look fazed. "Thank you," she smiles, as he makes various faces digging through the muck.

"My sad eyes are better than your pouty lips," he continues, as if oblivious to the smug grin on her face.

"Of course, Mulder," she says in a conciliatory tone, completely at odds with the smirk. Then she has an even more triumphant look on her face as she pulls out the late, great Leonard Betts, sans body. "Oh, how they scoffed," she says, holding her prize aloft like a gold medal, "oh, how they mocked."

He makes another face. It's one thing that she actually used her feminine wiles to get to him, it's another to have his words thrown back at him as she holds up Betts' head like Perseus did Medusa's. "Okay, you found the head," he says, somewhat relieved she found it this time. "But what about the body? Maybe he got it out somehow."

"What, on his own two legs?" she smirks, still heady with victory.

He nods. "Perhaps," ignoring her oh-so-ladylike snort. "In any case, you should probably examine the head, see if there's anything useful we can get from it."

She frowns. "What about you?"

"I'm gonna check out Mr. Betts' pad, see how he lives."

"Lived."

He puts his two free hands up as he walks away, smiling a little as he imagines what's in store for her. "Lived."

* * *

In the examination room, Scully keeps to herself how cool she thinks the decapitated head is. Perhaps it's because she's been taught with the rigors of medical school and countless autopsies to treat the body as a map or book, rather than a vessel of the soul, that facial features resonate more with her. In fact, she would be pretty depressed if she were merely stuck with the headless body, although it would probably help their case go along further. Briskly, she shoves any more musings to the side, gingerly placing the head on the scale.

Her blue eyes glance at the numbers on the scale and she places the head on the autopsy table. Her gloved hands pick up a tape recorder and she speaks clearly, "Case number 226897, Leonard Betts. As remains are incomplete, all observations refer to a decapitated head. Weight: 10.9 pounds. Remains show no signs of rigor mortis or fixed lividity." She pauses, manually opening the eyes, the so-called windows to the soul. "Nor do the corneas appear clouded, which would seem inconsistent with the witnessed time of death now," she pauses again to check the wall clock, "19 hours ago. I'll begin with the intermastoid incision and frontal craniotomy then make my examination of the brain."

She picks up the scalpel and begins to make the stated incisions, when the eyelids and mouth fly open, revealing unclouded brown eyes and perfect teeth. "Oh, my!" Scully gasps, unconsciously crossing herself and dropping the scalpel as she does so. The clatter of the metal blade brings her back to herself, and she slowly approaches the head. She's seen a lot of strange things before, but this…

Against her will, she stares into the head's, she can't think of it as Betts', brown eyes. "Hello?" she says tentatively.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Betts' apartment, Mulder knows he missed something the first time around. He impatiently bypasses the newspaper clippings, going straight to the bathroom. Knowing what he knows now, he's not about to stick his fingers into the iodine-filled bathtub, and glares at the fingerprints on the open window. He leans closer to them, when his cell phone rings, startling him.

Cursing briefly as he leaves the bathroom, he finally answers, "Mulder."

His wife sounds slightly strangled. Must be good news. "It's me. Um, I've run into kind of a unique situation here."

He grins. She knows just how to cheer him up. "Unique?"

She sighs noisily. "I've run a number of PET scans, and the images come out fogged, despite the technicians' assurance that the machine is working fine. They say it must be some kind of radiation or something. And Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

There's a long pause, as if she doesn't want to go on. "I didn't autopsy it. I, I experienced an unusual degree of postmortem galvanic response."

He moves the supposed dead man's clothes with his shoe. "It moved. Cool."

"It's *not* cool, Mulder, it, it blinked," she argues. "Sort of. I mean, it's residual electrical activity stored chemically in the dead cells."

"You didn't cut into it. So it's not dead."

"It's not alive, either!" Scully snaps back.

"You sure about that? Because I'm in his apartment, and it looks like somebody made himself at home here, the attendant's clothes are tossed to the side. Maybe Betts was home."

"Without his head," Scully says, looking at the offending item.

"The guy in Washington Irving's story did just fine," Mulder says, having the feeling he's missing something again, but can't quite get a hold of it.

"Mulder, that was a *story*," Scully says with every ounce of forbearance. "And the villain turned out to be the town bully with a pumpkin on his head."

There's something dancing at the edge of his mind, Mulder frowns, but it's gone. Never mind. "Listen, I'll call the local PD to stake out the place just in case, I'm gonna talk to his coworkers," and cover my bases, he adds silently.

As he shuts the door, the body of Leonard Betts rises from the iodine-filled tub with a new head. It blinks slowly, as it did on the autopsy table in the hospital, implacable as death.

* * *

At the examination lab, the head, having gone through numerous PET scans, pokes and prods, is now dripping after being lifted from a vat full of epoxy. "Now this is cool, "Mulder nods.

Scully holds back a smile, even though she privately agrees. "This procedure is called biopolymerization. It's basically a high-tech mummification process. The remains are dipped in the epoxy and once it's cured the specimen can be sliced for examination."

He looks at her. "If I die, promise me you won't do that to my body," he says. "I'd hate to be responsible for the swooning of impressionable young med students."

She rolls her eyes. "Male or female?" she retorts, and he grins.

Later, the pathologist examines a slice from the frontal lobe. "Strange," he mutters to himself.

Both Mulder and Scully jerk their head up, as if dogs hearing a high-pitched whistle. "What is it?" Scully asks, even as she examines the picture on the monitor. Her eyes widen. "His entire brain looks like one giant glioma," she says in disbelief.

"He had cancer?" Mulder says, for once actually being the master at understatement.

She doesn't look at him, completely fascinated by this aberration of science. Or perhaps an aberration of man. Damn, she's spent wayyyyyyy too much time with Mulder. "He was riddled with it - I mean every - every cell in this sample. Every cell, essentially, in his entire head and in his brain was … was all cancerous. It's completely pervasive," she shakes her head in disbelief.

"How long would he have lived with this?" Mulder asks, as if he didn't know the answer.

The pathologist looks at him. "How long? This man would have been long *dead* before reaching such an extreme metastatic stage." Now he shakes his head.

Mulder looks at his wife, then at the pathologist. "Before his untimely demise, Betts was the picture of health. How do you explain this?"

The pathologist frowns. "Maybe the polymerization distorted the sample. Maybe we're not really seeing what we think we're seeing."

"Or maybe we're seeing everything clearly for the first time," Mulder says, staring at the image himself.

Now Scully looks at him. "Mulder, what are you thinking?"

He grins down at her. "I'm thinking we need a slice to go." Then he pauses. "Which reminds me. Scully, are you in the mood for pizza? I missed lunch."

* * *

In Dr. Charles Burk's lab, Mulder feels a sense of camaraderie similar to that which he shares with the Lone Gunmen, more so than he would most FBI agents. Not unusual, given his proclivities towards more atypical aspects of research, but it did remind him how differently his path veered from when he first joined the FBI. And speaking of those whose paths veered, Scully asks, "Are you ever asked to defend this as a legitimate scientific process, Dr. Burks?" She says "doctor"as if to say "quack." She's eating her pizza slice in a neat, careful fashion, as if to ensure none of the toppings slide off onto the floor of this dubious doctor's lab.

"Only if you're not happy with the results," Burk smiles as he goes about his work.

"Chuck did some of the pioneering work in Kirilian photography in the US," Mulder says as he finishes off his pizza, as if the explanation would mollify her this time around.

Burk purses his lips briefly. "I prefer the umbrella term 'aura photography.'" Basically, by applying high frequency electricity I am able to photograph an organism's coronal discharge."

She's not buying it this time, either. Figures. "'Coronal discharge'?" she asks with an eyebrow raise.

Mulder answers in almost a blasé manner, tossing the crumpled wax paper in like manner. "Coronal discharge, life force - the Chinese call it Chi. It's an accepted fact in most eastern cultures." Now he raises an eyebrow. "I'm surprised Melissa never brought it up."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You leave Missy out of this," she says in a low voice. In a normal tone, she asks, "Chi would be the theoretical basis of holistic medicine and acupuncture, but what is its application here?"

Whoa, record there for eyebrow raises, Mulder grins. She could give the Rock a run for his money, if she ever bothers to pay attention to the WWF in the future. "It may account for the fogging of your PET scan of Leonard Betts' head."

Burk nods, half-listening to the conversation around him. "You know, with this equipment I've been able to capture phantom images of whole leaves that were cut in half, or the vestigial image of a lizard's tail long after it's been cut off … which, you have to admit is pretty cool." He grins at them. When the developed negatives are finished, he puts them on the lighted wall. "Ah, looks like we got something here. Oh, yeah. Now I don't know exactly what you're looking for, but," he pauses, feeling that pictures speak louder than words, but needing to say something, "There's definitely some kind of energy happening here."

Mulder looks at the undeniable head and shoulders image, then at the beaming bespectacled man. "Chuck, would you believe that this man's head had been decapitated?" he asks, although his eyes are on Scully now.

Burk laughs. "Yeah, pull my other leg. Next thing you'll tell me is you've got a wife and kids."

Mulder grins back, "Well, yeah." He holds up his and Scully's left hands, his right hand pulling out his wallet and flipping it open to their kids. "Here's Page and Sammy."

He's not sure who's more stunned, Burk or Scully. In a low voice, he asks her, "Are we happy with the results?"

* * *

Later, he presses on with his theory, gladder than ever that Scully's not, nor ever will be, a personal part of this story. "You said that Betts' tissue was riddled with cancer. Now what is cancer but normal cells growing rapidly out of control usually caused by some damage to their DNA."

"And this is related to our case how?" Scully asks, unknowing of her past, or alternate, history with Betts.

Mulder leans forward eagerly. "What if there was a case where the cancer was not caused by damaged DNA - where the cancer was not a destructive or an aggressive factor, but was rather the normal state of being?"

She looks at him as if to say, You've got to be kidding. "Even if that were the case," she says evenly, "he's decapitated. In a word, dead."

"No, what if this man's life force -- his Chi, whatever you want to call it, somehow retained a blueprint of the actual man himself? Guiding rapid growth not as cancer, but as regeneration?" He's not sure if he's prompting her or aggravating her, but either way, he knows it'll get results.

She stares at him, then a small smile works its way around her mouth. "You think Betts regrew his head? Like starfish regrow their arms, or a lizard its tail."

"Exactly!" Mulder cries. "In his apartment was a bathtub full of povidine iodine. You know what scientists use that for, right?"

Scully sighs. "They use it to aid regeneration of reptiles and amphibians. But we're talking about a mammal here, Mulder, a man. Mammals don't regenerate limbs!"

He holds up his hands. "I'm just saying it's not unheard of in nature, that's all. Maybe that's Betts' deep, dark secret, being the Salamander Man."

She's about to retort, when her cell phone rings. Relieved to be talking to hopefully a sane person, she grunts her assents to the information, then turns a smug face to him when she hangs up. "I don't think Salamander Man was his deep, dark secret," she says, "but I know what is. I had Danny run prints on Betts, who turns out to be Albert Tanner, son of Elaine Tanner, right here in Pittsburg." She smiles blithely as she gets behind the wheel.

* * *

3108 Old Bank Road.

Pittsburg, PA.

Before they interview Mrs.. Tanner, Mulder remembers the thing that's been bugging him and stays outside to make a phone call while Scully goes inside the house with a curious look on her face. From memory, he dials a number, asks to be connected, and taps his foot impatiently. He hopes it's not too late.

"This is Michelle Wilkes," the EMT answers.

"This is Agent Mulder," Mulder says, "if you see anyone suspicious or," he pauses, "connected to Betts, let me know."

There's a pause at her end. "This is gonna sound crazy," she says.

::How many times have I heard that?:: he almost asks aloud. "If you have any information," he prompts her.

"There's a guy, he sounds, I dunno," Michelle says, "he sounds like Leonard. Wait, let me ask this guy." Mulder waits while she talks to someone, and the answer is inaudible. "He says the guy's in Unit 208, just went off shift."

"Michelle," Mulder is urgent, "Do not go alone. Got that? Someone stole your partner's body, and killed someone else in the process," he's fudging the timeline, but he doesn't care, anything to make her believe him, "do not approach this man alone. Get security, we'll be right there."

Scully walks out of the house, looking even more confused. "Mulder, she says her son died six years ago, with the certificate to prove it. But fingerprints don't lie."

"We got another clue to the mystery," Mulder says, taking her hand. "I think we've got Leonard Betts."

"The rest of his body?" she asks, as he slides behind the wheel.

"And then some," Mulder says, hoping against hope that Michelle took his warning seriously.

* * *

Michelle is safe, the security guard handcuffed Betts -with a head- to a Dodge Dart, but, like before, Leonard got away. "I don't believe it," the guard shakes his head as the two agents shine their flashlight on the crime scene. "He was just here."

Mulder holds up the thumb in the evidence bag. "And this is how he got away." He looks at Scully. "We were so close…"

But Scully's looking at the security guard. "Are you sure this was him?" she asks, holding up a photo of the dead man's head.

The guard nods, and so does a very pale Michelle. "That's Leonard," she says, at the same time the guard says, "That's Truelove." They look at each other and say nothing.

Meanwhile, Mulder is musing over the discarded thumb. "One small thumb for man, one regrown digit for Leonard Betts."

Scully makes a derisive snort. "Evolution doesn't work that way, Mulder. What you're suggesting is someone so radically evolved we wouldn't even call him human."

"Recent evolutionary theory would disagree," Mulder says, putting away the thumb. "What scientists call 'punctualism' or 'punctual equilibrium' - it theorizes that evolutionary advances are cataclysmic, not gradual. That evolution occurs not along a straight, graphable line, but in huge fits and starts and that the unimaginable happens in the gaps - the gap between what we are and what Leonard Betts has become." He pops open the hatchback of the car. "Then again, how evolved can a man be if he drives a Dodge Dart?" he smirks.

* * *

"Ten to one says this isn't full of ice-brewed goodness in sixpacks," Mulder quips as he pulls out the cooler. He makes a little bow and wave to let Scully have the honors.

So she opens the cooler and her eyes grow wide as her flashlight plays over the contents. "Mulder," she looks up at him, "these are all cancerous tumors. This is surgical waste that's been tagged for disposal. What do you think he wanted with them?"

He makes a face, sticking his tongue out. "I'm glad the kids aren't with us on this one," he says, "there's a possibility that Betts not only *is* cancer--"

"But he needs it for survival as well," Scully finishes. "Oh my God," she looks down at the cooler again, "this must be--"

"Yummy-nummy snacky-snacks!" Mulder says, using the phrase Page sometimes says before devouring un-Scully-sanctioned junk food. "Wouldn't it make sense that evolution or natural selection would incorporate cancer -- the greatest health threat to our species as part of our genetic makeup?"

Now Scully's sticking her tongue out. "Why do I think that Charles Darwin is rolling in his grave right now?" she deadpans.

He grins. "Ask yourself: Why is Leonard Betts an EMT? Why does he regularly visit cancer wards? Access."

Before she can put a halt to this completely insane circular logic, a cop interrupts them. "The car's registered to one Elaine Tanner, 3108 Old Bank Road."

The agents look at each other. "Do you think Mom knows her dead son is tooling around in her car?" Mulder deadpans.

* * *

At a seedy bar, Betts makes his way through the smoky haze to sit at the counter. So many to choose from, the bald man notes dispassionately, so hungry. A couple of the men are coughing, but one is tubercular while the other has lung cancer. The waitress, who seems to be supporting a pack-a-day habit, judging by her yellow-stained fingers, passes by, tempting him. A couple of bikers have colon cancer, and one pool player has recurring glandular problems due to thyroid cancer.

Then a newcomer strides in, and Betts ignores the rest. This man, looking far too pretty despite his scowl, black leather jacket, and three-day stubble, shoves one of the coughing men aside. His green eyes look black as they scan the room, then asks for a beer. The bartender, bored, does so, not even counting the money the pretty man gives him.

Betts watches the pretty man surreptitiously. The black leather jacket seems to be hiding more than a wallet, and he realizes that one of the black-gloved hands is false. Still, this guy is practically a neon sign, despite his hushed conversation at the pay phone, and he follows the black jacket out.

Suddenly, his prey stops and spins around. "You've been staring at me all night," the man in the black jacket scowls. "I'm not that kind of guy."

Betts, hiding the scalpel in his hand, shakes his head. "You've got something I want."

* * *

As before, they get nothing from Dear Ole Ma Betts, that is, Tanner, except that "God put him here for a purpose. God means for him to stay, even if people don't understand. And that's all I've got to say."

That, and Scully finds the storage locker receipt and key labeled "112." "Boy, aren't you the bloodhound," Mulder notes, and memories from their previous past remind him of her nosebleeds. He almost winces, except she retorts in kind.

"I suppose if you weren't so close to rarified air, you'd be able to see it," she grins, pocketing the key as they head out.

"So that means you're okay with being a shrimp, right?" he asks, and gets a sharp elbow. "Ow."

But he puts a lead foot to the gas, hoping to get to the U Keep It storage facility before Betts escapes. Because if Scully's not there to lure or kill him, who knows how far Betts will get this time? How many people Mulder won't be able to save this time around? With that, he tells his wife tersely, "I want Albert Tanner's body exhumed. And a 24-hour watch around Elaine Tanner's house. If he goes to ground, he's going to go home."

Scully looks at the mercurial change in her husband, then makes the calls. "Mulder, what's going on?" she asks.

"I've just got a bad feeling," he mumbles, unwilling to explain any further.

And in an hour and a half, that bad feeling is rewarded when the dead bearded body of John Gilnitz tumbles out of the storage locker, followed by Betts nearly running them over. And, as before, the car goes up in a blaze of glory.

* * *

Curiously enough, although Scully's autopsy on Gilnitz reveals the same thing, as does her examination of the complete but crispy Leonard Betts (or Albert Tanner). One thing, however, puzzles him. This time, Betts has a few bullet wounds in his body. "Perhaps Gilnitz tried to defend himself," Scully theorizes.

"Yeah, but where's the gun?" Mulder asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe the same place Betts attacked Gilnitz. If he *was* going after the cancer for nourishment and was able to regenerate," she looks at Mulder, "he probably didn't see a need to keep a gun."

Yeah, but he used an autoinjector of potassium chloride on Michelle the last time, isn't that a weapon? he wants to ask.

And the visit to the cemetery brings more questions, not answers, at least for Scully. For Mulder, it only cements his growing concern that he won't be able to stop Betts this time. "We didn't find a scalpel," he says in a monotone.

"What?" Scully frowns, shaken from their counter-theorizing.

"You said Gilnitz' lung was surgically removed, but we found nothing like a knife or sharp weapon used to do the job," Mulder goes on, his hazel eyes seemingly looking at the late Albert Tanner.

"It's possible it was in the car," Scully tells him, "fused in the heat of the blaze to something unrecognizable."

Mulder shakes his head. "No, we would've found it," he says doggedly, walking away, "if Leonard Betts truly was on that autopsy table."

"Where are you going?" Scully calls after him, already moving quickly, despite being halfway dead from lack of sleep.

"Where do most kids go when they're hurt?" he asks. "Back to Mommy Dearest."

* * *

The sun is rising, and Mulder squints against it in his race back to Elaine Tanner's place. It's possible that they'll get to Betts before he leaves, now that they've got the house surrounded. To his astonishment, there are no cop cars around, in fact, the street looks empty. "Where the hell is the security?" he demands, then kicks down the door, gun in hand.

His wife takes more time getting out of the car, getting her bearings as she wakes up. Smothering a yawn, she, too, pulls out her gun, but being on high high heels and half-awake isn't a good combination. Scully, concerned about her husband, asks, "What's going on?" There's no answer, but she hears a scream, a shout, then gunshots. "Mulder!" she shouts, running downstairs.

What greets her as she sprints through the basement is the sight that puts everything into a surrealistic nightmare. Mulder is standing, his shoulders slumped, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other. Mrs.. Tanner is wrapping her arms around herself, weeping incoherently in her robe and curlers. And then there is Leonard Betts, hand still clutching a scalpel, his eyes staring open as his body continues to spasm with the jolts of electricity going from the scalpel embedded in the fusebox.

Scully reaches out to the old woman, touching her arm gently. "Mrs. Tanner."

The old woman glares, pulling away from the redhead. "Children should never die before their parents," she says vehemently, her eyes softening when the body finally stiffens. "I have what he needed."

Now Mulder looks up at Mrs.. Tanner. "You have cancer," he says in a wooden voice.

She frowns, then launches herself at her son. Only Mulder's quickness prevents her from committing suicide by electrocution, and she curses him. She continues to curse as Scully pushes the body away from the fusebox with a plastic broomstick, cursing when the police swarm over the house, cursing when the EMTs come to take her to the hospital.

When everyone else is swarming over the crime scene, Mulder and Scully look at each other tiredly before heading out the door. "Mulder, why didn't you shoot him instead of the fusebox?" she asks, now that she's thinking a little more clearly past the insane events of the morning.

"Remember those bullet holes in the other Betts body? I just guessed that bullets had no, or only a temporary, effect on him," Mulder lies through his teeth as he opens the rented car door.

Scully nods, absently buckling herself in when he closes the door. "You were right," Scully says in a groggy voice when he starts the car.

He almost reverses into the electric pole. She *must* be tired if she's admitting that, he thinks. "Maybe she was right," Mulder says seriously, not crowing about a victory for once.

"What do you mean?" she says, closing her eyes.

"Parents shouldn't outlive their kids," he says, driving carefully since he's operating on as much sleep as his wife, which is very little.

She frowns, her eyes blinking open. "Mulder," she says finally when they're well on their way to the motel, "if this is a secret murder-suicide pact, I'm leaving you and taking the kids."

He blinks, and a smile sprawls across his face. "There is no secret murder-suicide pact," remembering the ghost of a ghost, "I was just thinking of how selfish some parents can be." And his smile disappears, thinking of his own.

"Mulder," she says, closing her eyes again, even as the morning sun tints the sky a blazing red like her hair, "if we ever get selfish, our kids will be the first to kick our asses."

His laughter is the last thing she hears as she slides into sleep, giving her dreams of a bossy blonde little girl, an impish redheaded boy, and countless other children, looking like variations between herself and her husband, playing merrily together, untroubled by the strange world around them.


	43. Memento Mori

Washington, DC

February 8th, 1997

5:45 p.m.

"Okay. I'll be right over. Yes, right over." There's a faint edge to Scully's voice on the second to last word.

Mulder looks up from scrubbing Sammy's high chair tray. He lets the cloth drop, thinking that the tomato sauce can wait. "Problem?"

Scully brushes her hair off her forehead, so he knows that she's preoccupied. Or annoyed. "Missy needs me tonight. You'll be okay with the kids, right?"

"Of course," he quickly agrees. "What's wrong?"

"She's got a sick friend…and she's afraid that she's going to die."

He winces. "What of?"

"Missy didn't say," Scully tells him, already putting her coat on. "She didn't even mention which friend. Not that I can keep up with her whirlwind social life anyway. I got the sense that it was a close friend, at least."

He nods. "Drive carefully. We'll be fine here at Fort Mulder, so don't worry about us."

"Don't say the F word, Mulder," Scully commands with a small shudder.

He opens his mouth, about to express his puzzlement given his didn't swear and she'd never had objections to the word fort before, then grins. "Okay, we'll be GOOD, then."

"That'll be the day," Scully mutters, but she reaches up for him to kiss him on the cheek. "Don't let them stay up too late."

"Do you need to take anything with you? Like a change of clothes?" He understood that "tonight" meant the whole night, and that she'd be sleeping over.

"Nah, I've got an over-night bag from our last case in my car still."

"All right. See you in the morning then." He pauses. "You might want to stop at a store on the way and buy some chocolate. I hear it helps?" he explains when she stares at him.

"Not a bad idea. I'll be back before we need to leave for work," Scully promises on the way out the door.

* * *

5:55 p.m.

"Where did that sister of yours get to?" Mulder asks his son, as he puts the boy on his hip. The little redhead smiles at him, but doesn't turn Page in. "I guess we'll have to look for her, then, won't we?"

"Yes!" Sammy crows. "Paaaaaageeee?" he shouts, looking around Mulder's side. This makes Mulder grin.

Just then Mulder hears a knock at the door, so he puts down Sammy. "Stay put."

"Did you forget something, Scully?" Mulder calls. The knock comes again, so he goes and opens the door. "You're not Scully."

"They always said you were a bright man," Krycek says sourly. His voice is a little muffled because he's holding a cloth to his nose.

"What do you want?" Mulder asks warily. Page runs to him, so he picks her up as he looks at the man standing in the doorway.

Krycek moves his hand away from his nose and blood leaks out of his nostril, looking lurid under the porch light. "I'm sick. I need your help."

* * *

In spite of himself, Mulder finds himself opening the door wide to allow the younger man in. Still, he nearly barks at Krycek when he comes too close to Sammy, but in the end he ignores the baby and slumps into a chair, so Mulder holds his tongue. Instead, he picks Sammy up and puts him in the playpen with a few toys, and tells Page to go play. "What's wrong with you?" Mulder asks him, already fairly sure that he knows the answer.

The other man opens a folder that Mulder didn't even notice that he was holding. In it is a gray and white film. Krycek twists in his seat and holds the film above a lamp. The cranial x-ray, which has a brighter area between the eyes. "They tell me it's cancer." He points a finger at the irregular bright spot. "A tumor between my sinus and brain. It explains the nose bleeds?" he asks with a hollow laugh.

Mulder winches. Back when he gave Duane Barry the other man's address, he hadn't stopped to think of what might be done to him if he was taken in Scully's place. Since Krycek had no eggs to steal, he more or less expected that he'd be of no use to the kidnappers and unlikely to suffer the same ill effects. It seemed as though he was wrong.

"I'm sorry," Mulder says honestly. "What do you think I can do for you?"

Krycek shrugs. "Did you and agent Scully investigate a group of alien abductees who had cancer?"

Mulder nods. "I did. Scully was on maternity leave."

"How unusual," Krycek says with a sneer that quickly fades.

"You think you were abducted by aliens?" Mulder asks.

"Of course not," Krycek snaps. "These people, though, they think they know a doctor who can cure this type of cancer. But I need an in, someone to vouch for me. You."

Even though he doesn't want to, Mulder feels that he owes it to help Krycek out. If it wasn't for him, his wife would be the one sitting before him with death's shadow over her. "When did you want to talk to them?"

"Tonight. Now," Krycek says eagerly. A fresh trickle of blood oozes from his nose, and he's quick to bring the handkerchief to his face again.

The sight of the blood decides Mulder. He stands up with a sigh and begins pulling coats off the coat tree. "My wife is going to kill me, you know."

"Ask me if I care."

* * *

Allentown, Pennsylvania

9 p.m.

Three hours in a car with two toddlers seems to have worn Krycek out, so his head is slumped against the window when Mulder finally pulls into a driveway. Krycek looks so sick that he feels a stir of pity for him, which is possibly compounded by how surprisingly good with kids his nemesis has turned out to be. He kept the kids even better entertained than Mulder or Scully usually could, until they both dozed off.

Mulder shakes Krycek's shoulder lightly. "We're here."

Despite the relatively late hour, there's still a light burning in the window of the house. "Do you think you're up to carrying Sammy?" Mulder asks, and it feels slightly surreal to be handing his child over to someone like Krycek. But the other man is in no condition to run off with him, so he figures it's okay. "If you're not…"

"I can manage," Krycek mutters, holding out his arms for the sleeping child. He carefully cradles the boy with his good arm, surprising Mulder a second time.

He and Mulder trudge up the stairs, surprising a realtor who is peeling a MUFON sticker off the window. She looks up at them. "It's a little late for a tour."

::Oh great, she probably thinks we're a nontraditional family.:: "Actually, we're not here about the sale of the house. We're looking for Betsy Higopian. No one's returning our messages."

"Sorry, um, Betsy's passed away, just two and a half weeks ago. Are you a relation?"

::Geez, I'd hate to be dead two weeks before my family knew.:: "No, we're with the FBI." Mulder glances at his sleepy children. "And I couldn't get a babysitter," he adds.

"Is there some kind of trouble?" the realtor asks.

"Betsy was part of a MUFON group," Mulder points to the crumpled sticker in her hand.

The woman gives him a blank look. "I don't know about any of that, I'm just the realtor."

"Would you mind if we come inside and take a look?" The realtor hesitates and Mulder shows his badge. She stands aside and they enter.

Pretending to hear something, Mulder picks up the phone. "It sounds like a modem. Someone must be sending a fax or something."

Krycek nods, but it doesn't seem as though he's making the sort of connection that Scully would have. "Is that important?"

Mulder shrugs. "Maybe it'll be a lead. If someone doesn't know that Betsy's dead…"

Krycek connects the dots. "Maybe they're sending her information that could help me."

They go downstairs and find a computer. Mulder switches on the monitor, which shows file transfers in progress. "Someone must have remote access to the system. Looks like they're downloading data from Betsy's computer. Maybe we can get a trace on this before they hang up." Mulder pulls out his cell phone and calls for a trace.

* * *

Allentown, Pennsylvania

Apartment 234

9:30 p.m.

"Apartment 234 is listed under Kurt Crawford," Krycek says, nodding over Sammy's head. The little boy is awake, and staring at Krycek's ears, seemingly fascinated. Mulder keeps giving him nervous glances, sure he's going to pull on them, but he never does.

A man bursts through the front door just then. "You there! Stop!" Mulder shouts in a commanding voice, but he's still surprised when the young man does as he's told without having to be tackled. "Is your name Kurt Crawford?"

"Yes."

Mulder looks at Krycek. "Nose."

The younger man quickly paws through his coat pocket for a tissue.

* * *

Inside the apartment Kurt lets Krycek use the bathroom while Mulder and the kids sit in the living room and talk to the young clone.

Kurt nervously excuses himself to get a drink of water. When Krycek comes out, Mulder fills him in. "He says he's a member of the same Mutual UFO Network group that Betsy Hagopian belonged to, that he was downloading files for safe keeping as Betsy had instructed him to."

"Then why did he come out of this place running?" Krycek asks.

"He thinks his life's in danger. He thinks there's a government conspiracy to suppress the information gathered in those files."

"And you believe him?"

"Well he seems to know an awful lot about Betsy and the other women in the MUFON group that you mentioned back at my house." He pauses, trying to think of how to break the news. "The women you wanted to talk to…they're dead."

Krycek blinks, then turns to stare at Kurt, who is returning with a glass clutched in his hand. "How did they die?"

"Brain cancer. All within the last year."

Krycek seems unaware that he's reaching up to touch his nose." They're all dead?"

"Except for Penny Northern, and she's in the hospital and it doesn't look good."

"The government got them too then," Krycek sighs heavily, and slumps in his chair.

"You think the government gave you cancer, Krycek?" Mulder asks, wondering suddenly what the younger man thought happened to him.

"I do," Kurt speaks up, surprising both Mulder and Krycek. "Eleven women are abducted, all with similar recollections about the experience, all developing identical brain tumors, and all refused state or federal health care because of their insistence of the facts. And all dying within the space of a year. Who else could orchestrate something like that?"

"The group you claim to be part of claims it was aliens," Mulder tells Kurt, and the clone turns away.

"It doesn't matter how they got cancer, Mulder. Your little green men, Big Brother, it doesn't change the fact that they're all dead."

"They're not all dead. Penny Northern isn't."

"I guess we ought to talk to Penny while she's still alive," Krycek says grimly.

* * *

Allentown Bethlehem Medical Center

Mulder expects to get flack for bringing his son and daughter to the hospital, but when the nurse just leads them up to Penny's room without comment, he remembers that they're going to a hospice floor. No one expects Penny to get better, so the vigilance against germs is relaxed in favor of the comfort of visitors. Mulder nearly feels guilty when he realizes that the nurse thinks that they're Penny's family. Almost.

Penny smiles from her hospital bed when she sees them enter.

"Agent Mulder," she says with a nod of her head. "Good to see you again. You've brought your children, I see. And Alex." Mulder smiles in return, thinking of how good her memory is considering how brief and perfunctory his visit was the last time they met. It had been a simple day excursion right before the Buckman case, and he hadn't even mentioned it to Scully.

Krycek, however, looks startled by Penny's warm greeting. "Do I know you?"

"Maybe, Maybe not. I know you, Alex, but you might not remember me. We were together when they…I comforted you in the place, after the tests."

"I don't remember any of that."

"It's all right."

"If it's okay, I'd like to ask you some questions," Krycek says.

"About Dr. Scanlon?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Who's Dr. Scanlon?"

"He's treating the cancer. He treated Betsy, too. He thinks he might have isolated the cause. And that if he'd caught it earlier he might have been able to do more for her...and for me."

"Okay, yes, that's the doctor I wanted to talk to you about."

A few minutes later they leave, and Krycek has filled a notebook with information from Penny about the miracle doctor.

"For what it's worth, I hope that this doctor can help you," Mulder offers when they get back to his car.

"It's funny, but I never thought about dying young," Krycek says. "But then, I never thought I'd turn to you for help, either."

Mulder shrugs. "Stranger things have happened."

Alex makes a barking sound that takes Mulder a moment to identify as laughter. "Only someone assigned to the X-Files could say that."

* * *

The Next Morning

Washington DC

7 a.m.

Still yawning over coffee, Mulder picks up the phone on the first ring. "Scully? Let me guess, you're not going to be able to come to the office today."

She sounds surprised. "How did you know that's what I was calling you to say?"

"Your sister can be…" He struggles to find the right word, "...intense."

"It's not like that. Exactly. I just thought that it would be a good use of a personal day, spending some quality time with my sister." Her voice is apologetic. "She doesn't ask a lot from me."

"I'll let Skinner know you'll be in tomorrow. But what about me? Should I expect you home tonight? Or should I stop by with a case of tissues?"

"Come hell or high water, I'll be home before you put the kids to bed," Scully promises.

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

There's a knock on the door not even fifteen seconds after he's put the phone back. Rachel's already there, so he wonders if it's Krycek again. It isn't.

"If you want to help your friend, there's something you ought to see," Kurt Crawford says without any preamble.

"He's not my-" Mulder stops himself since finishing his sentence isn't going to do him any good. "If this is going to take long, I ought to call Skinner and tell him that I'm not going to be in."

"Call him."

::I don't know why I'm doing this…:: Mulder thinks as he wanders back towards the phone.

* * *

Lehigh Furnace, Pennsylvania

Center for Reproductive Medicine

Noon

Kurt leads Mulder through a building, and disappears through a doorway. When the door opens again, he waves his hand towards Mulder. Two identical men stand behind him.

"Agent Mulder, come in," One of the Kurts says.

"You're hybrids." Mulder blurts out. He knew this, but he still feels a measure of awe to see them there. It's too unusual a sight to be passé.

"Please come in so that we might explain."

Mulder walks in and sees a room full of growing tanks with hybrids inside in a greenish liquid, as well as more hybrids.

"What is it that you're doing here?"

"Subverting the project. The project that created us."

Mulder rubs condensation off one of the tanks and sees a boy who looks much like the ones he saw working with the clones of his sister in another lifetime. "I've seen this boy before. These boys were you."

"We're among the end results," one Kurt says.

"And you want to destroy them?" Mulder asks.

"No. What we want is the same thing that you want," a second Kurt says. "To stop them from doing this to others."

Mulder and one of the hybrids enter a vault with many metal compartments. "What are these?"

"Human ova." The Kurt's voice is emotionless.

"Taken from whom?" Mulder asks. He sees a metal drawer with Betsy Hagopian's name on it. The hybrid points out another drawer with Penny Northern's name on it. He offers up a silent prayer of thanks when he sees that Scully's name isn't on any of the vials. He didn't think there would be, but to see for sure…

He fingers the label of one of the vials with Penny's name on it. "I know this woman."

"These are eggs that were stolen from her. Harvested during her abduction, through a high amplification radiation procedure that caused superovulation."

"Why?"

"For fertilization. They constitute one half of the necessary raw materials."

"For genetic hybridization… for reproduction. These women, these women are your birth mothers," Mulder whispers, thinking again of the fate Scully escaped, and how Krycek is suffering in her stead.

"Barren now, from the same procedure that caused their cancer. And now they're left to die, their conditions hastened by the men running this project."

"You're trying to save them."

"They're our mothers."

"And fathers," Mulder says, thinking of Krycek.

"And fathers," a clone agrees. "That's why we want to help your friend."

"Is he your father?" Mulder asks curiously. He always wondered if one of the women he met, like Penny Northern, was their mother.

The Kurt shrugs. "I'm not sure. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. But why does he have cancer? It's not as though any special means were necessary to harvest genetic material from a man."

"To cover up their tracks."

Mulder gives the Kurt a horrified look. "Are you saying that they purposely gave him cancer?"

"Irradiation is handy," the Kurt tells him. "It's one of the lessons from the Chernobyl disaster."

He shakes his head sadly. "Why did you want me to see all this?"

"So you can convince him."

"Who?"

"Your friend."

"To do what?" A buzzing fills his head suddenly.

"We want him to help us, and we'll help him."

"All right, how do you want him to help you, and in exchange for what help?"

"This man, Alex Krycek, we've investigated him. If anyone can help us disappear, it's him."

"That tells me how he can help you," Mulder says pointedly.

"There's a healer. If he helps, we help him," Kurt reiterates.

::Jeremiah Smith:: Mulder thinks. ::Maybe he got away, or maybe he's not unique.:: "I'll try to convince him."

The Kurt nods. "That's all we ask of you."

"So which one of you wants to go on a ride?" Mulder asks. He'd personally prefer if it was the Kurt that he and Krycek talked to before, but it's not as though he could pick him out of a lineup.

"I will," one says before following Mulder out to his car.

* * *

"How's your sister?" Mulder asks.

"Fine." She becomes a little flustered when Mulder gives her a disbelieving look. "Not fine, but I think she'll be okay. She said something about a new treatment for whatever the disease is. She's hopeful that it will work out for her."

"For whatever the disease is, huh? That's specific."

"Well, she was pretty broken up about things, Mulder. I sort of got the feeling that her friend didn't go into a lot of detail about what she has, and only told people at all because of the potential that it will be fatal."

"So it could be a kinky sex disease? It could," he protests when she makes a face at him.

"I sort of wondered if it could be AIDS," Scully confesses. "Which would make me worry about Missy."

"Even if it was, unless you think your sister is secretly the type to share needles or boyfriends there's nothing to worry about." He's surprised when Scully glares at him. "What?"

"I meant I worry because it's a hard disease to watch someone die of."

"Oh. That too."

* * *

Two Days Later

When Mulder gets to Krycek's apartment there are two Kurts their helping him pack. Mulder wonders how Krycek would explain their identical appearance if asked, then decides that people would readily believe that they're twins.

Most of Krycek's possessions are in a moving van, and it looks like the Kurts are putting the rest in two cars, one of them the sick man's.

"So you're going to help them," Mulder comments as he reaches for a box.

"What choice do I have?" Krycek asks heavily. "That doctor treating Penny and Betsy wasn't successful with either of them-"

"Penny didn't make it?" Mulder feels a twinge of regret; in this reality Penny didn't have Scully's presence to comfort her.

"No. I was with her last night when she passed away."

Mulder gives him a surprised look. "You were? Why?"

"I've been asking myself that, too. Haven't you ever followed a compulsion before?"

"All the time."

"All I planned to do was stop by and ask her a question, but she seemed to be feeling pretty bad, so I just sat with her. And then...I never did get to ask her my question."

"Sorry."

Krycek suddenly gives him a sharp look. "Why did you help me?"

He shrugs. "You're sick. It doesn't seem like you have many other people in your life who both can and would help you."

"Pity then."

"Not exactly. Call it empathy. It doesn't strain my imagination much to picture myself in your position. I'd hope to have someone willing to help me too."

"The golden rule, Mulder?" Krycek says with a sneer. "Have you always been such a boyscout?"

Mulder gives him a mock salute. "I live to serve." He puts the box that he'd forgotten that he was holding in the trunk of Krycek's car, and lets the trunk slam shut. "Good luck and get out of here."

"One more stop and I'm going to vanish." There's a faint smile on his lips. "I hope I never see you again."

"Likewise."

* * *

Three Hours Later

He can barely stand the look in Missy's eyes as she grabs his good arm. "Don't go, Alex."

"I have to," he tells her with a sigh. The fact that he's really going to miss her took him by complete surprise. Their relationship has been one that's mostly about getting laid, so the deeper feelings that he's finding make him uncomfortable. It was never his intention to get so entangled with anyone that it would ever be hard to leave. Working for the consortium leaves little room in mind for romance and attachment.

"My sister's a doctor. She might be able to help you." There's a slight note of desperation to the woman's voice.

Krycek opens his mouth, about to tell her that if her brother-in-law has been telling tales out of school the good doctor probably wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire, but he thinks better of it. It wouldn't do to explain why the sister wouldn't help him. That sort of explanation would epitomize "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you," and he likes Missy too much to kill her. "She can't help me. No ordinary medicine is going to help this sort of brain tumor."

"So you're going to go chasing a quack cure in Mexico, then?"

He winces a little. She swallowed his alibi too easily…he's not sure that he wants to be that good a liar. "It's the only chance I have."

"Then let me go with you."

"You can't."

"I don't care what they told you the rules are, I-"

"I don't want you to come with me." She turns from him suddenly, and looks stung, so he softens his voice. "It means a lot to me that you'd be willing to take care of me, but…if it doesn't work, I can't bear to have you see me die."

"But-"

"If I get well, I promise I'll be back." Someday, he adds to himself.

"And if you don't?" Missy's voice is suddenly teary.

"Then you'll move on, and maybe now and then think fondly on the fool you once loved."

Those words are enough to set off the waterworks. He feels like an adult for once as he tries to comfort her.

Later, as he's driving off in the direction of his meeting place with the Kurts, he allows himself to wonder if he'll ever see Missy again. Before now he hasn't let himself think about it, since the answer hinges on if he gets better or not. For one shimmering moment, he feels hope.


	44. Kaddish

Basement Office

February 12th, 1997

8:31a.m.

Scully hands Mulder a photo of a dead man. "His name was Isaac Luria. He lived in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, home to a sect of Hasidic Jews who have lived there since the late 19th Century."

"It's an area also known for its history of racial tensions and hate crimes. Rosenbaum, Tawana Brawley."

"And now Isaac Luria. He was murdered two days ago in the market that he owned. Severely beaten and shot five times at point blank range. The police ruled out robbery because the only thing that was missing was a video tape from the surveillance camera. The police found it early this morning." She puts the tape into VCR, and the interior of a small store fills the screen.

"Where did they find the tape?"

"In the VCR of a 16-year-old named Tony Oliver. That's him on the upper right of the screen." On screen two other teens hold Isaac as Tony Oliver punches him in the face.

"Has he been arrested?"

"No, because he's dead. Apparently he was watching this tape when he was strangled to death."

"Very Old Testament," Mulder says. ::Or "The Ring." Will the rampage of murderous videotapes never end?::

"Yeah. But with a new twist. The Brooklyn Homicide detectives contacted the FBI Civil Rights branch with an interesting set of fingerprints that they pulled off of the boy's body."

"Interesting how?" Mulder asks to keep the conversation going.

"They belonged to Isaac Luria."

"Risen from the grave to avenge his own death? Like in that Crow movie we watched a couple of years ago?"

"Remind me to punch the Gunmen sometime for loaning us the movie that gave me nightmares," Scully says with a smirk that reminds Mulder of the two nights she woke up in a panic after seeing the movie. "Some people might assume that Luria has risen from the dead. It's probably what someone would like us to think."

"But you have your own idea."

"I think this is a crime of hatred like the crime that spawned it. A hatred that goes back 4000 years but masquerading as something else here. A callow attempt at murderous retribution disguised as spectral justice."

"A resurrection hoax."

"And not a very good one."

"Yes, spectral figures are not often known to leave fingerprints. Casper never did and all the smudges we have to pledge away at the house come from our kids."

"Somehow the killer got a hold of Isaac Luria's fingerprints and we have been asked to prove how," Scully says with a sigh. Her right hand reaches around to rub her back. "I want to exhume the body and see if the dead man's hands were…removed."

"Eeww." His wife stares at him. "What? You can't tell me that the thought doesn't affect you the same way."

* * *

The Weiss home

That Afternoon

After revisiting Jacob and Arial Weiss to ask permission to exhume Luria, Mulder begins to get an idea why Scully was and is so eager to believe that Weiss is their killer. The man's belligerence and sanctimony do him no favors when it comes to others' keeping open minds. If he didn't know for sure that the testy old man was innocent, he might gun for him too.

In the car, Scully's next words reiterate what Mulder has been thinking. "I'm afraid he knows who killed Tony Oliver, Mulder, and he doesn't want us disturbing Isaac Luria's grave because he knows what we'll find."

"Maybe..." He pulls the pamphlet out of the breast pocket of his coat and hands it to her before starting the car."...but it's hard to fault his attitude when you see something like that. Anybody delivering justice to a people who have known that kind of persecution and hatred, why wouldn't they protect him?"

"Justice or revenge?"

"I'm not saying those kids deserve full prosecution under the law, but the hate mongering goes both ways."

"Yes, but the right to free expression doesn't extend to murder," Scully says.

"I bet whoever published that knows the boys who murdered Isaac Luria. They might have a guess at who killed Tony Oliver, too. "

Scully startles him by tapping his arm with the pamphlet. "Is this why you didn't want to raise the kids Jewish? I mean, we do nominally celebrate Hanukkah, but beyond that…"

Mulder shrugs. "I've never felt a deep connection to religion of any sort, never mind one that'll have you persecuted by crazy people for. You can't be accused of the wrong celestial alliances if you don't make any at all. Why, do you think it's hurting the kids not to be raise in any particular religion?"

"Not really. It's just that we barely talked about it."

He nods. "If I find Jesus, I'll let you know."

"Okay."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's hiding out with Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa, actually."

"Mulder…" Her tone is a warning one, but she can't hide the smile in her eyes.

* * *

Shortly thereafter a visit to Bjunes's store reaffirms Mulder's belief in prejudiced idiots. He doesn't have much time to dwell on it, because he's soon bribing Rachel to come back and stay late when they get a call telling them that the exhumation they wanted is no longer going to require Weiss' reluctant permission - someone has gone to the trouble of thoughtfully disinterring the body for them, then stuck around so they didn't have to wonder who did it.

* * *

Cemetery

10 p.m.

Scully puts on her latex gloves and raises the body bag flap from Clinton's face. She touches the deep bruises on his neck before rezipping the body bag. The coroner's office workers take the body away.

She walks up to Mulder who is crouched by the grave, putting on latex gloves. "Ligature marks on the victim's neck are consistent with the vigilante's MO. Forensics come up with anything?"

"Yeah, second set of footprints, but the mud is too soft to take a mold."

"I guess Clinton was here with Derek Banks."

"Looking for what?"

Scully hops into the grave with as much grace as she can muster, then looks up at Mulder and is surprised to see that he's staring at her and his face is drained of color.

"Is there something horrible behind me?" she asks in a slightly trembling voice.

He sounds puzzled. "No, why?"

"You were looking at me like you'd just seen a ghost."

"Sorry, I'm not good with graves." He mutters, clambering in beside her. ::I've already seen you ready for a grave once before, so this threw me.::

"I think maybe they came to desecrate the corpse as retribution for Tony Oliver's death."

"That seems kind of redundant, doesn't it? Messing up somebody you already killed?"

"I don't think we're dealing with rational thinkers, Mulder."

"I think they came here because they were afraid," Mulder says as he crouches to the coffin.

"Afraid?"

Mulder lifts a sheet of plastic covering the coffin lid. When he does, a smell wafts up into the night air. They both cover their noses.

"Afraid that man they hated enough to kill wasn't really dead." He points at the corpse's intact hands. "Look, there goes your theory of how Isaac's fingerprints got onto the victim's body. What's that look like to you?" he asks, indicating the dark marks on the hands.

"The body wasn't embalmed according to custom. Maybe it's postmortem lividity or some sort of tattooing. It's hard to tell with this stage of decomposition. In another week we wouldn't have a prayer of figuring it out."

Mulder reaches down by the corpse's head. And pulls out the book he's been looking for as they talk. "What's this? A little bedtime reading?"

He doesn't get to open the book this time either before it bursts into flames. "Fire!" he yells theatrically, even though he's not as afraid of fire anymore.

* * *

Their final stop of the night is to go to the Judaic library to speak to Kenneth Ungar about the book's significance. As before he confirms that it's the Sepher Vetzirah, a Hebrew text that contains a creation story. He tells them that it isn't buried with the dead, that it shouldn't have caught on fire, and that it's marked with Jacob Weiss' name, which all but convinces Scully of the man's culpability. By the time they get home Mulder is too tired to try to convince her that there might be another explanation.

* * *

Weiss Residence

The Next Morning

The look on Arial's face isn't friendly when she opens the door. Without being told she knows that they're there about her father.

"Why do you want to see him?"

"There's been another murder," Scully tells him. "Another suspect in your husband's death has been found dead last night."

"Where was this?"

"Next to your husband's grave," Mulder replies.

"How does this concern my father?"

Scully looks surprised that she has to ask." Yesterday he expressed strong feelings towards this latest victim."

"Those were just angry words."

"And we found evidence placing him at the crime scene. This is escalating into something else Arial. Something that has to stop."

"My marriage to Isaac...you have to understand how much it would have meant to my father."

"What do you mean, would have meant?"

"We got our marriage license a few weeks ago, but the wedding wasn't to be until today."

"I'm sorry."

"I'd like to show you something."

She picks up a glass dome and holds it up for them to see. Inside is large silver ring shaped like a cathedral. She makes sure that they both have seen the ring before speaking. "It's a communal wedding ring made in Colon, a village near Prague. My father was an apprentice to the man who designed it."

"It's beautiful."

"Uh hum. Every woman who got married in the synagogue wore this ring as a symbol that she was a queen, her husband a king. And a home...They made a castle...not only on their wedding day, but for the rest of their lives together. But most of those lives ended

in one day in the spring of 1943. 9000 Jews were massacred after digging their own graves."

"But your father survived," Scully notes.

"Because he was ten years old. He had small fingers to make bullets at a munitions factory." Arial's voice holds a bitter note.

"And through all this, he hid the ring?"

"Even after the war he hid it, even from my mother."

"Why didn't he use it for their wedding?" Scully asks.

"Because to him, it was a dead relic from a forgotten place. Until the day that I told him I was getting married, and for the first time in fifty years, he took out this ring. He said it was like his village was born again. He knew how much I loved Isaac."

"Arial, tell us where your father is."

"I know my father. He would never kill anyone."

"What if you're wrong?"

* * *

The rest of the afternoon is eventful. Arial gave in and told them that her father was at his synagogue, and they're attacked by a swift-moving figure shortly after finding Derek Banks, hanged. They nearly have to shoot Jacob Weiss before he surrenders.

Later, Arial melts down when she learns that her father has confessed. The confession leaves a sour taste in Mulder's mouth too, because he knows that the confessed in innocent. Not that he has any luck convincing Scully that it was another man, not Jacob that knocked him down in the synagogue, and who was probably their murderer. He hasn't even begun to broach the possibility of the supernatural yet, knowing already that it'll be futile until she sees with her own eyes.

All in all it's a very long day.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

Although he volunteered to put the kids to bed, Scully insists that she wanted to do it herself. He hides a smile of amusement as she attempts to put Sammy on her hip, but is thwarted by her finally rounding belly. She holds him under the arm pits, much in the way their grandmother did that one time, but puts him down a few seconds later when he howls in protest, more indignant than pained. Just before he offers to help a second time, she seems inspired to help him learn to navigate the stairs, which he does with a look of intense concentration on his little face. They disappear up the staircase, but the sound of Sammy's hard little shoes smacking the hardwood floor tells him that Scully's lowered him over the baby gate.

Slipping his wedding ring off his finger, he examines it in the light. It's not nearly as elaborate as the ring that Arial showed them, since it's just a simple band of gold. The choice for their rings had been left entirely to Scully, and she had mundane taste in jewelry. He tilts it, so he can read the inscription. They'd joked about having it read "Fox and Dana forever" but in the end, they'd both blurted out the phrase that would mean something more to them. They saw it every day. "**I want to believe**."

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the dent in his ring finger. He saw it every day too, because he took it off to shower and to sleep, afraid to lose the ring down the drain or to toss it somewhere while dreaming. But for the first time in three years, he looks at it with purpose. For a moment he tries to imagine what it would feel like if that ring was no longer on his finger, because he somehow lost Scully. Again. Death and divorce are simple facts of life, and it hurts to think about screwing up so badly that one or the other happens.

"Mulder?"

Before he looks up, he puts his ring back on, and feels safer. "Yeah?"

"Do you suppose I could take you up on that backrub offer now?"

"Is the baby being mean to you?" he asks sympathetically, getting up so she doesn't have to walk to him. "Maybe we can get my mom to sign him or her up for soccer now."

Scully smiles tiredly and shakes her head. "It's just my muscles."

"I'll try to get them to apologize." He promises, slinging an arm around her. "I'll put the squeeze on them until they do."

"My hero."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Scully is sleeping peacefully. Mulder has his head on her chest, and his nose is pressed up against her belly. He almost starts when the baby's well placed kick gets him, but he doesn't. Instead he turns his thoughts towards the unborn.

Scully is still uninterested in learning the gender of their unborn babies, and he likes the surprise as well, so this is their third time not knowing if they're expecting a son or daughter. Mulder finds that he doesn't really have a preference, since a boy or a girl would be good.

Stretching a little, he puts a hand on Scully's belly, and it doesn't seem to disturb her. For a fleeting moment he imagines that the baby will be a boy. With William, that'd be three little boys, and that sounds like a lot. He remembers being a little boy himself… Maybe two boys and two girls would be better. ::Not that it matters as long as the baby is healthy.:: His eyelids droop.

Just as he drifts off he begins to imagine his four children playing together. Sometimes this unborn baby is a boy, sometimes a girl, but always a redhead like Sammy. It must be far into the future, because William toddles after his older siblings, and all four of them are laughing happily.

* * *

Two hours later Scully wakes up and hears a soft voice. Her first thought is to wonder if it's the ghosts, but then she realizes that Mulder is talking in his sleep. She rolls her eyes over the thought of ghosts, and wonders what that says about her sanity that she's thought of it first.

"I've spent too much time listening to your theories, Mulder," she says aloud.

"Yeah."

She wonders for a moment if he's away, but she looks at him and sees that he clearly isn't. It only takes a moment to decide to see if he'll keep talking to her. "Hey Mulder, what are you dreaming about?"

"Our kids."

"Sammy and Page?"

"Yeah. And the baby and William."

Scully smiles in the dark. "Who's William?"

"Our son. Someday." Mulder's voice is barely a sigh. "But not for years."

"Do you know which year?"

"Two Thousand and One. I think he'll be our youngest son."

"Oh, okay," Scully says and then lets him fall back into deeper sleep. Her last comment is only for herself. "I guess he really does want more kids."

There's still a smile on her face when she falls asleep.

* * *

Upper East Side Manhattan

Judaica Archives

The Next Morning

Mulder startles a reading Kenneth Ungar when he appears before him as quietly as a ghost.

"Agent Mulder!"

"There's something you didn't tell me about the contents of this Sepher Vetzirah."

"What is it you want to know?"

"I want to know about the myth of the Golem."

"This is a mystical text. These pages are filled with Golems and vivics and demons of every size and shape." His hand gropes for his glasses, making Mulder wonder how he was able to read earlier.

"It's the just the Golem that I'm interested in," Mulder tells him, sitting down in an empty chair across the table.

"And I'm interested in why an FBI agent would be so interested in such a thing."

"I have a suspicion that warrants investigation."

"The early Cabolists...they believed that a righteous man could actually create a living being from the Earth itself. Fashioned from mud or clay...This creature could only be brought to life by the power of the word. In practical terms by the direct application of certain secret letter combinations. "

"Combinations found in that book?"

Ungar nods and opens the book to a page of hebrew Mulder can't read. "See? These

pages, they're basically instructions for animating the inanimate And this...this passage here talks about inscribing a single word on the Golem itself."

"On the back of his hand?" Mulder asks.

"I'm impressed."

::You shouldn't be impressed, you should be terrified.:: he doesn't allow his face to betray his thoughts." What's the secret word?"

"Emet. See.." He points to three symbols of the text. "Aleph, Mem, Tau...Creates the word, Emet."

"I don't speak Hebrew, I don't know what that means."

"Truth. Emet means truth. See, Mr. Mulder, therein lies the paradox...because the danger of the truth is contained in the word Golem itself. Which means matter without form, body without soul."

"So the Golem is an imperfect creation."

"Oh, kind of a monster, really. Unable to speak or feel anything but the most primitive of emotions. It runs amok. It has to be destroyed by its creator."

"Destroyed, how?"

Kenneth flips through the book to find the page. "By erasing the first letter, Aleph. Emet becomes met...which means dead. Again, Mr. Mulder...the power of letters, not just to create, but to kill."

Mulder nods. "That was the premise of a horror movie from a couple of years ago. In The Mouth of Madness. A writer's words became reality, and a deadly reality at that."

"Few people understand the weight of words." Ungar agrees sagely, making Mulder a little nervous about the man's sanity.

He thanks the librarian and leaves, stopping on the walkway when his cell phone rings.

"Yeah?"

His wife's voice breaks over the line." Mulder, it's me. There's been another homicide."

"Who?"

"Herb Bjunes. I'm on my way to the print shop right now."

"Okay, I can be there in ten minutes."

* * *

Bjunes Copy Shop

After they look through the dead man's hate literature, a detective calls them over to a video monitor.

"The image is fuzzy, but I think we've got a hit. There." He points to the screen once he's paused the tape. The man in the frozen frame is readily recognizable.

"Oh, my God. It's Isaac Luria. He's still alive." Scully's hand goes to her mouth.

"I'm not so sure about that," Mulder replies, not bothering to clarify if he doubts it's Luria or doubts he's alive.

* * *

Scully looks up from her call, trying to spot Mulder in the milling crowd of people investigating the anti-Semitic copier's death. He sees her and comes over.

"No. That won't be necessary," she tells whomever she's speaking to before hanging up. " Well, the coroner matched Luria's dental records. It was definitely his corpse in the grave. This video tape...it must have been altered some how. Planted by whoever is staging this hoax."

"It's not a hoax, Scully. It never was."

She gives him a puzzled look." But if Luria is dead, Mulder..."

"This is not Luria. Not really."

"Well, who do you think it is? Some kind of a ghost?"

"A ghost is spirit without form. I believe what we're looking for and what we're seeing here, is...is form without spirit. Something called a Golem."

"A Golem? I know I've heard that word recently, but it's not ringing any bells."

"It's kind of a man made monster described in Jewish folklore. It's fashioned through mud and then animated through mystical incantation."

"Mud! Mulder, what are you talking about? "

He gives her a reproving look. "You find that hard to believe? What about 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust'?"

"That's a metaphor, Mulder," she says, becoming irritated.

"The Mayans didn't think so. Their creation myth The Popul Vuh depicts humans being made of earth as well."

"Okay, so there's theological evidence in several cultures that link dirt and humans. But that's here nor there. Even if someone could create a Golem, for what purpose? Exacting revenge?"

"I don't think it was hate that created this, Scully. I think it was love."

Scully looks up at him with a frown. "Then it would be a killing love."

Despite her remark he can tell that she doesn't believe him.

* * *

Synagogue

Two Hours Later

As soon as they enter the building they see Jacob hanging from a rope,

still alive and struggling weakly. Mulder walks quickly to him and grabs his legs, lifting up slightly to create slack on the rope. It was Scully's task before, but before he wasn't worried that Jacob might accidentally kick her in the belly.

"Scully, there's a knife over there on the alter. Get it please?" Once she brings it he wraps one arm around the man's feet and reaches up to cut the rope. He stumbles when the man's weight falls on him, but manages not to drop his burden.

Once Mulder's put Jacob on the floor he and Scully loosen the rope and she looks the now unconscious man over. "His pulse is thready."

"Will he be all right?" Mulder asks, genuinely uncertain. Events have twisted away from the previous reality, so who's to say it wasn't Scully holding him up that saved him the time before?

"If we get him to a hospital," she says grimly, watching him stand. "Where are you going?"

"To find Arial."

"Be careful," she reminds him, reaching for her phone to dial nine-one-one.

* * *

Mulder does a quick search of the synagogue and soon sees Arial sitting on the floor, crying.

"Arial? We found your father. He's alive. He's going to be okay. I know about Isaac. Where is he?"

"I don't know." She claims, and this time he knows that she's lying.

"Come on. We gotta get outta here." She shakes her head and makes no move to comply. "Come on, Arial." He tries to lift her to her feet.

"No..." she resists. They hear a noise and turn. The Golem is standing there, looking at them impassively. "Isaac?"

Arial breaks free of Mulder's grasp and tries to go to Isaac, but Mulder pulls her back and behind him. He pulls his gun and aims it as the Golem, knowing it will do no good. "Stop or I'll fire."

"No!"

The figure keeps walking toward them. Mulder shoots twice, each bullet hitting the target, not fazing the Golem in the least.

"No! Stop..." Arial demands, and it's unclear whom she's speaking to, Mulder or the Golem.

Mulder continues firing as the Golem gets closer. The Golem lashes out at Mulder and Mulder is flung to the floor. The Golem's hands find Mulder's neck and they squeeze, choking him.

The numbness leaves Arial's face as she finally seems to realize that the Golem is fully capable of killing, and has every intention of killing the man investigating his death. "Isaac!" Arial's voice gets the Golem's attention and he turns his head in her direction.

She has the ring in her hand. The Golem stops choking Mulder and looks at her. He goes to her. As he gets closer and out of the shadow, she sees his face and cries out. He takes the ring and holds it at the end of her ring finger.

Arial speaks in Hebrew. "I am to my beloved...as my beloved is to me." Isaac puts the ring on her finger. She smiles to him and they curtsey. She kisses his hand tattoo… and then reaches out a gentle hand to him and erases the Aleph symbol on the back of his hand. "I loved you." Her tone speaks of finality and regret.

They look at each other as she cries and his face deteriorates, turning back to mud. Scully comes in time to see the figure begin to dissolve.

"Mulder..." She runs to him. He's still laying on the ground catching his breath. "Are you okay? I heard shots fired." She helps him up. "What happened?"

They look over at Arial. She's kneeling over Isaac's body, which has slumped to the floor. She is caressing his shoulder and arm.

"What is she doing?"

"Saying goodbye."

Isaac had turned to dirt. Arial picks up a handful and lets it spray over the body as she continues to pray and caress him.

Scully turns to leave once Mulder gets to his feet. He hesitates, still looking at the crouching woman. "Coming, Mulder?"

"In a minute."

Mulder approaches Arial, and looks down into her tear-streaked face. "You don't understand what it's like to so desperately want for someone to be alive again. How it feels to be convinced that any means that'll bring them back is acceptable." Arial says, her voice verging on a sob.

Mulder looks at her helplessly. It's on the tip of his tongue to blurt out every thing: that he does know that sort of desperation, that he has made a choice that could have turned out to be just as monstrous...but he can't say any of that.

"I'm sorry," he says simply.

Arial looks up at him with wet eyes. "Am I going to go to jail now?"

"I don't think there's anything they can hold you on."

"But those three boys and that printer..."

He shakes his head. She might not be going to prison, but the guilt would torment her. If only things had turned out as well for her as it did for him. He spent a moment wondering if Elsbeth ever visited this neck of the woods, and by the time he looks up, Arial is gone.

* * *

Washington DC

That Night

"Scully?" She doesn't turn, so he calls to her again. "Scully."

When she turns to him he sees a dullness in her eyes, and he knows.

"Oh, god, what have I done?" he whispers to himself, looking at the monster he's summoned forth. There's no warmth to her features as she reaches out to him, just like he wanted, and he screams when she touches him-

"Daddddy!" A small voice wails fearfully and Mulder's eyes snap open in time to see his small and tearful son snatch his hand away from his father's arm.

"Hey, it's okay, Buddy," Mulder tells him as he gently draws the boy up onto the bed. "Daddy had a bad dream, that's all."

"Daddy sweeping?" Sammy asks, sniffling a little and wiping his eyes with one fist.

"Yeah, I was sleeping." Something hard pokes into Mulder's side. "What have you got?" he asks, realizing for the first time that his son is holding a book.

"Daddy read," Sammy demands, holding the book up for Mulder to see.

Mulder has to force himself not to jump out of bed when he sees the cover. **Golem **by David Wisniewski.

"Mulder? Is Sammy in here?" Scully asks before poking her head into the room. "I'm sorry he woke you up. I put him in a playpen in Page's room while I did laundry. Guess who can get out of the playpen all by himself now?" She shakes her head. "At least I think that he got out on his own, I wouldn't put it past Page to have pulled him out."

"Scully, where'd he get the book?" Mulder asks, pointing a finger at the offending picture book.

"Oh that. My mom bought the kids some new books last weekend - there was a sale on new picture books at the mall. I knew that the word Golem sounded familiar!"

"Yeah…want to read it to him? I don't think I'm up to it," he says with a small shudder that she misses.

"Sure."

She scoops up both toddler and book, leaving him to lie in bed, still shivering.


	45. Tempus Fugit

Feb. 23rd, 1997

6:03 a.m.

Scully hits the snooze button on her clock, then rolls over to her side. Her stomach's getting noticeably bigger, and Skinner has threatened to force her into maternity leave. So far, she's resisted, since she's not expecting twins or anything out of the ordinary, and her pregnancy's fine. Even as her eyes flutter closed, she hears some muttering and some other suspicious noises, and she exhales slowly. She hopes Mulder didn't let the kids eat sweets again, but keeps her eyes shut. She will not face the day if she doesn't have to, dammit.

Then a little voice pipes up, "Happy birthday to you," and the fact that it's on key makes her sit up and open her eyes. She sees her husband carrying a tray of food in his hands, a huge smile on his face, and Sammy on his leg. Page is still singing the happy birthday song, remarkably on key, and holding Teliko and Piper in each arm. "Happy birthday, dear Mommy," her little girl sings, plopping herself and the kittens on the bed, "happy birthday to you." Then she frowns at the kittens. "Kittens not sing. Rach-all made kittens sing."

Mulder chuckles and plants a kiss on his wife's forehead before gently placing the breakfast tray on her lap and away from kid and kittens. "I think our nanny actually taught her something useful," he murmurs as his wife gives a shell-shocked look at her breakfast in bed. "Happy Birthday, Dana."

She shakes her head bemusedly at the use of her first name, then quickly blows out the small candle on the sno-cone. "You shouldn't have," she says drily, hugging her daughter.

"We made choc'lit milk an' toast," Page declares proudly, "Daddy made cake."

Scully looks at the pink sugary concoction with the smoldering candle, the muddy-looking milk, and burnt toast slathered with butter and jam. "I see." Try as she might, she can't help the corners of her mouth dancing upwards into a smile. "Thank you very much Page," she says, kissing her daughter's forehead, "ooh, and thank you, Sammy," she says as her son crawls onto the bed, "and you, Mulder," she kisses his sandpapery cheek.

* * *

"Mommy no work today!" Page yells, bouncing on the bed and threatening to topple the food and drink.

"What?" Scully looks up at her husband once she has the breakfast tray in her hands.

"Skinner insisted," he shrugs, "he's the boss."

Scully glares at him, then sighs. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." She takes another look at the burnt toast. "Now who had a bite of Mommy's toast?"

The kids giggle, and Sammy smiles openly, his few teeth and tongue showing the evidence of burnt toast crumbs. "Be glad I got it before he drooled all over it," Mulder grins.

"That's all right, Sammy can help Mommy eat the toast," Scully grins back.

Then Page chimes in, "Can I help Mommy eat cake?"

Scully looks at her daughter, who has a suspicious puppydog-like look on her face. "Sure," she says, and both kids dig in merrily as their mother takes a judicious sip of very chocolate milk, her eyebrow raised at her husband.

* * *

It's a surprisingly warm day in Washington D.C., and Mulder's taking advantage of that and the fact that he's got a day off, too. Whether it's because he deserves it or Skinner wants him out of his thinning hair, Mulder doesn't know which, but doesn't care. It's a great day, he's spending it with his family, and all's right with the world. Still, there's something at the back of his head that's been niggling at him, and he knows it's important. But this past week, he's been working on cases as well as Scully's birthday present, so he's been pretty occupied.

He takes the family to places he knows Scully will enjoy, like the museums and classical music performances, as well as the park so they can all sit back and relax a while. He doesn't want to overdo any activity for his wife, even if she may protest that she can handle it. Finally, he takes them to someplace for the kids, keeping his face as poker straight as possible so he can hear Scully groan loudly.

"You really had me going for a while there," Scully makes a face as they pull up to Chuck E. Cheese's. "It was all a sucker punch to get us here, wasn't it?"

He grins. "Anything for my beloved heavenly wife," he says, bowing as he opens the door for her.

She rolls her eyes and slowly gets out of the passenger seat while he opens the back door for the kids and unbuckles Sammy from his baby chair. "It's a good thing it's our day off," she says, holding Page's hand, "or I'd be injecting a strong sedative into your bloodstream."

He leans over to her and says in a low voice, "Only if you snap on those prophylactic gloves, you sexy G-woman, you."

Scully laughs as they walk into the haven for hyperactive children, her stomach rumbling happily as they all inhale the unhealthy fast food fragrance.

* * *

A small group of CEC employees approach their table, but instead of singing "happy birthday"with the cake, they sing,

"Ow, she's a brick house

She's mighty, mighty, just lettin' it all hang out

Ow, she's a brick house

I like ladies stacked, that's a fact, ain't holdin' nothin' back

Ow, she's a brick house

Well-built together, everybody knows, this is how the story goes!"

Scully wants to glare at her incorrigible husband and her innocent children, but instead laughs uproariously. She's still giggling when Mulder presents her with a cheesy little space shuttle keychain while the erstwhile employees chant, "shake it down, shake it down, shake it down." Part of her wants to hide under the table, while the more practical, and perhaps brazen part, tells her there's no way a pregnant woman could hide under these tables so she may as well enjoy the publicity. "I knew you weren't just a Valentine's Day romantic," she smirks at her husband.

"Of course not," he says, wiping her face free of cheesy pizza before kissing her full on the mouth.

A woman with longish blonde hair approaches their table hesitantly. "Are you Mulder? And Scully?" Her already wide eyes widen further when she sees the children.

Oh no, Mulder thinks when he sees her, Max. Shit.

Scully's still got that bemused look on her face as she turns to her husband. "Mulder, is this another one?"

The blonde woman looks even more startled, but seats herself beside Sammy nonetheless. "My name is Sharon Graffia. I'm sorry to approach you like this, but I followed you. I was asked to find you if something happened."

Now Scully frowns at the woman. "Excuse me?"

"You have no good reason to believe me, but my brother, who I believe you know, he said you'd understand what to do." She looks away from the kids, who are eyeing her with wide-eyed wonder. "If he didn't make it."

"If who didn't make it?" Mulder asks, even as he's dreading the answer.

"Max," Sharon says, "Max Fenig." Even as Mulder gives his wife a pained expression and Scully has a familiar open-mouthed one, the blonde woman goes on. "He was on his way here to deliver something that made him fear for his life, something he said the government would kill for...but his plane, it went down two hours ago."

* * *

It's tricky getting a last minute flight to New York, especially with kids, but Mulder and Scully pull some strings and then some. They make it to the Northville briefing as Mike Millar, head of the plane recovery unit, is getting through the preliminaries. Curious stares accompany the two FBI agents and their family, but Mulder's used to that, while Scully tries not to fidget uncomfortably. They, along with the rest of the workers in the hangar, listen to the last words of the pilot of Flight 549 talking to tower control on the cockpit flight recorder. Even as the pilot screams "Mayday!" , Scully tries to cover both Sammy's and Page's ears. What the hell are they doing here, she wonders, and on their day off?

Then again, Scully muses as Mulder steps forward, we never do seem to take a decent vacation. For the second time that night, or perhaps the first time the next morning, she wants to hide as Mulder proposed that Max, a multiple alien abductee, predicted plane crash and that a UFO may have forced Flight 549 down. She isn't surprised when Millar shoots down Mulder's farfetched theory as easily as, well, a flying saucer. At least Mulder didn't say that the FBI supported his theory, which is a first. As he rejoins his family, followed by the laughter of the others, there's a smile on his face. She doesn't trust that smile, since it's the "I know something you don't" one that has plagued their partnership from day one. "Mulder," she says in a sarcastic voice, "you sure know how to make a girl feel special on her birthday."

"I try," he shrugs, hoisting Sammy onto his hip. "You wanna chase down flying saucers? Huh?" he asks, bouncing the little boy, who giggles.

Scully rolls her eyes. "Don't encourage him," she says, but whether she's talking about Mulder or Sammy even she's not sure. All she knows is, in spite of his lighthearted play with his son, there's something suspiciously like guilt rippling under her husband's voice.

* * *

Millar is surprised when he learns that the kids will be accompanying their parents, but since Mulder and Scully don't exactly trust complete strangers with childcare, he grudgingly allows the little ones to strap on face masks with the others. The crash site is one of unmitigated horror, and Scully prays that her children don't understand what they see in front of them, that the unimaginable will be incomprehensible. She has Sammy strapped firmly to her back so he doesn't fall in or play in the corpse-filled mud, and Mulder likewise has Page on his back. Even as she and her husband relate the chilling facts to each other, she knows that it's only a way to desensitize themselves from remains in front of them.

Scully spots a hand protruding from the water like a gruesome parody of the Lady of the Lake in the King Arthur story, except it's a man's hand and the only thing on it is a wristwatch. She starts to walk towards it, but Mulder holds her back and, even as she pouts, he wades over.

He tugs experimentally, his eyes widening as the forearm shows itself unattached to anyone or anything. Quickly, he glances at the watch before placing it on a floating piece of wreckage. As he makes his way back, he finds another watch and wraps it in tissue before picking it up. "This reads 8:01," he says, even as Page makes a futile grab for it. "So did the other one. What did they give as the time of the crash?" he asks, knowing the answer.

Scully glances at her notepad. "Um, 7:52 p.m."

"That's nine minutes difference," he says, looking out at the dismal scene.

"It must be a mistake," she frowns, taking the watch from him.

"Nine minutes, Scully," he says, turning back to her. "Do you remember the last time you were missing nine minutes?"

She sighs loudly, then shifts the baby on her back and tries to stretch a little to accommodate the baby in her stomach. "Mulder, no one even reported the plane on radar. These guys are just going off of estimates until they can recover the data recorder," she says reasonably.

As Mulder begins to express his doubts about finding Max, they hear a shout for a medic, and they race over to the scene in seconds, in spite of carrying a child on their back, or in Scully's case, her stomach as well. Even as she kneels beside the horribly burned man, Scully goes into doctor mode, "We need an airlift to a burn unit as soon as possible! This man needs oxygen and a saline I.V.!" She leans over him and asks loudly, "Sir? Can you hear me?" She resists the urge to check his vitals physically, as any unnecessary touch would cause the man immense pain, reassured that he's breathing. "Sir?"

* * *

Sharon Graffia, for all the mail that she brought over, is still holding back. Some things never change, Mulder thinks morosely, waving the Geiger counter over the wreckage being reassembled in the enormous hangar. And Scully, despite her obvious pregnancy, looked after the burned patient, a Mr. Larold Rebhun, before going through Max's mail.

I wish you got abducted and returned safely this time, Mulder thinks, I wish everyone returned safely this time. Dammit. But would the same thing happen if Max took another flight? Or would Max have gone on this flight, in spite of being warned? Mulder sighs. Max went on this flight anyways, despite the known and unknown threats to his life. Tons of questions chase through the FBI agent's mind, even as his feet and the Geiger counter take him to Max's last known place of existence.

He hears his wife's impossibly sensible high heels tick-tock across the concrete, along with his daughter's shuffling shoes, and turns around. "According to the manifest, Rebhun sat here," he says, pointing the counter to the mess, "in 13-D, the aisle seat. My guess is that Max would've been in 13-F, the window seat." He makes another wave of the wand. "But the manifest has him listed as--"

"Paul Gidney," Scully interrupts him smoothly. "It's an alias that Max Fenig used in his letters when he went underground. He had many aliases, in fact, one of which he used to get a job at the Rocky Flats Environment Energy Site in Colorado where they handle and store uranium 235 and weapons-grade plutonium."

"You think Max was carrying plutonium?" Mulder asks flatly.

Scully lets go of her daughter's hand, and Page toddles over to her father. "Mulder, the burns on that passenger's face were deep tissue radiation burns. I don't know how else he might have gotten them."

Robotically, Mulder lifts his daughter up and balances her on one hip, even while holding the Geiger counter. "So you think Max was carrying a bomb that caused this crash?"

"Mulder," she says, then stops. "He wrote thousands of letters detailing his abduction experiences, but around January, started making vague references to a theft. My guess is that if he was carrying fissile plutonium, and it became exposed in the cabin, it very conceivably could have caused the crash." She puts a hand on his arm. "It was probably an accident," she says softly.

Mulder shakes his head. He repeats his theory, not because he believes it, but because he prays it's the truth this time. "I think Max was abducted. Sucked right out of this door at 29,000 feet. The burns we're seeing are a result of that abduction. And all the evidence will point to this conclusion but it will be dismissed because of its improbability, its unthinkability. The crash of Flight 549 will go unsolved unless we find a way to prove it. And when Max is returned, he's going to tell us exactly the same story unless someone gets to him first."

Scully is silent during this tirade, giving Sammy a pacifier to suck on and wishing she could pacify her husband as easily as she can their son. "Mulder," she says, and the way he stiffens, she knows he knows it's not good news, "Max is returned. I found out a few minutes ago. They found his body a short way from the wreckage earlier today."

Mulder's looking at the crumpled passenger seat. "You sure?"

"Traveling under the name of Paul Gidney, seat 13-F, with the same burns as his seat mate." Her voice is still soft, as if to lessen the blow.

What's unexpected to both her and him is his tears. "No," he says, his voice choking. "That's not possible." As he says it aloud, it only serves to cement the dread fact.

Scully wraps her arms around him, as does their children, who are crying because their daddy is crying. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she says in a thick voice.

So am I, Mulder thinks, unable to voice it for a number of reasons.

* * *

Later, as Mulder identifies the late Max Fenig, nee Paul Gidney of seat 13-F, there are no tears. And even as Millar proposes a decent enough story for the press, his resolve for the truth returns, his mind settles back into familiar grooves. He and Scully drive down to the Reserve Installation of Von Drehle AFB to talk with (and get lied to by) Sergeant Louis Frish, and inexpertly, at that. Mulder's tempted to shake the idiot by his camoflaged lapels, but figures that won't earn them any trust later on, if things work out the way they did last time. "Just be careful," he says, not caring if it sounds like a threat. Maybe it'll keep Frish's coworker, was it Gomez or Gonzales, alive this time around.

Their next stop is Paradise Motel in Northville, where Sharon Graffia was supposed to be. Operative words being "supposed to be", Mulder thinks grimly, even as they step out of the car and onto a strangely similar crash scene. The cop is already walking away from the frustrated motel manager, and the FBI agents, children on their backs, walk towards the lone room missing a door. After teasing Scully with his thoughts of family abduction, Mulder isn't surprised to see Millar joining them with x-rays of the plane, and the x-rays only serve to prove rather than refute Mulder's theories.

Millar gives up and the agents decide to rent a room from the harried motel manager, paying for the damage to Sharon's room as well as insurance for their own. "Yeah, you never can tell if Paradise Motel will be the next Area 51 or Okobojee," Mulder quips, unlocking the door.

Scully turns to her son strapped on her back. "I guess Daddy's back to normal, whatever that is," she sighs, following him inside.

She starts to regret saying anything remotely close to "normal" as a description for her husband as he obsessively plays, rewinds, and replays the taped message over and over. Sighing, she calls room service for dinner, then gets the kids into the bathtub to wash off, well, pretty much the whole damn day. Even after she takes her own quick shower, Mulder's still holding the tape player smashed against his ear as if no time had passed. Scully sighs. She's surprised he even notices something like nine minutes missing, he can barely keep track of their children sometimes. Those same children race to the door when it rings, and Scully hustles to shove herself between her children and whoever may be behind the door.

Fortunately, it's dinner, and after she tips him, she gets everything settled. Sammy eats his baby food with mommy's help, Page eating her "big girl" food that she can chew, Mulder absentmindedly eating his microwave meatloaf, and Scully swallowing a pill before eating her own microwaved meal.

As Mulder says, "I've heard the voice of the air traffic controller before," there's another knock at the door. Scully jumps up to get it, but Mulder is quicker, and sticks his neck out. "Hello?"

A hand wraps itself around his neck and another covers his mouth. You so owe me, Mulder thinks, while Frish says, "Don't move. Just listen to me. I'm the man responsible for the plane crash."

* * *

Mulder and Scully confront Millar with Frish's testimony at the hangar, then Millar goes his own way to find the second crash site. As before, Mulder, with the help of Frish, pulls off some stunt driving that leaves the kids cheering and Scully more than a little shaky. Before they part ways, Mulder goes over the map again, although this time, he's got a better idea of where the damn saucer is. He hates to leave his wife and kids, especially with a marked man, but he trusts that if fate is unkind to Max, then it will be kind to his family. "Take the safety off," he tells Scully, kissing her before getting on his plane.

She shakes her head, but does so. There's something else going on that he won't tell her about, but she trusts him enough to let him tell her when this is over. Whenever that is. Scully yawns, then herds her children and Sgt. Frish over to their plane, which takes them to her home in D.C.

Please, let Mulder be okay, Scully prays, not for the first time. She reassures Frish about his safety, then picks up the phone. "Let me call our nanny, and we can get going," she says, and he nods. "That's weird," she frowns when she gets an answering machine. She leaves a brief message anyways, then her eyebrows go up. "What's wrong?"

"Can, can I leave a message with my girlfriend?" Frish asks. "So she knows that I'm," he breaks off, realizing that "okay" probably wasn't the right word, but not sure what to say instead.

Scully nods, handing over her cell and he dials out. As he leaves a terse, if shaky message, she looks at Sammy and Page. What am I going to do with you? she wonders.

* * *

As Scully leads a reluctant Frish and her sleepy children into the noisy Headless Woman's Pub, she says in a low voice, "Don't worry, this place is crawling with cops and FBI. We're going to be met here by a federal marshall. You're probably going to end up sleeping in somebody's office." Frish nods, still looking ill at ease, and sits down.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and Scully whips around, her gun at the ready. Her wide blue eyes take in a startled, but rather drunk, Agent Pendrell. "Happy birthday," he says, grinning. Beside him is an equally grinning but much less intoxicated Rachel.

"Rachel, Agent Pendrell, I didn't know you two," Scully finishes lamely, "knew each other."

Rachel nods. "He's one of my more persistent callers. I DJ part-time," she says to Frish's questioning look. "He sounded so smart and such a sweetie, I figured it couldn't hurt to meet him." She hugs the taller man, her small frame managing to support him, and Scully wonders if people see her and Mulder like that.

"She hasn't stopped meeting me," Pendrell chuckles. "Hey, I didn't get anything for the birthday girl!"

"It's okay," Scully says, "I'm on duty right now." She points to Frish, who makes a small wave.

"No, no, I insist," Pendrell argues, "I can't buy more than a single shot for Rachel. She's my DD," he says in a loud whisper. "C'mon, it's your birthday! Right?" he looks to his girlfriend, and she nods.

As the redheaded man waves and shouts to the bartender, a familiar figure from the wreckage crew enters the bar. Like a bad dream, the moustached man shoots at Frish, who ducks, but Pendrell doesn't. Scully shoots back as the redheaded man falls and people scream and scatter, but any follow-up shots are ruined with people blocking her way.

"Sean!" Rachel screams, holding the bleeding man to herself. "If you die on me, I'll kill you!"

"Call 911!" Scully yells to the bartender, even as a disconnected part of her mind thinks, So, his first name is Sean. After making sure her sweet babies are all right, she pries the wounded agent away from the Asian girl. Thank God, it's just his shoulder, Scully thinks, even as she uses Pendrell's dress shirt as a tourniquet. "Keep pressing and keep him awake," she tells Rachel, who nods wide-eyed. Then she turns around to Frish. "You okay?" He also nods with wide eyes, and Scully sighs with relief. She can't wait for the federal marshall and the ambulance to come and for this nightmare to be over.

* * *

Even as Mulder swims through the murky depths of the Great Sacandaga Lake, he wishes Scully could see what he sees. A real-life, bonafide UFO, complete with unconscious or dead EBE, and no black choppers in sight.

A blinding light pierces the dark veil of night and water, and Mulder almost groans in frustration. Well, there's always home video, he thinks, his last-minute backup plan in effect as he points the waterproof camera upwards as well as around. Eat your heart out, Jacques Cousteau. Before he's surrounded by unfriendly divers with spear guns and flashlights, he stows the camera away in some crusty-looking floating junk. Please let Scully and the kids be okay, he prays, and Pendrell, too.


	46. Max

February 26th, 1997

At the same time Mulder gets caught by the divers and the truck by the Great Sacandaga Lake, Scully is leading paramedics to where Rachel is still cradling Agent Pendrell in her arms at the Headless Woman's Bar. The place is now clear of everyone except the bartender, the wait staff, Scully's family and Sgt. Frish. Scully's surprised to see her boss walking through, and frowns. When she finds out that Frish is under military arrest, as well as her husband, her frown deepens.

"I'm getting way too familiar with Von Drehle AFB," Mulder drones, pulling a little at the ill-fitting prison garb.

Scully gives him a long look as she signs him out. She's pregnant, she's been on her feet forever, she hasn't gotten any sleep since who knows when, and Sammy and Page are still with her. Rachel was sleeping over at Pendrell's (Sean's, she corrects herself mentally) hospital room, her mom was visiting Charlie's family, and there was no way she's leaving her kids with either of Mulder's parents.

Another MP leads them to a room where Mulder's clothes, having been thoroughly searched if not washed, are waiting. "Did you hear the military's cover story?" he asks her when the door closes shut. "That the control tower gave bad coordinates to a fighter pilot, causing him to collide with Flight 549 over military airspace?"

Scully gives Sammy his pacifier when he starts to fuss, then hands Page her picture book. "According to the recordings I listened to, the coordinates that Sergeant Frish gave to the fighter pilot were the exact path that 549 was on. Now, they would indicate that Sergeant Frish and his co-controller could not have seen Flight 549 in the airspace until it was too late."

Mulder finishes buttoning up his shirt, then pulls on his pants. "So they're saying the tower put those jets on a collision course."

Scully nods, "Yes, and that they were the only two aircraft on the radar screen."

Mulder exhales noisily. "And realizing his guilt, Sergeant Frish's fellow officer put a gun to his head." He shakes his own head. Some folks never learn, he thinks, tying on his shoes.

Scully dusts off his jacket before handing it to him. "According to the Air Force, Sergeant Frish lied to save himself. When he found out that his, his fellow officer committed suicide, he came to us to blame the military. That's why they pursued him, to bring him to justice." Even she sounds like she doesn't believe the new story, as lies seems to compound further lies.

"Then they could conveniently lay the blame on a dead man," he says, shrugging on his jacket. She nods a little, her face solemn. "They say the second plane was a military fighter?"

"It was an F-15 Eagle, according to an Air Force spokesman," and her dry tone is mimicking the spokesman.

"You think an F-15 did this?" he asks, pulling away his longish bangs to show small radiation burns on the right side of his face.

She probes the burns gently. "Where did you get this from?" she asks, frowning slightly.

"At the second crash site, in about fifty feet of water at the bottom of Sacandaga Lake." He smirks, thinking of his insurance still buried in that lake. "I followed a trail of bubbles down to the wreckage, but it didn't look like anything that might take off from an Air Force base, an honest-to-goodness UFO."

"Except that it can't be proven," Scully sighs, opening the door. "According to Mike Millar, the man running the investigation, they haven't been able to find any physical evidence whatsoever that Flight 549 was involved in a collision." She stops and looks at her husband. "And before you accuse him of being part of the coverup, don't. He's the only one that truly wants to figure out what downed that plane and who came to me with information he had no reason to share."

Here we go, down the rabbit's hole, Mulder thinks. "And that would be?"

"He found Sharon Graffia wandering in a daze at the crash site the night we left, after seeing lights over the area." Scully wants to drown herself in a hottub and fall into a blissful dreamless sleep, but it appears she'll be denied her fondest birthday wish for a while. "It turns out she's not even Max's sister. She's an unemployed aeronautical engineer who spent time in and out of mental institutions. That's where she met Max."

"She knew we wouldn't believe her if she told the truth," Mulder says, resigned.

Scully nods. "I don't know how it's happening, but that plane is taking out more people even after it crashed." She bounces Sammy in her arms as he starts fussing again. "Sgt. Gonzales is dead, Sgt. Frish is still in custody, Graffia is in a mental hospital, and Agent Pendrell was in the ER."

"Was? He's okay?" Mulder asks and she nods, a little surprised at his vehemence. "Just checking."

"Shoulder wounds aren't necessarily fatal," she says, looking at his shoulder. "It turns out Rachel's his girlfriend and she's staying with him." As they get into the car, Scully asks, "Mulder, what are these people suffering for? Is it for the truth, or the lies? I'm not even sure what the truth is anymore."

Mulder closes the back door and gets behind the wheel. He pauses before he answers, then guns the engine. "You've always known the truth, Scully," he says, "we're gonna make sure those responsible pay for their lies."

* * *

In Barnes Corner, New York, Mulder feels like he's visiting a shrine. "Look, Page, this is where Daddy's friend used to live," he opens the door of the camper.

"Silly Daddy's friend," Page declares, and Scully agrees. The little blonde girl presses play on the tape player, and the speakers blare out some snide-sounding singer droning over special effects. Scully hits the stop button, telling her in a low voice, "Don't touch other people's things."

Her lesson is ruined by her husband, who picks up a canned tin. "Look, beans and wieners," he says, waving it in front of his son, who gurgles.

"Never mind," Scully mutters, "Mulder, what are we looking for here?"

"Something to explain what Max was doing on that plane," he replies, putting the can down, "what he was coming to show me or tell me."

"What makes you think he was coming to see you?" she asks, keeping an eye on her daughter.

Mulder sits down at a computer and hands over a bloodied business card. "I found this on his body. Max is the key to all this," he says, his voice somewhat distracted as he looks through a folder's contents on the monitor. "He knew that plane was in danger even before it took off, before it entered military airspace." Then he stands, pulling a videotape out of a drawer and popping it into the player. "How would he know that? And what would be worth taking that risk?"

As they watch the bespectacled man awkwardly recount the last few years of his life, Mulder can't help but wonder if that's the fate of all his contacts. Death. Whether by the conspiracy, a freak accident, or doing their duty in the line of fire, he's got a feeling that, aside from various family members, being a source means the same thing as being a red shirt on the original "Star Trek" show.

* * *

At the hangar, Mike Millar tells the wreckage workers, "Recovery and identification of the deceased victims of Flight 549 is at 76 percent...which is far better than anticipated, given the kind of destruction we've all seen. We've got a total of nearly 3000 man-hours logged already in this first wave of investigation...and I wish I could tell you folks that we've come up with something more concrete, but...the evidence...just doesn't support anything more conclusive than the Air Force's assertion that the cause of this crash was a midair collision...or a catastrophic near-miss."

As he looks out into the sea of faces, some of whom display undisguised disbelief, he looks for sanctuary in his folder of safe answers. "I'm going to ask you all to wrap-up your reports tonight...and then I want you to go home to your families. You've done a good and thorough job here. You'll be in touch with me or someone from the N.T.S.B. on anything further. I just wanted to thank you all personally. Thank you." As the crew walks out, some shake his hand. Millar notices Mulder and his family standing off to the side and walks over.

As he touches base with the FBI agents, Mulder tells his theory of what happened to Flight 549, along with some added insights from his own encounter the last time he missed nine minutes on a flight. Even as Millar disclaims Mulder's story, he takes them over to where he says the team found the only other trace evidence of radiation. He hands Max's green bag with the NICAP hat inside. "And that's all she wrote." He walks away as the small family looks at the last possessions of Max Fenig.

"I don't know what else you expect him to do," Scully says, but he shakes his head.

"How about Sharon Graffia?" he asks.

Her infamous eyebrow shoots up at least a couple inches. "She's a disturbed person, Mulder. She wasn't even who she claimed to be."

"Yeah, but she knew Max well enough for him to write her thousands of letters, well enough for him to call her and tell her he was going to die." He pauses, and

a self-deprecating grin spreads across his face. "I'd go with you to talk with Ms. Graffia, but I'm, I'm afraid they'd lock me up."

Scully snorts. "Me, too." Then she unceremoniously dumps Sammy and Page on her husband.

"What?" he asks.

"Surely you don't think I'd be taking our sweet babies into the loony bin, do you?" The baffled look on his face makes her sigh. "Where are you going?"

"Back to Max's place," he says, and she sighs again. "Okay, but if Sammy starts drooling crop circles or if Page starts reciting Jacques Vallee's UFO hypotheses, it's on your head."

"I'll take that chance," Scully says dryly, waving him goodbye.

* * *

Back at the trailer camp in Barnes Corners, Mulder comes across more destruction, this time of a more terrestrial nature. Opening the letter marked "Paul Gidney," he finds the key with the ID number of "SYR 4832008" "Daddy's hit the jackpot!" he tells his kids, who are busy amusing themselves with rearranging the mess in Max's camper. "Never mind," he sighs, then squints. "Time for a little logistics work," he says, pulling out his cell phone.

Meanwhile, over at the Northeast Georgetown Mental Health Center, Scully's talking with the somewhat reluctant Sharon Graffia. She reconfirms a few facts, but gets no farther with the woman, other than the fact that a third part of a stolen item from a military contractor was believed by both Sharon and Max to be alien in origin and now hidden someplace. "Mommy's hit the jackpot," Scully mutters as she walks out.

"What?" the radiation-burned woman asks.

"Nothing," Scully says, pulling out her cell before closing the door behind her. "I hope Mulder found something good." She frowns when her cell phone says his number is busy. "Now what?"

* * *

As Mulder claims the inconspicuous bag at Syracuse Hancock International, he flashes his badge to the clerk, who lets him through the security entrance. His cell phone rings and he chats with Scully, taking advantage of the static given off by the metal detector, and lets his wife know that, yes, the kids are okay, and yes, he let the x-ray figure out what was inside the bag.

Scully doesn't disguise her sigh of relief that he didn't do anything stupid. Yet. "I think that what we've got here, Mulder, is a case of high-tech industrial espionage."

"I don't know about that, Scully," Mulder replies. "More people are trying to get their hands on this thing than a 'Tickle-Me Elmo' doll. I'm getting on a flight." His eyes catch sight of his pursuers, who have yet to learn the meaning of subtlety, thank goodness for him.

Scully snorts. "No 'Sesame Street' character ever caused radiation burns, military coverups, or plane crashes."

"Not that we know of," Mulder quips.

"What's your flight number?" she comes back to the point.

He rattles off the flight number, 101, and prays that the moustached man isn't on his flight. At the same time, he's kind of hoping for a second chance to shoot the guy who killed Pendrell the first time around. Justifiable homicide, either way.

Just his luck, when he thinks he's shaken his pursuers, Mr. Moustache sits next to him. Mulder smiles, and outwardly, it looks pleasant. "There's a weapon pointed at you right now. If I shoot you at this range, it wouldn't just hit you in the leg. If you so much as raise your arms off that armrest, I'm going to test that theory."

The moustached man chuckles. "Do you know what happens when a plane suddenly depressurizes at thirty-thousand feet, Mr. Mulder? After the cabin fills with fog and all light objects, anything not tied down, including your weapon, go flying toward the breach?"

"Nice to know I'm in a place where everybody knows your name," Mulder murmurs, not backing down and shaking the bag. "It's an alien energy source, isn't it? What is it, cold fusion? Over-unity energy? What could be worth killing all those passengers on Flight 549?"

"The cause of that crash has been determined as human error," the moustached man says calmly.

"I'm going to see you pay for that error," Mulder says in a low, threatening voice, "along with you and your employer and the government that finances its contracts. I want you to stand up very slowly and move to the back of the plane. I want you to empty your pockets, and then we're going to the bathroom." When the other man doesn't budge, he nudges his gun from under his coat into the man's arm. "Do it."

The moustached man starts to laugh, but when he sees Mulder is dead serious, he does so. "You wanna wipe up when I'm done?" he asks when most of his weapon paraphernalia and other bits of junk are dumped in the seat bin.

"Shake out your socks and shoes," Mulder says, unamused.

The other man raises his thick eyebrows, but does so. When Mulder's satisfied, he nudges his prisoner to the bathroom, using one of the moustached man's items to jam the door shut. Maybe this time they won't come, Mulder thinks, pulling out his cell phone, "Scully, it's me."

"Mulder, are you and the kids on that flight?" she asks.

"Um, yes and no," he says, his eyes widening when he sees his watch has stopped.

"What?" she yells. "Where are they?"

"With Rachel," he answers, "Scully, listen. This is important. My watch stopped."

"I keep telling you to get new batteries," she grumps, "how did Rachel--?"

He doesn't let her finish. "No, my watch *stopped*," he emphasizes the last word. "Ten to one I'll be missing nine minutes at landing and if we're lucky, still holding the guy who shot Pendrell."

"What?" Scully says, but the plane starts to shake and the phone connection cuts off.

"Scully?" Mulder tries, but it doesn't work. "Oh boy." He races back to the bathroom, where the door is still securely jammed, and breathes a sigh of relief, even as the rest of the passengers and the flight attendants are screaming, his side of the plane suffused with light. Then he runs back to his seat, where the seemingly innocuous bag is sitting. He's tempted to hang onto it, but then Scully would kill him, and with that thought, he grins as the door being pulled off its hinges. Guess there are some things even the FBI and military can't control, he muses as the man in the bathroom continues to shout and pound.

* * *

As Skinner and other gruff men haul off the glowering, handcuffed moustached man, Scully yanks Mulder aside. "Don't you dare do anything like that again," she glares, days of sleepless nights apparent on her face.

"Do what?" Mulder tries for an innocent face, but it crumbles under his wife's intolerant gaze. "I'm sorry. But the good news is we got one of the bad guys, and maybe more. And the kids are okay."

She shakes her head. "But you lost the stolen part."

"Could be worse," he says, holding her wristwatch against his. There's a nine minute discrepancy. "I could be with the stolen part on a UFO."

"Mulder," she groans, then leans against him tiredly. "Let's get our kids, and let's go home."

"We've got one stop to make first," he says, hugging his wife to him as she groans louder.

* * *

Back at Barnes Corners, Max is talking excitedly on TV. In front of the monitor is a somewhat disheveled blonde woman, a pregnant redhead leaning against her tall husband, and two light-haired children playing with their Asian nanny. "These tapes, you don't mind if I keep them?" Sharon Graffia asks after hitting the stop button.

Mulder smiles and shakes his head. "No, I think you, you should consider yourself the sole curator of the Max Fenig Rolling Multimedia Library and Archive, and you should probably get tax-exempt status as soon as you can. This stuff could be worth something someday." He wishes he could've added his underwater video to the stash, but either the radiation or the cleanup crew wiped out everything on tape, leaving only static.

"I want to thank you for helping me out, for all you've done," Sharon nervously shakes both their hands.

"Max would have wanted it that way. You lost somebody very close to you," Scully tells her more warmly than Mulder would have thought.

The blonde woman nods a little jerkily, and gives them a wavering smile before joining Rachel and the kids for some show-and-tell. The couple step outside into the brisk night, and Mulder suddenly hugs his wife tightly. "I'm sorry you had such a stressful birthday," he says sincerely, "I was trying my best not to let it turn out that way."

Scully shakes her head. "You couldn't have forseen any of these," she waves a hand back at the trailer, which makes him feel even guiltier. "Besides, I got a nifty little spacecraft," she looks up at him, "with terrestrial origins."

Mulder thinks of how ironic the gift turned out to be. "If you look closer, you'll see the word 'Challenger' on it," he says, holding it up. "I believe in spite of the tragedy, that there will always be extraordinary men and women, civilians and trained professionals, and extraordinary moments when history leaps forward on the backs of these individuals," he thinks of another Sharon, teacher Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Commander Dick Scobee, pilot Mike Smith, mission specialists Ellison Onizuka, Judy Resnik and Ron McNair, and payload specialist Greg Jarvis, "that what can be imagined can be achieved, that you must dare to dream," he remembers a sad but still determined alternate Dana Scully who lost a coworker, "but that there's no substitute for perseverance and hard work, and teamwork, because no one gets there alone." As she shivers, he holds her closer. "While we commemorate the...the greatness of these events and the individuals who achieve them, we cannot forget the sacrifice of those who make these achievements and leaps possible."

With terrible clarity and an odd sort of vertigo, he remembers another space tragedy that happened years later on another February, when it seemed everyone had forgotten the horror of the "Challenger", and looking hopefully toward space. He and Scully may have prevented one space shuttle disaster, but he can't understand why Commander Rick Husband, pilot William McCool, mission specialists David Brown, Kalpana Chawla, Laurel Clark, payload commander Michael Anderson and payload specialist Ilan Ramon lost their lives in the "Columbia" on what appeared in hindsight to be a preventable accident. Plane crashes happen less than car crashes, he tells himself savagely, and space shuttle explosions even less. But it doesn't make Max's loss any easier to bear, nor the loss of the crews of the "Challenger" or "Columbia" and the original death of Agent Pendrell.

She looks up at him, at his distant gaze. "I just thought it was a pretty cool keychain," she says lightly, and he kisses her on the forehead. "Thank you."

He smiles a little, seeing how the situations have reversed their words almost exactly. Another wave of alternate vertigo threatens to sweep him, but his wife brings him back down to earth when she says, "Okay, let's get inside. I'm freezing my large butt off out here."

Now he chuckles and they walk into the Max Fenig Rolling Multimedia Library and Archive together, where their children, nanny, and new friend are waiting.


	47. Small Potatoes

March 1997

"Mulder, you've got to be joking," Scully holds up a copy of the "World Weekly Informer" bearing the photo of a monkey's head pasted on to a human baby's body and the headline "MONKEY BABIES INVADE SMALL TOWN!" She gasps as the baby kicks, then sighs. "They must not be cooking up any new alien conspiracies to keep you busy."

Mulder fights off a shudder. "As an expecting mother and scientist, children born with vestigial tails don't interest you?"

She makes a face. "Caudal appendages. Fetuses have them. Their coccyx enlarges to contain the spinal fluid and then it shrinks as the child develops. Occasionally, it doesn't. It's extremely rare, but it has been known to happen."

It sounds like such a logical explanation that Mulder's tempted to let things lie, but he knows better. Besides, he can't let the guy who nearly had his hands all over Scully the last time get away with pulling one over the locals this time as well. "Five times within the last three months, all in a town with a population of less than 15,000 people? I'd say that's a little more than a statistical anomaly."

She nods, drinking her chamomile tea. "So would I," Scully answers, feeling a bit restless. It's not too selfish to want her husband to hang around once in a while, is it? Granted, since her much-enforced maternity leave has her pretty much confined to the neighborhood radius, Mulder's pretty much the workforce on the X-Files. If things stay inactive too long in the basement, that'll be more than enough reason to shut down their division and boot them to God knows where. Nope, best not to let that happen. "No, Mulder I think you're right, I think that something about this definitely warrants investigation. Only not by us. I'd say that it's a job for the local health department." She arches an eyebrow to invite a more compelling argument.

He nods, taking a gulp of coffee before the kittens do. Since when did the cats take over the table? he wonders. "I called around. They're already investigating."

Scully rolls her eyes. "So why go to Martinsdale, West Virginia? Could it have something to do with this?" She points to the subheading below the headline: "Did West Virginia Women Mate with Visitors from Space?"

He smiles, kisses her forehead, and takes the "Informer" from her. "Call me if you need anything."

She smiles back. "Would you like to give birth this time around?"

Mulder rewards her with a mock-startled look, and as he ducks out the kitchen, hears her guffawing following him to the car.

* * *

When Mulder concludes his interview with Amanda, he realizes that he'll need Scully's scientific smarts to pull this off. Of course, he could go with the local meds, but if he starts making leaps based on medical knowledge he shouldn't know, that'll just raise red flags on his sudden omniscience to the wrong people. My God, Scully, you've saved me more than you know, he thinks as he calls her up. "Hey, Scully, it's me," he says.

"Mulder?" Scully frowns as she waits in the ob-gyn doctor's office. It's unlike him to call so early in the case, and she switches the phone to her shoulder so that she can free one hand to write and the other to hang onto Sammy.

"Oh, everything's fine. I just need some unofficial consulting with your medical expertise."

She smiles. "So Spooky Mulder can't find a woman impregnated by aliens?"

Here's hoping you'll never have firsthand experience, he thinks. "That, I can handle. What's odd is that four out of five women were receiving insemination therapy, the fifth being Mrs. Luke Skywalker, a single woman."

"Mrs. Skywalker?" Scully shakes her head. "No, Page, that's not yours," she scolds her daughter, who has taken another child's toy, "I'm so sorry. Mulder, I think what you need is to run PCR's on all the women and blood tests for the men, see if there's a common chromosome marker."

"Good idea," he says, writing it down carefully so that the local docs can read his writing. "I'm also thinking of contacting the doctor, since he's a common denominator with four out of five. Anything else?"

She grins. "Don't drink the water or you might get a baby with a tail, too."

"Ha ha, very funny," he grimaces.

* * *

For some reason, Scully finds herself going to another ob-gyn's office, this time in West Virginia. She sees another couple ahead of them arguing in low, insistent voices, their eyebrows raised when they see her and Mulder entering. "Oh, you, too, huh?" the guy says.

No, my kid's normal, Scully fumes inwardly, buttoning up her thick coat as Mulder simply smiles. They join a small herd of angry couples surrounding a panicked doctor. Angry voices chorus, "What did you do? Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything. Now folks, we're going to figure this out here, I promise. Look, everybody just relax," the harried man says, raising his arms placatingly.

The first guy doesn't buy it and gets in the doctor's face. "Don't you tell me to relax. What the hell happened to my sperm?" he yells.

Mulder decides the mob's had enough fun. "Uh, I'm Special Agent Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is Agent Scully," he says, flashing his badge. His wife does the same. Soon the crowd is clamoring for an arrest, and the tall man's surprised to hear nobody wants to shoot the guy. Maybe later. "Nobody's gonna get arrested, we just want some answers."

"Alton didn't use my sperm!" the first guy yells, and the other men agree loudly.

"I most certainly did. Each of you women was inseminated with your husband's own sperm, and nobody else's," the doctor protests indignantly.

"Why was it necessary to inseminate in these cases?" Mulder asks, as he and Scully try to shield the doctor from the angry couples.

"It was a sperm motility issue. The intrauterine process that I used has about a 40% chance of success. I was surprised, it seemed to work all four times," he says as Scully nods. That his process seemed to work so well was outside the norm. "Now the only thing I can think of is..." he muses.

"What?" another man asks.

Dr. Alton looks sad. "Maybe it never worked at all."

Scully frowns as Mulder walks out, lost in thought. "Are you sure?"

"Look, I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just saying this latest patient of mine who just gave birth to a baby with a tail, she didn't even undergo insemination. So you folks are blaming the wrong baby doctor!" he says.

* * *

Mulder and Eddie Van Blundht are in the interview room, while Scully is standing outside, holding the test results and their two kids. As her blue eyes scan the last sheet, she whistles. "Five out of five," she says, handing the tests to Mulder through the half-opened door, and he nods, taking them.

Then he looks at the suspect, who appears to have his curiosity piqued by a glimpse of Scully. Oh no, you don't, he snarls inwardly. "They spelled my name wrong," the pudgy man says, his eyes going quickly to the papers. "It's Van Blundht with a silent 'H'. B-l-u-n-d-H-t."

"We'll get right on that," Mulder says dryly.

"Lots of people spell it wrong. It's like Dutch or something," Van Blundht shrugs. Then he whines hopefully, "Can I go now?"

"No, I need you to answer some things. Like how five women came to be inseminated with your sperm?"

Blundht squirms a little. "You make it sound romantic."

I'll give you romance, Mulder wants to strangle him. It's bad enough that he resorted to an Eddie Van Blundht ruse the first time, but that this guy has no remorse about what he did, it's enough to make his skin crawl. "So you're saying romance was involved?" he says, disbelief soaking every word.

The suspect gets even more defensive. "Why is that so hard to believe? Just cause I was born with a tail no woman would want me? Maybe I got...personality. Ever think of that?"

"Uh, no," Mulder says honestly, and the pudgy man looks downcast. "Tell me something. How is it that these women had sex with you and they don't remember a thing, Romeo?"

Van Blundht looks at the one-way glass, then at the floor. "Look, I'm not saying anything one way or another. I'm just saying hypothetically, if some women wanted to have kids, their husbands weren't...capable, and everybody was happy and no one got hurt, well hypothetically, where's the crime?"

There's nothing Mulder can say without killing the guy, and with a low snarl, he leaves the interview room, to be greeted by his wife and kids. He sighs as he wraps his arms around her bigger-than-normal body and mumbles, "I don't have any farflung theories, Scully. Alien impregnation would almost be more bearable than this jerk." He grins down at the rugrats on his legs, "Hey, you guys."

Scully snorts as she pulls away. "Well, on behalf of all the women and expectant mothers in the world, I seriously doubt this is anything to do with consensual sex. I think it involved some form of Rohypnol rape. Think about it," she says reasonably, crossing her arms over her round tummy, "it's been called the date rape drug. High doses of it cause a loosening of inhibitions, memory loss. Now if Van Blundht was somehow able to slip the drug to these women especially in conjunction with alcohol..." she trails off, then exhales noisily as she grabs Sammy.

Mulder nods along, then wonders if they should increase the security around Van Blundht. He checks the area, sees there's more than enough cops and thinks, nah. Scooping up his giggling daughter, they leave the police station, one happy little family.

* * *

A couple hours later, Mulder has cause to rue his brief decision as Van Blundht escapes, and Mulder relays the news to his wife, who is back home with the kids, since this is one of Rachel's busy days. As usual, even over the phone, Scully never fails him. "So Van Blundht somehow physically transformed into his captor then walked out the door leaving no one the wiser?"

He grins, even as harried police officers swarm around the office. "I knew there was a great reason why I married you."

Scully groans as Sammy, suddenly craving attention, waves his arms to be picked up. "Mulder, why can't you just go for the simple answer? With that blow to the head the deputy might just as well have identified McGruff the crime dog as his attacker."

"I don't think the sheriff would go for the McGruff ruse," Mulder says, dodging yet another eager crime scene tech.

Why will this man never go for Occam's Razor, Scully sighs inwardly. "Two men, roughly the same build, same coloring. The addition of a uniform goes a long way to explain how one person can mistake one man for another at 3 o'clock in the morning."

"Conversely my theory goes a long way to explaining how four married women could mistake Van Blundht for their husbands, and how Amanda Nelligan could think it was Luke Skywalker. We've both seen something like this before, Scully."

So much for conventional theories, Scully almost groans. "So what are you saying, that Van Blundht is an alien?"

"Scully, you *are* kinky, aren't you?" he grins, knowing that if they were in the same room, she'd kill him. "But no, I think this is something different." Time to go monkey-tail hunting, he muses as he disconnects.

* * *

On the way to Eddie Van Blundht Sr.'s place, Mulder decides to bug Scully just for the hell of it. Nobody ever accused him of being too mature to use reverse psychology on someone. "Hey, Scully," he says in a friendly tone when she picks up.

"Mulder," she says in a less than friendly one.

"I was wondering, if you could be somebody else for a day, who would it be?"

She stops, pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at it, then shakes her head. "Myself," she says in a "duh" kind of voice.

"No!" Mulder says in the same voice Page uses when you're not playing by her rules. "I mean, wouldn't you even be tempted to try out someone else's existence for a day, live your life as somebody else?"

She smiles a tolerant smile as if he can see her. "Looking like someone else, Mulder, and *being* someone else are completely different things."

"Well, maybe it's not, I mean everybody else around you would treat you like you were somebody else, and ultimately maybe it's other people's reactions to us that make us who we are," Mulder argues.

Scully thinks there must be a mutual insanity within her if she stays married to this loon. "Jael, Heber's wife from the Old Testament."

Mulder blinks. Wow, she can still surprise him. "Why?"

"She hammered a tent peg through her enemy's, that is, Sisera's, head. They even sang a song about her."

"Scully, you know I love you, don't you?" Mulder says as he rings the doorbell.

"You better," Scully says, then wails, "Oh, nooooooooo, Sammy!"

Guess we're both gonna have our hands full, Mulder thinks, as he does a little song-and-dance with Eddie-Jr.-as-Sr.

* * *

In the morgue, Scully's dressed in scrubs, the gowns giving her something of a sexy yet saintly look, if such were possible. "So what killed Eddie the monkey man?" Mulder asks, bearing Page on his shoulders, Sammy on his back, and a cup of tea in his hands. Page squeals, "Monkey man!" to the dead body, but Mulder's firm arms around her legs make sure she stays on his shoulders.

She takes the tea from him. "It's difficult to say. The quicklime burned the tissue even as it preserved it, so what killed him is one of two things I haven't figured out yet." She beams at her husband, who looks as encumbered as she does.

"What's the other thing?" Mulder asks, and both children peer curiously at the open cadaver.

"That would be this," she taps everyone's attention to the computer monitor. "It's striated muscle tissue."

"What's so weird about that?" Mulder frowns as Sammy bounces on his back and Page grabs more of his hair.

"In and of itself, nothing," she shrugs. "*Where* I found it however-"

"*Where* did you find it?" he asks in the same tone.

"*Everywhere*," she answers, waving at the whole body on the table. "His entire body. As far as I can tell, this man has a thin stratum of voluntary muscle tissue underpinning the entire dermal layer of his skin. That's not normal. This man's body is quite a scientific specimen, and thankfully it's preserved and intact."

Mulder walks back to the body, and he and his kids oogle it curiously. As Scully closes her eyes briefly from a sudden baby kick, Sammy kicks off the tail, and Mulder tries to hide the damage. When she regains her breath, she leans against the autopsy table. "In other words, there are six hundred and fifty four muscles in the human body, and this man essentially has six hundred and fifty five," she says, unaware of the damage her son has wrought.

"Um, could that somehow be related to his uh, having a tail?" Mulder says, trying to maneuver the tail back on the body. Unfortunately, Sammy thinks it's a game and kicks it off course. Page thinks the whole thing is funny and giggles continually. He tries to communicate nonverbally for them to help him, but it doesn't work. Of course.

"Possibly," Scully says with slightly raised eyebrows. "It could be a linked gene birth defect."

"Could this be a "like father like son" kind of a thing?" Mulder asks, while thinking, I just wish Sammy wasn't like me in breaking off this stupid tail! He continues to shield her view of the corpse's rear end with his and their kids' bodies.

"What do you mean?"

"Uh, could Eddie junior have, uh, the same anomalous muscular structure as his dad here? Well, um, if this musculature underlies the entire skin, then maybe it could be utilized to remold the skin's shape and texture. Which would go a long way to explaining why we're looking for a man who can appear to be his own father, or anyone else for that matter."

Now she smirks at him. "Isn't it much more likely, Mulder, that this man simply has an identical twin?"

"Now you're subscribing to the evil twin theory?" Mulder raises his eyebrows. "You are walking on the wild side, Scully."

She makes a face and grabs him just as he's finally balanced the tail on. "Watch the kids while I take a closer look at the body," she says, kissing him, then Page and Sammy.

He nods. "Actually, I think I'll talk to the one anomaly in Van Blundht's MO. Mrs. Luke Skywalker."

"Behave yourselves!" she calls out. As the door closes, the tail falls off. "What the?" she wonders.

* * *

At the hospital, a worried Scully rushes over to Mulder, nursing a huge headache. "What happened?" she frowns, examining his injury. She didn't have much time to change, so she's still got hospital scrubs under her thick winter coat.

"Van Blundht surprised me. He cold-cocked me and then he got away," he grimaces as she replaces the cold compress.

"You got a lead on him?" she asks.

"No, but the local authorities are already on the warpath for going after one of their own. They'll catch him eventually," he answers, standing up.

"So what? That's it for us?" Scully puts a hand on his arm.

He makes a face. "I know I dragged you out here Scully, but I'm beginning to think this whole thing is just a waste of time."

"Now you think there's no X-File here?" she says, a half-smile on her lips.

He grins back. "No, nothing but small potatoes."

"Where are the kids?" she asks.

"Kids?" he blinks.

* * *

Aw hell, not again, Mulder thinks, as not only Scully but also Van Blundht surprises him. The damn guy disguised himself as the security guard, the real guard being hidden up in the ceiling. And he's still locked up in a room with somebody's leftover lunch. Bleagh.

At least I left the kids with Scully's mom before I came, but that only gave him more time to sucker me, Mulder glares at the stale food.

Now, where the hell is the janitor when you need him? He kicks at the door angrily, then yells, "Heyyyyyy!!! Somebody get me the hell outta here!"

* * *

Scully's about to ask more when her cell phone rings. "Oh, hi, Mom," she says. "Oh, yeah," she looks briefly at Mulder. "I'm sorry, we just got caught up in a case, yes, me, too," she sighs, absently tucking a lock of red-gold hair behind her ear, so she doesn't see her husband's mouth hang open uncharacteristically. "Listen, we'll pick up the kids as soon as we wrap this up, okay?" She hangs up and gives him a level look and he straightens up. "Next time you leave the kids with Mom, let me know, okay? You had me worried a while there."

He nods, relieved. Kids. Boy, this might be a problem. He knew they were married by the ring and the snapshots in the wallet, but why weren't there any kid shots? "Why don't we work on that report, then give ourselves a free night before we pick up the kids?" he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "Really?"

He nods agreeably. "Really. Let her have some fun spoiling her grandkids, and we can have fun spoiling ourselves."

She looks like she's about to argue, when another look comes over her. "Fine." She winks at him. "Let me run those anomalous musculature tissue samples by Quantico, you type out the report, and I'll see you at home, okay?"

"Anything you say," he grins. This is gonna be fun.

* * *

Scully comes home to find the place spruced up, candles on the table, and something good in the kitchen. Wow, he wasn't kidding about spoiling ourselves, she thinks, "Honey, I'm home!" she calls out, carrying a stack of files, looking like a snowwoman under her winter coat.

"Hey," he grins, coming out of the kitchen. "What were you working on?"

"More autopsy data," she answers as he gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "You know, everyone at the lab found Mr. Van Blundht pretty fascinating. We discovered an additional anomaly related to the hair follicles in his scalp. I can't even begin to guess at the nature of it until we can run it through the transmission electron microscope," Scully says excitedly, then frowns as he pulls out a bottle of wine. "What's that for?"

"To celebrate," he says.

"Well, you'd better drink up my share," she says, "you know I can't have anything like that for now."

His eyebrows go up, but he nods. "Uh, yeah," he says, wondering if she has her period. Ugh.

"So, what brought you to the breaking point of actually making dinner?" she grins.

"Well, we never really talk, do we?" he says.

"We are now," she shakes her head teasingly.

"Okay, yeah," he says, "so I thought it'd be nice to have a quiet dinner, and, you know, really talk." He runs a hand through her hair. "You get into something more comfortable and I'll finish up here."

She looks at him with upraised eyebrows, then nods and goes upstairs.

He's lighting up the only working fireplace in the whole mansion when he hears a knock. "I got rid of the kids and the husband, now what?" he grumbles under his breath, wearing Mulder clothes and mumbling like Mulder. His eyes widen when he sees the real deal behind the door.

"You might wanna check the peephole next time, Van Blundht," Mulder says, punching him. "Where is she?"

"Where is who -- Mulder!" Scully says breathlessly, her eyes on a Mulder lying on the floor. Then she sees a very disheveled, angry Mulder standing at the door. "Mulder?!?!"

"Scully!" Mulder says, running up to his wife.

The Mulder on the floor morphs back into Eddie Van Blundht and into shock. "She's pregnant?"

"How could you not tell?" Mulder wonders as Scully socks him.

"She, she was wearing a thick coat, she never," Van Blundht stammers, his eyes wide as saucers. "Oh my God." He continues to crawl backwards until Mulder's long legs and gun stops him. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yeah," Mulder nods. "Hey, Scully? What's the going rate on sex offenders?"

"In Maryland?" Scully puts a hand to her chin. "Fifteen to twenty, depending on good behavior. And a good chance of being somebody's sweetheart without having to change your face," she adds meanly.

Van Blundht is beyond pale. "Y-y-you mean," he gasps.

"I'm afraid so," Mulder says, not sounding sorry at all. "But think of it this way. You won't be a loser when everyone wants a piece of you."

* * *

When the proper muscle relaxants are administered and the cops drive off, Mulder and Scully look at each other. "You were jealous for a while there, weren't you?" she grins up at him.

"Me? No," Mulder doesn't look at her.

"Yes, you were," she says. "That your big-as-a-house-wife could snag someone, didn't that make you the teensy bit jealous?"

He shakes his head, still not looking at his gorgeous, ginormous wife. "What happened to the security around here?" he glowers into the empty space. "Don't ghosts have a DNA detector or something?"

Scully folds her arms over her large stomach. "They're ghosts, not bulldogs or a biometric security system," she smiles. "Besides, I was okay. I didn't drink any wine," she nods to the bottle that was carted off with the crime scene guys, "and you noticed he dropped the loverboy act once he saw, well, me." She looks a little disappointed, though.

"Yeah," Mulder agrees, wrapping himself around her and kissing her forehead, "some guys have no taste." She giggles, and he smiles. "No, really, if you could be somebody else, who would it be?"

She looks up at him and shakes her head. "I'm good, Mulder. I've got a great job, good kids, most of the time," and he chuckles, "and a bright, if mildly insane partner and husband." Ignoring his muttered "hey," she goes on. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather be right now. Why, do you want to be someone else?" The eyebrow goes up.

He smiles a huge smile that surprises her. "Yes," he says firmly. "I wanna be the guy who chases down the Truth from basement files, the guy with the sexy wife and fun kids, the haunted house and great life. I wanna be the guy who has it all."

"Wow, I can see why you'd go for that," Scully agrees. "Let's look for him, and I can marry him."

He laughs and hugs her. Please, please, please, if this is a dream, I don't ever want to wake up, he prays. If this is insanity, let me rejoice in my madness. If this is temporary, let me be, too. Right now I'm the man who has everything, the man I wanted to be. I don't ever want to go back. Never.

* * *

April 1st, 1997

8:23 p.m.

"Mulder?" Scully's groggy voice brings him out of a monograph on werewolves as cryptozoological creatures as they relate to their distant cousins the timber wolf and other lupine animals.

"Yeah," he says, taking off his reading glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He turns around, still dressed in his office clothes, minus a suit jacket and tie and frowns. "What's up?"

Scully's eyes are still fighting sleep, but her voice is clear. "It's coming."

"What is?" Mulder asks, his mind still stuck on the werewolves paper.

"The baby," she says, struggling to sit up.

"Ha ha, April fools, I get it already," Mulder says, having had more than his share of dead ends and snide remarks from "normal" bureau types today.

"Mulder," Scully says, and the grim, set tone in her bleary blue eyes and strangled voice are the same, "I'm not joking."

Fortunately for them both, Mulder is not a dim sitcom dad and the bulb comes on overhead pretty quickly. "You're not, oh my God, hang on," he says, grabbing the baby bag with one hand and calling Maggie Scully with the other. "Actually, you talk to your mom, I need to help you get out of bed," he says, and she smiles.

"And then you need to call the hospital," she reminds him, and he nods, grabbing his cell phone once he's pried her from the comfy clutches of the bed.

* * *

11:21 p.m.

At the hospital, Mulder is pacing up and down the hallway. It may be his third child, but it doesn't mean the wait is any easier, especially since this hospital is so old-fashioned that they don't welcome fathers in the delivery room; by the time they'd discovered that, it was too late to pick another hospital. He knows it could go all night and into the next day, if need be, but he really hopes Scully won't have to go through that.

::She must really love kids,:: he thinks, and him if she's wanting to go through labor how many more times. He knows, in spite of surviving death numerous times, that he'd probably adopt if he had to go through the kind of pain his wife is right now. Who knows, they might adopt anyway, he's never been the type to shun people just because they weren't related. Besides, it's not like his family tree isn't complicated enough already, what's one or two extra? Not to mention numerous Samantha clones running around out there.

With that thought, a sudden irreverent grin sneaks across his face. Yeah, the first set of grownup Samanthas are out there, as well as a bunch of younger ones, and yet another young woman who's been led to believe she's Samantha and the Smoking Man's daughter as well. How weird is that? He wonders how's that going to look like on their kids' family trees. Where would one put clones? Or stardust, for that matter? And what about Jeffrey and Cassandra Spender? Forget family trees, might as well have an orchard. Or a eugenically engineered crop with interspliced offshoots. There we go.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the doctor calling for him until the doctor's right behind him. "Mr. Mulder?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, turning around and automatically searches the witch-like old lady's face. "How is she? Is she okay?"

The doctor smiles, and the wrinkles around her face almost make her eyes disappear. "She's doing great. So is your daughter."

Cool, another daughter, Mulder thinks. "Can, can I see them?" he asks.

"Follow me," the doctor says, and the tall man follows the wrinkled old woman down the sterile hallways to a room where his wife and child awaited him.

* * *

He's always thought Scully as beautiful, but just seeing her holding their daughter, the words disappear and a huge, goofy smile plasters itself on his face. She looks up and smiles, and he can feel the air exit his lungs in a whoosh. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," she replies, and looks down at their daughter. "She's got dark blue eyes. I think it'll turn brown like my mom's."

He looks at his new little girl. "I can see I'm gonna have to beat the guys off with a stick," he jokes, his finger lightly stroking his baby's soft cheek.

"You already do," Scully smirks, but it's a tired smirk. "I'm not sure you've entirely evolved."

"Hey," he says, mock wounded, "it's all done in love. Me daddy, no touch my little girl."

The redhead makes a face, then smiles. "My husband the missing link, I'll be famous."

Mulder puts his hands over his daughter's ears, practically engulfing them in his large mitts. "You got to unduly influence Sammy and Page," he says, "this little girl's gonna think her daddy's brilliant."

"I did no such thing," Scully protests, even as the baby squirms under Mulder's hands. "They came to that well-thought out conclusion on their own."

"Yeah, right," he says, removing his hands when it's obvious the baby doesn't like being overly protected. "I say it's their intelligent, albeit skeptical, mommy had a hand in it."

Scully shakes her head. "I think just seeing their prodigious, if paranoid, daddy in action would do the trick."

Suddenly Mulder draws her hand to his chest. "Let's not fight on this," he says, and kisses her fingertips. "You've got to save your energy for more important battles, like what to name our daughter."

"Have you thought of a name yet?" she asks, bemused when he returns her hand.

He nods. "Jester," he says, "for being born on April Fool's day. We can call her Jess for short."

Scully makes a face. "Mulder, I am not calling her Jester. What kind of name is that for a girl?"

"It's a cool name," he protests, "and it would make a cool tattoo." By the look on her face, he's guessing she doesn't agree. "Okay, maybe not a tattoo, but don't you think it's a cool name? She'll have street cred right off the bat!"

His wife rolls her eyes. "I don't think that would give her anything except maybe ammunition to tease her. Mulder, be serious."

"I *am* serious," he says, and puts his hands up. "At least I'm not suggesting we call her Fool."

"Why don't we call her April," she suggests, "it's a good name and it's a girl's name."

"But that's so boring," he grumbles, sitting next to her. "Lots of people name their kids April."

She raises an eyebrow. Oooooh. "We could always name her Fox and see how she likes it," she says.

"Ouch," he says, "all right. April it is. But I get to pick her middle name," he says.

"Fine," she says, closing her eyes. "Whatever. I love you, but I need to get some sleep."

He kisses his wife's forehead, then his daughter's. "Sweet dreams, Dana and April," he says softly before leaving.

As he fills out his daughter's name for the hospital records, he writes in April's middle name: "Purim." He doesn't know the exact bible story, but he recalls there being a beautiful princess as well as an energetic jester in the play, and figures his daughter can be anything she wants to be when she grows up.

* * *

April 3rd, 1997

2 p.m.

"No Sammy, not on the floor," Rachel says with a sigh as Sammy delicately and deliberately releases half a banana from his grip and lets it drop onto the tiles below his high chair. "I swear your mommy said they were working on getting you to keep the food on your tray." The banana had obvious structural weaknesses, which is probably why half of it implodes on impact.

Unfazed by the comment about his supposed improved respect for food Sammy gives her a beautiful smile, which makes the nanny groan and cover her eyes. The fact that she was earning overtime these last couple of days so her employers could be together at the hospital was nice, but the kids were exhausting her more than usual. At least she could normally sleep at home. As it is this lunch has been dragging on for an hour because she's too tried to care that it's taking forever.

Still concerned about all things sticky, Page wipes her hand on the wet washcloth that all the adults who know her have taken to leaving by her plate at meal times. "'nana all clean." Page looks around, seeming confused all of the sudden. "Rachall, where Mommy? Daddy say after lunch. I all done."

"Sammy's not done." Rachel impresses herself with the quick answer.

"Ohh…" The little girl turns to her brother. "You be all done!"

"That's it, you tell him," Rachel mutters. Sammy ignores them both and goes back to eating banana coated cheerios one by one.

"He's not listen."

"I know. He wouldn't listen to me either. How about you go look out the window and watch for your parents? They should be here pretty soon."

"Yeah, okay." Page wanders out of the room.

As Rachel is bending to clean the smooshed banana, the washcloth that Page used lands on her back, making her jump. "Page, that wasn't very nice." She complains as she peels the damp cloth off her back.

"What Rachall?"

Page's voice sounds far away, so Rachel is confused when she turns around and sees the girl turning from the window in the entry way. She blinks. There's no way a two-and-a-half year old girl could have tossed a wash cloth thirty feet and have hit her target.

"What?" Page repeats.

"Hey Page, come here."

"Okay."

Holding the washcloth by a corner, Rachel shows it to Page. "Where did you leave this?"

"Table." She points to a spot near her plate.

"That's what I thought." Rachel sighs again. "It fell on me like someone threw it. Sammy can't reach that far, though."

Page nods. "Ghosties."

"What?"

"Ghosties. They's kids too."

"Um, yeah…" Rachel trails off when she hears a car pulling into the driveway. "Maybe that's your parents." Page squeals and runs back to the window.

By the time the front door opens, Sammy has been freed from his high chair and is clean if still slightly damp. He joins his sister and they both jump up and down as their parents come into the house. Rachel hangs back a little, but is also curious about her new charge.

Mulder has the baby in his arms, and he stoops down so his older children can see what he's holding. "This is April. She's your new sister."

Sammy's eyes widen in shock. "A baby!"

Page doesn't seem as surprised, but she gives her mother a long look before leaning over to talk to her sister. "You made mommy fat."

Her parents laugh helplessly, and Rachel holds up her hands. "I didn't tell her that, I promise."

Mulder grins. "That's my fault, actually. She wanted to know where Scully's lap when so I told her it was because her mother was going to have a baby… smart little girl."

He stands up straight and suggests that the kids let their mother sit down so they can see the baby more. Scully looks thankful for the suggestion, which makes Rachel think that the woman must be twice as tired as she is. As soon as the baby is in Scully's arms, Mulder beckons Rachel away.

"Thank you for all the extra time this week. Did they behave themselves?"

"They were good. Their grandmother came and spent the afternoon with them yesterday, so they were thrilled about that." She pauses before blurting out. "Do you know that Page thinks there are ghosts in this house?"

"Uh oh," Mulder says, making Rachel wonder if she's just gotten Page in trouble, which wasn't her intention. "The ghosts haven't hidden anything on you, have they? If they have I'll help you find whatever it was before you leave."

"You think there are ghosts too?!" Rachel squawks.

"They're not dangerous or anything," Mulder says quickly. "They're just a little naughty."

"They didn't take anything," Rachel tells him, feeling dazed. "They just threw a washcloth at me…and I think they took my blankets off me a few times, but that could have been tossing and turning."

"Sorry about that. They haven't seemed to taken an interest in you until now, so I didn't think they'd bother you."

"How did you end up with child ghosts in your house?"

"I wondered that too, because the uncle who left me the house was a bachelor with no children. I visited the historical society a while back but didn't get any answers. I can only assume there was some sort of accident when children were visiting the house."

"Oh, that's awful."

"They seem happy here, though," Mulder tells her. "Did you want to see the baby before you leave?"

"Sure."

The nanny's deft handling of the newborn puts Mulder and Scully both at ease. It will be weeks before the baby is left in her care - though she'll be coming to look after Sammy and Page while Scully is on leave - but it's nice to see that she isn't afraid of the infant.

"What a little sweetie. I hope my own kids are like this."

"Planning on having them any time soon?" Scully asks in a gently teasing tone.

This, not the baby, flusters the young nanny. "I don't think Sean or I are ready to talk about that." She hands April back to Scully with a blush.

Mulder comes to her rescue. "How about you show me where your bag is? It looked heavy a few days ago. I'll carry it out to your car." Rachel looks relieved as she scurries up to the guest room.

* * *

Once Mulder has seen the nanny off, he wanders back to his wife. "Should I know who 'Sean' is?"

Scully looks up from admiring her youngest daughter who is sleeping in Mulder's arms. "Yes, since you've worked with him. Agent Pendrell."

"His first name is Sean? I thought it was Agent."

"Funny, Mulder."

Mulder shrugs. "I didn't know they were that serious, though. They make sense in an odd sort of way. Just as long as they don't run off and leave us in the lurch for a nanny."

Scully smirks at him. "I'm sure they'd be so pleased to have your blessing."

"Who wouldn't be?"

April opens her mouth and emits a wail that cuts off further banter between her parents.

"Baby cryin'" Sammy helpfully informs them.

"We know, Sammy," Mulder says, jiggling April, in hopes of calming her.

"Make stop."

"I wish."


	48. Elegy

St. John's Church.  
Alexandria, VA.  
Easter, 1997

Mulder is about as twitchy as the child attached to his leg. It may have  
been a private promise on Scully's part, but as he's realized, when she  
makes a promise, she keeps it. "Hold still, ya squirmy varmint," he bends  
down and whispers into his son's ear, making him giggle, but stay relatively  
still, and for that, his father is grateful.

Sammy, like his older sister Page and baby sister April, is dressed in white  
formal clothes. Likewise, Mrs. Scully, and Melissa are all decked  
out, and so are the Lone Gunmen, who, although not nominally Catholic, are  
the proud godfathers. A passerby might think that the kids are wedding  
attendants, but actually, they're the stars of the show.

Having gone through the whole rigamarole of getting ready for the baptism,  
Mulder's learned more about the other half, that is, his wife's Catholic  
beliefs and her surprising strength in them. He sighs inwardly, if he'd  
learned this before, he wouldn't have been surprised at her sudden swings  
toward faith whenever it came up in their cases. Better late than never, he  
adds, trying to pay attention as the priest asks the kids, "You and your  
parents and sponsors have spent a long time preparing for this day. Is it  
your desire to be baptized?"

Page murmurs a shy "yes" while April simply smiles, but Sammy shouts, "NO!"

Everyone laughs, while Scully groans and Mulder tries (and fails) to hide  
his grin. Father McCue also smiles, then bends down and asks, "Samuel, do  
you want to be baptized, too?"

Sammy looks up at his dad, who shrugs. A solemn look comes over the little  
redhead's face, and he nods. "Okay," he says.

Mulder breathes an inward sigh of relief, especially since Scully's glare at  
him has dimmed from laser-intense to merely first-degree burns. The rest of  
the baptism goes without a hitch, just like the rehearsal, and the ritual  
goes by painlessly, as Mulder and Scully read their hopes and prayers over  
their children and the priest blesses the little ones in words and water.  
April cries when the water splashes on her face, but that's understandable.  
In a weird way, he could kinda get used to this, rituals being reminders of  
love as well as obligation. And considering Scully's promise was made over  
concern for his well-being, he can understand the sentiment. Once the  
baptism is over, they launch into a familiar scenario common to pretty much  
every religion: everybody eats.

"Now this I can get into," Frohike murmurs, digging into the buffet.

Mulder doesn't have a chance to respond sarcastically because Mrs. Scully  
comes up and asks, "So, Fox, when will you get baptized?"

While her husband searches for a diplomatic reply, Scully smiles and  
squeezes his arm, "He's already a believer, Mom."

"He is?" the older woman blinks. "But I thought…"

"Just a little more Old Testament-fashioned than the rest," Mulder grins,  
even as he shoots a silent "thank you" to his wife.

He's saved from any more probing questions from either Mrs. Scully or Father  
McCue as he does kid wrangling for the rest of the afternoon. He notices,  
though, with some wry amusement, that the Gunmen aren't similarly blessed  
with children as a diversionary tactic, and instead stuff their faces  
It isn't until everybody leaves the church and he and his family are  
seatbelted in that Mulder finally breathes a real prayer of thanks.

"Mulder?" Scully asks, concerned. "Are you okay?" It's been a long day for  
everyone, and now that the kids are making tired noises, it seems that  
they're ready for a nap. Me, too, she adds mentally.

"Now I am," he grins, starting the car.

* * *

July 2nd, 1997

Night

Scully smiles to herself when she sees that Mulder is lying on his stomach, almost nose to nose with April. The baby, also on her belly, is lifting her head to look around. Mulder is speaking to the baby in a voice too low to be heard.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"Trying to see what the world looks like from her level."

"What's different?" she asks, humoring him.

"Well, from down here, you're really tall. Mommy's a giant, isn't she April?"

Scully snorts. "I was a giant before she was born, not after. Ask Page."

She expects him to laugh, but he looks up at her with a very solemn expression. "Are you sure you're ready to go back to work?"

Three months of being home with the baby has been both nice and maddening. It makes her feel guilty, but she is ready to do something more intellectually stimulating with her time, and she's confident that Rachel, for all her idiosyncrasies, will be as good with the new baby as the two older children. Of course, she can't tell Mulder this. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Because if you're not, we can talk to Skinner about exten-"

"Really, Mulder, I'll be okay."

"Okay." He gives her a winsome look. "I've missed having you around the office."

"It's good to be missed," she tells him, getting down on the floor to play with April too.

* * *

July 5th, 1997

6:30 a.m.

When Mulder enters the nursery to dress his two youngest children, he's surprised to see Sammy sitting up in his crib. His eyes have dark shadows under them, and his face looks exhausted. He reaches his arms up and whines plaintively, "Baby loud!"

The loud baby is sleeping soundly, so Mulder carries his son into the master bedroom where Scully is still putting on her makeup. He puts Sammy on the bed and points at him. "Look at him, he's not getting any sleep. When he was small Page slept through his night noise, but he's not sleeping through April's."

As if to emphasize his father's point, Sammy slumps over, sprawling on the bed.

Scully picks the toddler up and cuddles him. "Oh, Sammy. I think it's time we put him in his own room, Mulder."

Mulder starts to nod, but Sammy shrieks "No!" and begins to cry.

All they can do is exchange bewildered looks. Mulder takes him and tries to calm him down. "You don't want your own room, huh, Buddy. How come?"

After hiccupping a couple of times, Sammy wipes tears off his face with a fist. "'lone scary. Too dark." They'd tried putting him in that room one night earlier in the week after setting up a toddler bed, and ended up with him in their bed. Now they knew why.

"We can put a night light in your room," Mulder suggests.

Sammy cries harder.

"Page's room," Scully blurts out. Sammy stops crying and looks at her. "Do you want to sleep in Page's room for a little while?"

"Car bed?"

Scully grins. "I think that can be arranged. Go wait in your old room for Daddy to come change you."

"'K, Mommy!" He dashes out of the room.

"You're good," Mulder tells her.

"I know."

"Do you think Page will mind?"

"Nah. But if she does, we can tell her it was your idea."

"Oh, that's nice."

His wife smiles brightly at his scowl.

* * *

Angie's Midnight Bowl

Noon

Scully walks down the lane toward Mulder and Angie, who are lying in the lane, looking up at the pin setter. Shrugging to herself, she doesn't even wonder why.

Catching sight of her, Mulder beckons with a hand. "Hey, Scully, take a look at this."

She joins them underneath the pin setter and squints at the floor. "What am I looking at?"

"The pin setter. You see the way it's wedged and broken?" Scully tells him she does. "Mr. Pintero said the only way that would happen would be if considerable weight or pressure was placed on it from above."

"This is where you saw the body?" Scully asks Angie.

"Yes ma'am, she was caught up in the machinery. Her neck was cut."

"And the blood from the victim was pooling where?"

Angie points to a spot on the slick floor. "Right there."

"But both the body and the blood were gone when you returned?"

Angie looks anxious, obviously sensing her disbelief." Yeah, but like, like I said, the woman in the parking lot..."

"Was the same woman that you saw caught up here in the machinery?"

"That's right."

All three of them walk out from under the pin setter, and Scully and Angie discuss whether or not he's lying. Before things get heated, Mulder interrupts." Can I ask you a favor? Can I get a soda, a cola, something like that?"

While Angie gets the soda, Mulder speaks to his wife in a low voice.

"What is that look, Scully?"

"I would have thought that after all these years you'd know exactly what that look was."

"I know you believe in ghosts, Scully."

"I believe in our ghosts. IF that's what they even are," she grumbles. "But you think what this man saw was the victim's ghost?"

"Sounds more like a disembodied soul."

"Which is just another name for a ghost."

"Except according to Mr. Pintero, this one was trying to communicate. It was speaking to him as if she was trying to tell him something. It sounds more like a death omen."

"A death omen? Like a banshee or big black dog?"

"Something like that. It's a spirit being that arrives as a harbinger of death. It looks just like the person who is dying."

"So if I see you when you're not supposed to be around I should worry about being widowed?"

"Funny." He smirks. "This is the third reported sighting in as many weeks...and as many murders. Each time the victim appearing near the crime scene trying to communicate, trying to say something."

"Communicate what?"

"I don't know yet but, uh...If you hold on a second I may have an answer for you." He thanks Angie for the soda then begins pouring it on the floor. Angie is really unhappy with his behavior, but Mulder ignores him and points to the spot Angie showed them before.

"She is me."

Both Scully and Angie are confused. "What?"

"Written onto the wax - she is me - look at this!"

They look where he's pointing and see the phrase etched in wax and filled with soda.

* * *

After Detective Hudak tips them off about call coming from a mental hospital, the agents go to visit Harold Spuller and speak to him and the nurse who cares for him

"I don't know anything. I didn't do anything. Leave me alone." Harold is sullen.

"You made that phone call, didn't you Harold?"

"No!"

"Did you say the words 'she is me'?"

"No!"

"Have you ever heard those words?"

"No!"

Mulder doesn't bother to point out the fact that at the very least Harold just heard him say the phrase. "Have you ever seen a ghost, Harold?"

"No! No!" Hatold rocks back and forth, getting even more agitated. "Please leave me alone."

The nurse makes a move to try to comfort the stricken man, but he just continues to shout no at the top of his lungs. They stand to leave, and Scully leans in to Mulder. "Well...when you're right, you're right."

"17...30...37...45...53." Tears stream down Harold's face, and neither Scully nor Mulder notice that he looks as them as they leave. "You're a ghost, you're a ghost, you're…"

* * *

An office in the psychiatric center

A doctor has let them borrow an office while Scully looks over Harold's medical records. To the surprise of both, the center seems eager to cooperate.

Scully looks up from a file." Harold Spuller suffers from pervasive developmental disorder, which is sometimes called atypical autism. He's spent his entire life in and out of facilities just like this one. He has been medicated, he has received shock therapy and, aside from his other disabilites, he has been diagnosed with severe ego dystonic obsessive-compulsive disorder...which would explain the switching of the victims rings."

"So why all of a sudden?" Mulder asks her.

"You mean what made him snap? Why, I think his outburst clearly showed a frustrated impulse towards violence when he was put in a challenging situation."

"That outburst didn't come until after I'd asked him if he'd ever seen a ghost."

"Mulder, the man is disturbed. You could see the pressure building in him from the moment the interview began."

"Yeah."

"Why are you now so unconvinced that Harold Spuller is the man we came here looking for?"

"I'm sure Harold Spuller is the man that made that phone call. On the other hand I don't think he's any more capable of murder than our kids are. What led us to him still remains unexplained."

"She is me."

"Uh huh, and the other apparitions, like the one Mr. Pintero saw at the bowling alley."

"Well, I think I have an idea about that if not an explanation. Howard Spuller is at this facility voluntarily, which means he can come and go as he pleases, to kill those women or to hold down a job or both."

Scully points to a page from Harold's records, which shows Angie's Midnight Bowl as his place of employment . "This isn't a coincidence."

"Maybe not," she agrees, standing abruptly.

"Hey were are you going?"

"No where really, I just need to find a washroom."

"You're not pregnant, right?" Mulder teases. But the glee flees his face suddenly when he recalls that they didn't wait a second longer than six weeks to get back on familiar terms…

"Jesus, Mulder, I just have to pee!"

She walks out in a huff leaving Mulder with a smug look on his face.

* * *

Her irritation at her husband is wearing off by the time she leaves the stall and goes to the sink to wash her hands. She turns off the water and looks up at the mirror. The words "She is me" are written on the mirror in blood. As she stares at the mirror, a low moaning sound is heard. She turns around and sees a pale, ghost-like figure of a young woman standing by the window. The sweatshirt clad woman's mouth moves, as if she's speaking, but as with her father's shade, Scully can't hear anything she's saying. As Scully watches, a line across the young woman's throat opens up like a seam and blood runs down her neck.

A frightened sound escapes her throat and she backs up so suddenly that she hits a stall with a resounding thud. On the other side of the door she can hear Mulder calling for her. "You okay in there?"

Her attention diverted by the question, she looks away from the ghost and to the door, as if she could see him through it. When she hesitantly looks back to the window, she sees that's she's alone.

"Scully, you in there?"

The words are no longer on the mirror, either.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she says shakily. "I thought I saw something. A rat."

"A rat? I thought this place was supposed to be upscale." He opens the door a crack to speak to her, but doesn't enter the room. "They found another victim. A college student with her throat cut. Just about a half block from here."

He lets the door close again, leaving a stunned Scully alone in the bathroom.

* * *

A City Street Near The Center Of Town

Scully barely suppresses a shudder when she looks at the body. The young woman is the same one she saw in the bathroom, wearing the same sweatshirt.

Mulder notices, but doesn't make an issue of it. "Her name was Loren Heller, age 21. She's single, apparently she was on her way home from a bar that she part-timed at after school. She had a ring on her left hand, switched to her right hand, pinky finger. She was dead less than an hour when she was found."

"That would rule out Harold Spuller as the killer, huh?" Scully asks, stepping back from the unpleasant sight.

"No, actually it doesn't. Harold's not at the home. He's nowhere to be found. His nurse locked him in his room after we left, but he managed to escape unnoticed."

"I don't imagine he'd be too hard to find. He's a creature of habit, after all."

"Yeah, but I think we should be the ones to find him, if only to find out what 'she is me' means." He glances at her and notices her distracted expression. "Missing the baby, huh?"

"What?" She blinks, confused.

"You look a thousand miles away. I thought that was it."

"Oh yeah, I was wondering how April is."

"Why don't you go home? I can get Harold myself."

"Are you sure?" She doesn't realize that she looks grateful.

"Positive. I'll give you a call if anything exciting happens."

* * *

Washington DC

Scully, with hands clasped in front of her chin, is somberly staring into space. There's a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. She gets up and opens it.

"I was afraid you were sleeping."

"Not yet. Has something 'exciting' come up?"

"I needed your help on something. I needed your medical expertise."

"On what?"

"Harold Spuller. You know Angie Pintero, the bowling alley guy? He's dead."

"How?"

"Natural causes. Congestive heart failure. Just keeled over right in the bowling alley."

"That's what you need my medical opinion on?"

"No. Howard Spuller had a premonitory vision of his boss's death."

"I don't understand." Scully lies, thinking involuntarily of her father for the second time.

"Harold saw an apparition - what may have been Angie Pintero's disembodied soul at the moment of or just prior to his death."

"How do you know?"

"Because I was standing right there when he saw it."

"But you didn't see it yourself?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't have that facility, that kind of connection to the victims that would have made such a vision possible."

"What's Harold Spuller's connection?"

"I don't know its exact nature but I think it has something to do with his autism...that Harold experienced a profound attachment to these victims but because of his disability was unable to express the depth and power of those relationships, so somehow a psychic or preconscious bond was formed that went beyond the temporal."

"Oh, wait a minute, so Harold knew the people that were killed?"

"Yeah, from the bowling alley, going back seven years."

"Even if what you're saying is true, Harold wasn't the only one who claims to have seen these apparitions."

"No, but he does have something in common with those who've had the visions that is quite powerful in its own right."

"Which is what?"

"Well, they were all dying...one of emphysema, one of cancer and now Angie Pintero."

"Harold Spuller is dying too?"

"Well that's what I need your medical opinion on."

"Well, what if he isn't?" Scully asks, suddenly worried about herself. She tries to dismiss her fear, since she'd seen her first ghost years before and was still hale, but it's hard.

"I would be very surprised. What is a death omen if not a vision of our own mortality? And who among us would most likely be able to see the dead but those who have been near its icy chill themselves? Harold's at the resident home right now."

"Let's get this over with then." Scully picks up her coat. "It's a good thing Rachel is still her."

"Thank god for night owls," Mulder agrees.

* * *

Chuck Forsch's room

After Harold goes ballistic, Scully goes to visit his roommate, telling Mulder that if anyone knows something, it'd be the man who rooms with him.

She knocks gently on the door before entering.

Harold's roommate looks up from reading a book. "Oh hi."

"Is your name Chuck?"

"Yes. Yes it is. Uh, Chuck Forsch. F-O-R-S-C-H. Chuck Forsch."

"Do you, uh, do you share this room with Harold?"

Chuck nods enthusiastically. "Yes, he's my friend."

"Do you know where he is? We're worried about him, so we'd like to find him."

"He's dying, isn't he? Harold is dying." The man's face clouds.

"Why do you say that?"

"Nurse Innes, she's, she's trying to poison him."

"Who told you that?"

"Harold. He said she told him she was putting poison in his meds."

"Harold hasn't been taking his medication?"

"I don't know. I don't know everything, I'm only a human being. But I do know that Harold's my friend. He wouldn't hurt anybody. You know, he really loved them."

"Who?"

Chuck crosses the room and removes another book from a drawer. "Harold. He gave them to me. He was afraid." Chuck takes several photographs from the book and hands them to Scully. Smiling faces that look up at them are the murdered women.

"Does anybody else know about these pictures, Chuck?"

"Nurse Innes." Just as she's about to thank him for his help, he gives her a curious look. "You don't _look_ like a ghost."

"Why would I look like a ghost?"

"Harold. He said you were a ghost. And he knows about ghosts," Chuck says with a sage nod.

"Well, he's wrong, I'm not a ghost."

Chuck shrugs. "What do I know? I'm just a simple man."

As she leaves the room he begins to hum the Lynard Skynard song of the same title. Something about the end of the conversation really bothers her, and even though she tells herself that she shouldn't put too much stalk into what Chuck said, she can't shake the shiver that goes through her as she pushes open the door to the bathroom.

* * *

Standing hunched over the sink, Nurse Innes starts as Scully enters the room.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm, you know, shaky."

"Understandable."

"Working with these people starts driving you crazy too. I'm just looking forward to going home."

"Will your family be a comfort?" Scully notices that Nurse Innes is holding something in her left hand and reminds herself to be wary in light of Chuck's more believable accusations.

"I live alone."

"No children?"

Innes smirks. "Just the one my husband ran off with. You?

"Three, two girls and a boy-" Scully's voice falters when nurse Innes accidentally drops pills onto the floor.

"Nurse Innes, I'm afraid I'm gonna to have to ask you to step out into the hallway."

Innes removes the scalpel she's been holding from her pocket and slashes at Scully, backing her up against the wall. Scully grabs Innes' arm as they struggle. She eventually forces Innes to drop the scalpel by slamming her hand against the wall. After Innes propels her across the room, still on the floor Scully draws her gun on the wild nurse.

"Stay where you are! Drop it! Let it go!"

Innes hesitates for just a fraction of a second before raising the scalpel and lunging forward. Scully aims from her position on the floor and fires. Innes drops like a stone.

Mulder and Alpert burst into the room a moment later, and look at the fallen woman.

Scully's face is blank as she gets to her feet. "She's alive. Let's get a paramedic in here."

After nodding in agreement, Alpert scurries out and summons help.

Mulder, on the other hand, is more concerned about his wife than the nurse lying on the floor. "You're cut." He takes her hand gently into his own and examines it.

"Yeah, she attacked me." She points to the scalpel. Which Mulder starts to pick up. "You might want to bag that. I'm pretty sure it's the murder weapon."

* * *

They squeeze against the hall wall to let paramedics roll Innes through.

"She had been taking Harold's meds...clonazepam and clozapine...the unregulated effects of which are violence and unpredictable behavior," Scully explains calmly.

"Yeah, but why did you even suspect her?"

"Well, I went in to talk to Harold's roommate and he said that Harold thought that she'd been poisoning him. So I went in to confront her and she just went off."

"Why do you think she killed those women?"

"I don't know. I mean, maybe in some drug-addled way, she was trying to kill happiness, Harold's happiness, his love for those women, maybe trying to destroy something she thought she'd never have again."

"She is me."

"Maybe. She mentioned that her husband had run off with a young girl. Maybe she was trying to extract some sort of revenge on them too." Scully shakes her head. "Have they found Harold?"

"Yeah. They found in an alley a few blocks from here, face down on the pavement. They worked on him for twenty minutes but he couldn't be revived."

"What happened?"

"The preliminary diagnosis is apnea - respiratory failure."

"As a result of what?"

"Well, the paramedics are at a loss to explain that, but if what you're saying is true, that Harold stopped taking his medications, then that could have been a factor in his death - at least in the visions that he was seeing."

"Well, Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder. He, he was killed as a result of what that woman took away from him."

"Is that your medical opinion?"

Scully pauses and Mulder stops as well. "I saw something Mulder."

"What?"

She sighs. "The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you came to tell me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Annoyance fills his voice. ::You're not dying this time, how could you see her?? You can't be sick, you can't, you can't.::

"Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe that there's a connection between the victims and who sees them. I'm fine, so your theory must be wrong."

"It must be."

"Let's go home," Scully whispers tiredly.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys and tosses them to her. "I'll be right with you. I need to use the bathroom before we head out."

She's unable to resist returning his earlier volley. "Sure you're not pregnant?" His laughter echoes as he shakes his head and rushes back to the center.

As she walks out to the car, she catches sight of flashing lights down the street. Police cars and an ambulance are barely visible. She's teary for reasons she can't explain, but she rubs her eyes hard as she slides on to the passenger seat. Glancing out the window, she sees the ambulance driving away, and as she follows it with her eyes, in her rear-view mirror she sees a pale image of Harold in the back seat. Wide-eyed, she turns around to look but there is nothing there. She turns back, shocked.

She's white as a ghost herself when Mulder lets himself into the car, but he doesn't seem to notice.

* * *

Washington DC

10 p.m.

_"Okay, how do I die?" She remembers that Buckman stared at her, looking perplexed. "You already did," _The snippet of conversation comes back to her with a start, and makes her shiver. Buckman had seemed puzzled that she couldn't remember having died. What if it hadn't just been the confused words of a man soon to take his own life, but truly part of her past?

Before she quite realizes it, she's dialing the phone. "Hi mom, I'm sorry that it's so late...This will sound like a strange question, but...did I ever come close to dying as a kid?" She holds the phone to ear and listens for quite a while. "Okay thanks. Have a good night, Mom. Love you."

"It's late for a phone call," Mulder says quietly, making her realize he's in the room.

"I died." ::Oh shit. But how could Maggie possibly know? If any of the Scully women were going to claim ESP I'd of bet it would be Missy, not Maggie. Well, maybe Missy-:: Before Mulder has a heart attack, she goes on. "I was two. There was a car accident and the car rolled...My face got jammed against the seat and, and I stopped breathing. Then my heart stopped...My mom said they thought they lost me."

When she looks up there are tears in her eyes. He immediately gathers her in his arms. "Shhh, you're okay now."

"She said that they didn't want to tell me unless I remembered, since it had been so traumatic. I can't believe I didn't know I died." Scully's voice is still wobbly.

"I can understand her desire to protect you from that. If it had been me and Page, instead of you and Maggie, I can't say for sure that I'd do anything differently."

Scully doesn't say anything. To his surprise, he looks down sees that she's smiling. "What?"

"At least now we know that your stupid theory-"

"My stupid theory?" Pouting, he attempts to make her feel bad, and fails miserably.

"- was just a little off the mark. You don't have to be dying at the moment to see…something. God, Mulder, I was beginning to wonder if I was sick and didn't know it." Her laugh sounds a little shaky.

So does his.

"How come you didn't see them?"

"What?"

"You didn't see the ghosts. Surely you've had a few heart-stopping moments yourself."

"I think it might have stopped while I waited for you to say you'd marry me, but other than that..."

Lacking a witty comeback, Scully settles for kissing him instead.


	49. The Unusual Suspects

August 1997

It's a hot summer day on the outskirts of D.C., and the Lone Gunmen are feeling the heat more than usual. The cause could be the different environs and company they keep, a large mansion-like home and three small children, that's causing their armpits to sweat more than normal and tempers to flare. Even the normally-affable Byers has gotten to the point where he'd rather sweep the Mulder house for surveillance devices than spend another minute with his friends or Mulder's kids. Frohike has sought refuge in the kitchen doing repairs, which leaves Langly with munchkin duty. Finally, even he gives in as he runs into the kitchen.

"Dude, one more second with that stupid purple dinosaur and I'm gonna blow my brains out!" he exclaims to a pair of legs poking out from under the sink.

"I thought you said you could handle it," Frohike's muffled voice comes eerily through the pipes.

"Yeah, but Barney's no Cap'n Toby," the long-haired blond man scowls.

"Come on, I'll fix the pipes, you can listen to some inane dude in a costume sing."

"No, thanks," Frohike replies, "I don't want the lovely Scully to blame me if the sink suddenly turns on when she starts the microwave."

"It was just that one time!" Langly sputters, his forthcoming argument cut short by a new arrival. "Oh, you."

Byers ignores the venom dripping from his compatriot's words or glare. "Top to bottom, there are no bugs," he says briskly, "at least surveillance-wise." Due to the heat, his jacket is draped on his arm, but he is still clad in his trademark buttoned-up shirt, tie and dress slacks.

"Greaaaaaaat," Langly drawls, "it's your turn to look after the rugrats."

The bearded man looks shocked when he sees Frohike's legs from under the sink. "If we're all in here, who's looking after the children?"

Frohike bangs his head as he gets out of the sink. "What? You guys!" he yells when April starts crying.

The three men look at each other. "Not me!" they all chorus. Then they point at each other, "You do it!"

* * *

"Fine, fine," Frohike mumbles, giving up trying to decipher Mulder's messy handwritten instructions, "I swear decrypting top secret documents is easier than reading that chicken scratch." Still, he must've done something right, because April is finally quiet, sucking noisily away at a bottle, her diaper fresh and clean.

"You two look good together," Langly says in the calm following the storm, "even if you guys aren't related."

"She could've been," Frohike says, as he carries the littlest one with her bald head and dark brown eyes. "April's got my eyes." He beams down at her proudly as if he had a hand in her creation.

"You better not let Mulder hear you say that," Langly smirks, until Sammy smears some baby food on his shirt. "Ugh, gross," he says, making a face as he wipes it off, making Page and Sammy laugh. "I can't believe the one day they decide to take a little 'me-time' is the same one their babysitter does the same."

"Nannies are people, too," Byers says, unperturbed when Page grabs the remote to turn on the TV. He frowns when the remote doesn't turn the set on, then walks over to manually press the power button. Nothing. He checks in the back to see if everything's hooked up properly, and they are. Having already checked the set for bugs, he realizes it's not the fault of some shadowy third party, but rather an internal problem. "I think it's broken," he says finally.

Page's face crumples, and it isn't long before the house is filled with the sound of wailing. Not just from the three Mulder and Scully children, but also at least one Gunman.

* * *

Frohike's panicked mind thinks of a number of solutions to the problem, all of which would result in their getting jailed, or at least, on the FBI's most wanted. Bitterly, he puts aside thoughts of rope and duct tape, multi-purpose childcare machines, and simple abandonment, looking desperately at his friends. Okay, so it's his fault that he got them into this mess, but does it always have to be him to get them out? "Byers," he pleads under the incessant crying. How is it possible for such little kids to have such big lungs?

Even Byers is looking panicky, which isn't good. But the sight of Langly losing it with the kids has caused something within the suit-and-tie man to snap, and in a tone rarely heard from the normally-sanguine man, he says sharply, "All of you, QUIET!" Startled, Page subsides with a startled hiccup, Sammy's mouth hangs open, and Langly freezes. "Langly, I want you to go into the kitchen and get snacks and drinks. Page, I want you to be a big girl and put the toys away. Sammy, stay there. And Frohike," he pauses.

"Yeah?" the balding man asks uneasily, shifting the baby girl in his arms as he rocks her.

"You've got storytelling detail."

Frohike's bulging eyes behind his glasses make him resemble a comical frog.

"What?"

"There's no brewskis, so everybody gets fruit juice," the blond man comes strolling in with colorful sippy cups and a box of donuts. "Hey, are donuts cool?" he looks speculatively at the little redheaded boy. In reply, Sammy grabs a donut and promptly powders his face with the white sugar. "I'll take that as a yes," Langly notes, handing out drinks and donuts.

Frohike's wracking his brains for something suitable to talk about, although most of what comes to mind are conspiracy theories, which would probably go over the kids' heads, or hot chicks, which would get him in trouble with the luscious and unfortunately-married Scully. He looks at Byers, who shrugs, and an evil thought comes to mind. "Okay, boys and girls," he says in a storytelling voice, and everyone perks up, "Uncle Frohike's gonna tell you about how we saved a pretty lady called Susanne, met your father, and saved the world."

"Oh, no," Byers sighs, while Langly grins, "Oh, yeah."

"You saved the world?" Page asks.

"Of course," Frohike beams, but his smile droops when he sees Byers glare.

"Well, maybe just Baltimore," he amends, and is about to go on when the blonde girl interrupts again.

"Who's Susanne?" Page wonders.

The Lone Gunmen look at each other. "Once upon a time, well, about eight years ago, on a lovely May afternoon, Uncle Byers met a beautiful blonde lady named Susanne," Frohike says, ignoring the fact that he's drinking from a sippy cup, "at a computer convention in nearby Baltimore. All sorts of people were there, but somehow, your straightlaced Uncle Byers managed to catch the attention of the damsel in distress."

"I didn't know that yet," Byers corrects him, and Frohike shoves a donut into his mouth.

* * *

"Anyways," Frohike ignores the interruption, "Uncle Byers followed the lady with the sunglasses all the way to where the dashing and debonair Uncle Frohike, that's yours truly," he makes a little bow, "was working hard at his cable company booth." He ignores his compatriot's coughing and goes on. "Unfortunately, Uncle Langly was in the next booth, trying to sell Susanne a terrible version of cable, which was very, very bad."

"Very, very bad," Page repeats, and Sammy mumbles "Bad bad."

"Hey!" Langly yelps. "You were the one who was selling crappy coax cable--"

"When Uncle Langly butted in, we both lost a sale," Frohike glares at him behind his glasses, holding up a fist, "and Uncle Byers kept following Susanne like a stalker. Susanne let him bump into her and she dropped her purse. Because he's actually got some manners, he said sorry and saw a picture of a little girl fall out of her purse."

"Susanne was a mommy?"

Frohike makes a face. "Well, that's what she wanted ol' Uncle Byers to think. So she told Uncle Byers about some crazy and very, very bad ex-boyfriend who stole her little girl named Susanne."

"Susanne and Susanne!" Page laughs, delighted.

"Not quite," Frohike says as Byers sighs, "she told Uncle Byers her name was

Holly."

"Like sugar?" Sammy asks, reaching for another donut.

"Like the sugar," Frohike agrees.

"Who was the bad man?" Page asks.

* * *

The Lone Gunmen exchange glances. "We're getting there," Frohike says.

"Anyways, Susanne-who-called-herself-Holly said she needed help with computer stuff that would help her find her fake-daughter-called-Susanne, so they went back to where Uncle Byers was working. And you know what?"

"What?" Sammy falls for the prompt.

The short man has an evil grin on his face. "It was the first time Uncle

Byers hacked into a system! Aren't you proud?"

"Yay, Uncle!" the children cheer, while Byers puts a hand over his face and

Langly shares an evil grin with Frohike.

"It wasn't like that," Byers says half-heartedly.

"Hey, take the kudos while you can," Frohike says blithely, "so anyway,

Uncle Byers found Susanne's file and printed it out. Unfortunately, it was encrypted, which means that it was in a special computer language."

The little girl blinks. "Co'puters can talk?"

"Of course," Frohike nods. "Anything smart can talk. Just when Uncle Byers realized he needed help turning this computer language into English, Susanne saw her scary ex-boyfriend."

"Oh no!"

"That's right," the short man says with relish. "And they realized they needed more help than ever, so they went to the man with the plan, the hero when you're zero, senor numero uno." He pats his leather-vested chest. "Uncle Frohike!"

"Yaaaaaayyyyyyy!!!!"

"Really," Byers says, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em," Frohike says, enjoying the adulation from the mini-Mulders. "So anyways, I was ready to do the hero thing and beat the guy up so we could save the little girl, but Susanne said the bad guy was not only bad, he was dangerous, so we had to be very, very careful."

Both kids are nodding, and Byers, wishing his friend would skip over this part, says, "Frohike, could you check on April?"

"Sure," the balding man says, holding up the baby girl and takes a careful sniff near the general direction of her diapers. "All clear," he says, not bothering to hide his relief. "So anyways, me and Uncle Byers decide to check out the scary boyfriend, just in case, see what he's like. Problem was, it's hard to do the secret agent thing with Mr. Boy Scout here," and Byers purses his lips, "so the bad guy saw us."

"Run away!" Sammy yells, as if he could change past events.

"In a way, it was a good thing," Frohike says, inadvertently putting both feet in his mouth, "because the bad guy turned out to be your father."

"NOOOOOOO!!! My daddy's good!" Page promptly starts crying, her siblings following suit for at least the second time that day.

* * *

"Hey, hey, hey," Frohike panics, handing April and her bottle over to Byers and hugging the little girl, "Page, you're right, you're right, your daddy's a good guy. But back then, we didn't know, okay? We didn't know him, and that why we thought he wasn't."

"Uncles are dum-dums," Page sniffles. It takes a little while longer, but

Sammy and April calm down as well, much to the Gunmen's relief.

"Yeah, well, like the man said, we didn't know," Frohike continues in a placating tone. "But he didn't know Susanne was our friend first and said he was the bad guy. So we said we were lost and were looking for the bathroom," and is relieved when the girl giggles at the word. "So he told us where it was, then showed us his FBI badge, and then he showed us a picture of Susanne."

"Uh-oh," Page says. "Susanne bad girl."

"You said it," Frohike agrees, overriding Byers' indignant "Hey!" "So we went back to the booth to talk to Susanne, but when we got there, they were arresting Uncle Byers' friend."

"They got the bad lady?" Page asks.

"Uh, not quite," Frohike says, "they got his coworker, Ken. Susanne was already gone."

''Uh-oh," Sammy says, and Page agrees. They notice that their sometimes-invisible friends have joined them, but none of the grownups see extra children wander in the room. All the Gunmen can sense is that the room has gotten slightly, but thankfully, cooler, and Byers feels comfortable donning his suit jacket again.

"Yeah, and Uncle Byers was about to make another dumb move and turn himself in." Frohike pauses and adopts a teacherly tone. "Hackers never, ever turn themselves in. Got that?"

"Got it," Page nods solemnly, and so does Sammy.

"I don't think we should be telling them that," Byers argues, but Langly kicks his leg. "Ow," he frowns, glad the children are paying attention to Frohike than to himself.

"Anyway, that's when I suggested that we hack into the FBI database to do a little checkup on Susanne and your daddy. Uncle Byers didn't want to at first, but then he saw the light. And that's when he officially became a hacker."

"Yay, Uncle Byers!"

"So, even though your Uncle Frohike's kung foo is pretty good, I figured we needed someone else to cover our bases, just in case," Frohike goes on, "and that's where Uncle Langly comes in." The short man smirks as he does a mock Vanna White-like wave at the blond hacker, who bows. "Me and Uncle Byers saved him from a mind-numbing D&D game to get into a class hack."

"Hey!" Langly protests. "You ladies came asking for *my* help, even though I was on a hot streak, got it? Hey, you even had to tell me my kung foo was the best."

"Anyways," Frohike says, clearly disgruntled, "we didn't have the cool digs we do now, so we rented a hotel room to hide all of Langly's questionable equipment in."

"Watch it," Langly growls.

"Ooh, I'm scared," Frohike says, mocking him, and Page laughs. "But the scary part's yet to come. So we look up your daddy, and what do we find? That not only is he FBI, but he's a really smart good guy, and that the person he's chasing down is Holly, whose real name is Susanne Modeski. According to the computer, it said Susanne was crazy, killed lots of people and lied a lot, too."

"Ohhhhhhh," Page says. "Susanne's a bad girl."

"Got that right," Langly says, only to be elbowed by Byers. "Hey!"

"And that's when Susanne walked into the room."

"Uh-oh."

* * *

"Okay, so there we were," Frohike says, and they're all practically touching foreheads, they're leaning so close to hear his words, "we just found out that Susanne was a bad guy, and she walks into the room. We planned on playing it cool, but she reached into her purse, and a gun fell out!"

"How come she had a gun?" Sammy asks.

"She had it for her own protection against the real villains," Byers explains.

"Hey, who's telling the story, you or me?" the short man glares, and his friend subsides. "So Susanne was waving the gun around, saying she's innocent, that she's being framed and people are following her, and you know what happened next?"

"What?"

"She said people knew where she was through her teeth!" Frohike's eyes are huge. "So she grabbed some pliers, ran into the bathroom, and pulled her tooth out without any medicine!"

"Owie!" Page puts her hand to her mouth. The other day Sammy ran into her and her front teeth hit the floor. She can't imagine anyone wanting to pull their teeth out on purpose.

"But you know what? There was a little radio transmitter inside her tooth, kinda what you'd find in there," he points to the stereo system, "and so we flushed it down the toilet so the bad guys wouldn't find us."

"Susanne not bad guy?" Sammy is confused now, along with his older sister.

"Nope," Frohike shrugs, earning another glower from his suited friend. "There were bad guys who made her cook up some crazy gas that wanted to spray it on innocent Americans. So we decided to help her and go to the warehouse where the real bad guys put the real weapon. We tracked it down to a bunch of boxes full of asthma inhalers and we were ready to share the story with the world. And then the bad guys showed up."

* * *

The leftover donuts are forgotten now that Frohike's rolling towards the end of the story. "The bad guys grabbed Susanne and pointed their guns at us. And then your dad showed up."

"Daddyyyyyyyyyy!" the kids crow, bouncing up and down on the couch.

"Whoa, whoa," Frohike says, wanting to keep the baby in his arms on the quiet level, "okay, so yeah, your dad came in with his own gun. Unfortunately, the bad guys started shooting, he shot back, everybody was shooting, and so, being smart, we got out of the way."

"Okay, and now we sound like chickens," Langly drawls.

"Shut up, Langly," the short man mutters, "we were making a tactical rendezvous, that's all."

"Like the kids know what that means," the blond man rolls his eyes.

"ANYways," Frohike plows on, "everybody was shooting, boxes were being ripped apart, everything was crazy, and then one of the boxes with the secret weapon got shot open and sprayed your daddy with the gas! He started screaming and tearing off his clothes, the gas was too much for him!"

"Oh, no!" Sammy's eyes are wide.

"Oh, yes!" Frohike shouts, forgetting about the baby in his arms. As he absently rocks her, he says, "So your father was down for the count, and the bad guys had us surrounded. They were just about to shoot us, but they got shot instead." He pauses, looking at Byers. "Susanne saved us."

"Yay, Susanne!" the kids yell, forgetful of the fact that only ten minutes ago, she was the bad guy.

"Uh, yeah," the leather-vested man says, bouncing the baby in his arms to keep her happy. "So, uh, she got out of there, because it wasn't safe, and your uncles thought we'd grab some bottles of the secret weapon for evidence, you know, but more bad guys came in. The bad guys cleaned up most of the mess, took out the first set of bad guys, and were about to shoot your daddy--"

"NO!"

"Whoa," Langly rushes in to calm the older kids, "look, your dad's alive, and you guys are here. That means there's gonna be a happy ending soon, right?"

Frohike's relieved when Page doesn't fuss anymore, and goes on. "Yeah, so this tall black guy with a beard and moustache tells his goons not to shoot your dad. So your dad was a little nuts with the gas, but he was alive. Bad news, the black dude saw us, lined us up to kill us, and pulled the trigger." The kids are silent, wide-eyed. "Good news, even though your Uncle Byers had a big mouth, the black guy was cool enough to let us live, even gave us our nickname. The Lone Gunmen."

"He was cool?" Byers frowns.

Frohike rolls his eyes. "All the evidence was gone, cleaned up by the bad guys, but we were alive. Our luck went down again, because the cops came in and arrested us. We spent a loooooooong night in the stinking joint, but luckily, your dad sprang us the next morning. And we've been friends ever since. The End."

"What about Susanne?" Page asks.

Byers pauses before he answers. "We don't know," he says honestly, "we saw her not long after we left the police station, but the black man took her away in a black car. She's probably still working for the bad guys, against her will, maybe planning another escape from the wicked men as we speak." He doesn't look at anyone, his gaze drifting out the window, the sky darkening to a rich orange as the sun sets. Behind him, ghostly children of another time fade away, and the temperature warms, but only slightly.

* * *

Later that night, Scully is trying to put her still-excitable children to bed. She's fairly certain that, despite her instructions, Mulder had forgotten to put "no sugary snacks or drinks" on the list they gave the Gunmen. "Uncles saved the world," Page insists sleepily, even as her mother struggles to pull her nightgown over her head.

"Of course," Scully says in a placating tone, freeing her daughter's blonde hair from the neckline.

"And Daddy's not a bad guy, he's a good guy," she argues, her face a miniature of her mother's when debating with her father.

"What have the Gun--, I mean, what have your uncles been telling you?" Scully frowns, sitting next to her daughter.

"There was guns, an' bad guys, an' a lady los' her toot', an' Daddy, an' uncles," Sammy says breathlessly, at the same time trying to free himself from the hot nightclothes.

Scully sighs, re-clothing her squirmy little boy. "What lady lost her tooth?" she asks.

"Susanne," Page answers, as if the answer is obvious. "Uncle Byers' girlfriend."

"Really?" Scully's jaw drops.

"Uncle Langly said so," the little blonde girl says, oblivious to any bomb-dropping she may have caused to her mother's perception of the Gunmen. "'Cause she's smart and pretty."

The redhead smiles, noting the order of the compliment. "Well, Uncle Byers is a smart man," she says, "so when can we meet her?"

"Susanne not here," Sammy says, kicking his feet as if that would free his legs from the cotton pajama pants. "Bad guys got her."

"Oh," Scully says, absently hitting the button for the ceiling fan. "That's sad."

"Uh-huh," Page agrees. She's under her thin sheet, her body still as if ready for sleep, but her eyes are wide open. "Mommy, I wanna be a hacker when I grow up," she says, her hands holding the blanket under her chin.

"Why?" her startled mother asks.

"So I can talk to co'puters and rescue Susanne," the blonde girl says practically.

"Me, too!" Sammy echoes, also diving under his sheet. If his sister's going to sleep, he doesn't want her to beat him.

I may not understand them sometimes, Scully thinks, but I know they've got good hearts. "Good night," she smiles and kisses her daughter's forehead, who exhales peacefully. "Goooooood night," she tells Sammy, who's still a squirmy worm under the sheet, holding his forehead in place so she can kiss it. He giggles, still squirming, but squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if to hasten sleep.

"Sweet dreams," she says softly, clicking off the overhead light, but leaving the plug-in light on. She's going to ask Mulder about this "Susanne," and what on earth happened that the Gunmen supposedly saved the world, but weren't able to save their friend.


	50. Detour

August 10th, 1997

There's a horrible yelp from downstairs, and Mulder nearly drops April in shock. His older daughter looks at him with wide eyes, seeming a little frightened too. "Daddy, what was that?"

Mulder pats her on the head with his free hand, as much to reassure himself as her. "I'm not sure, I'm going to go see. Here, I'm putting April in her crib, you keep an eye on her, okay?"

"Okay!" She seems pleased by the responsibility, not realizing that her sister is way too young to get out on her own.

He misses a couple of steps on his way down the stairs and nearly breaks his ankle. When he skitters to a stop in the living room, ready to come to Scully's aide against whatever's attacking her, he pauses in confusion.

Scully is alone except for Sammy, without an adversary, and she's just on the phone. Her face is all smiles. Sammy doesn't even look up from playing with his wooden blocks.

"I love you too, Bill." She hangs up with a happy sigh.

"What's going on? Page and I heard you scream…"

"It's finally happened, Mulder. Tara's going to have a baby around Christmas."

"Wow, that's great," he says in a daze. ::Bill as a father. That's scary every time you think of it:: "That's not too long from now, though."

"They wanted to wait until it was safe before they got everyone's hopes up," Scully tells him. "Bill said they found out today that it's going to be a boy."

He nods, thinking about the "until it was safe" part. When she'd been carrying William, had she waited to tell people, too? He didn't know, because he hadn't been around, and she'd never said. "Your brother must be thrilled."

"Oh, they both are. They've wanted a baby for so long…" Scully sighs. "Thank god we've never had that problem."

She doesn't notice when he winces. "Your sister better watch out, now. She's the only one who hasn't given your mother a grandchild. Maggie will buy her a clock now."

"A clock?" Scully looks puzzled.

"Since she doesn't have a biological clock of her own."

"Bad joke, Mulder." Even so, she smiles. "I can't believe I'm going to have another nephew."

"And maybe this one won't be obsessed with movies about barnyard animals."

"One can only hope."

* * *

August 14th, 1997

8 a.m.

"Hey Page, wake up." Mulder gently pulls the sheet off of his daughter.

She rubs her eyes and gives him a sleepy smile. "Hi, Daddy! Where's Mommy?"

"Mommy and April are sleeping. Here, let's dress you in this first." Mulder showed her a purple bathing suit; purple is currently her favorite color. "Then we'll put on your coveralls and t-shirt on."

"How come?"

"It's a surprise."

Once she's dressed, Mulder heads for Sammy's bed. Since the two-year-old wasn't quite potty-trained, Mulder puts him in the new disposable swim trunks for toddlers, then dresses him in coveralls and a t-shirt too.

When he hands them buckets and shovels, Page figures out their destination. "Going to beach, Daddy?"

"Yup."

A huge smile breaks out on Sammy's face, and he runs for the closet and tries to open the door. Curious as to what he wants, Mulder opens it for him. After peering in for a moment, Sammy grabs something on a hanger and tugs it.

It's the wet suit that he'd bought during the last Max case. His son gives him an expectant look. "Daddy wear."

The idea of wearing a wetsuit to the beach for no apparent reason strikes him as silly and slightly embarrassing both, but it's easier to give in than to disappoint his little boy. "Okay. I'll put it on when we get there."

Sammy tilts his head. "How come?"

"Daddy can't drive if he wears it in the car."

"Oh!"

Mulder quickly scrawls a note for Scully - Took the kids to the beach, be back in two or three hours. Love ya - gathers the wetsuit under one arm, and opens the front door.

He shepherds the two children out the door, taking a moment to notice again that Page is just a few inches taller than her brother despite being nearly a year older. It seems as though she'll be petite like their mother. And Sammy won't.

* * *

Once he lifts a rock, a small armored creature scurries out. Sammy yells in surprise and lands on his bottom in the sand, giggling. Page, on the other hand is nearly as inquisitive as her mother, so she squats down and looks closely at the little creature in the tide pool. "Whatzit called?"

"It's a crab." Mulder informs her.

Puzzlement fills her face. "Don't look like Nanna," she mumbles.

"What?"

"Mommy says Nanna a crab," she explains while raking the sand next to her with a seashell.

In spite of himself, he laughs. "She told you that, huh? And after I've had nothing but nice things to say about your Grandma."

Page nods sagely. "You has different mommies."

"That's an understatement."

By this point Sammy has regained his courage and peers into the pool on hands and knees. "My birthdee, Daddy?"

Smiling down at him, Mulder ruffles his son's coppery hair. "That's right, Big guy. Today you're two."

Sammy looks somber for a moment. "Where cake?"

"I think it's time to go home," Mulder announces. "I'm pretty sure that there will be cake when we get there."

"Yay!"

* * *

When they get back to the house Mulder finds Scully nursing the baby in their bedroom. She gives him a sleepy smile. "How was the beach?"

Standing there he remembers the sound of ocean waves as Sammy's boat floated on them, the squeal of both children as they chased after the bouncing beach ball and away from him as the three of them pretended that he was a wetsuit-clad monster...

"Great. They really seemed to enjoy it. And I brought you something." He holds a Polaroid picture out to her. "I conned a kind soul into taking it."

"You're right, it's clear that they had a good time. But why are you wearing a wetsuit in the picture?"

He just smiles broadly. "I think there's a little boy downstairs who'll give you that information if you deluge the location of his cake."

"This ought to be good." She hands him the now fed baby to burp, and goes to find her answer.

Mulder looks down at his youngest. "You know, what Mommy doesn't know is that your brother didn't tell me why he wanted me to wear it, so I couldn't answer her even if I wanted to."

April, for one, seems bored of the idea and closes her dark eyes before they get downstairs to sing Happy Birthday to Sammy.

* * *

Route 43 Leon County

North Florida

October 1997

Mulder stares out the window as they drive down the lonely road, wondering what he'd done to make God angry enough to subject him to this for the second time. Maybe he ought to have learned his lesson this time around and not have blown off the opportunities to do other seminars, but he really thought that diaper rash on three kids was a real good excuse to sway Skinner. Apparently the AD has never considered the heartbreak that uncomfortable children suffer when parted from their loving parents. Or maybe someone narc'd on them, mentioning Scully's pride at Page being dry over night now.

Never one to waste a captive audience, Agent Kinsley blathers on and on about past seminars. "Last year was something of a personal revelation. We were doing an exercise called team builders? Where we were given two minutes to build a tower out of ordinary office furniture."

Not to be outdone, Agent Stonecypher concludes, "When I stood on Mike's shoulders and I put that electric pencil sharpener on top of the pile, we both knew, we could never have done it alone."

Mulder leans over and whispers in his wife's ear. "Kill me now." He can tell that she's trying not to smile, so he pouts.

"You ever been to one of these team seminars, Agent Scully?" Kinsley asks.

"Ummm....I think I went to a constructive problem solving course when I first joined the Bureau."

This seems to excite Stonecypher for reasons Mulder can't fathom. "Oh, did you play that game where, um, you can't use any negative words?"

"I couldn't believe how hard it was not to use the word 'but,'" Kinsley confesses.

"I'm having that same problem right now," Mulder says, causing Scully to turn red from the effort of not cracking a smile.

"Have you ever been to a team seminar, Agent Mulder?" Stonecypher now wants to know.

"No, you know unfortunately around this time of year I always develop a severe hemorrhoidal condition." He replies, ducking out of Scully's reach.

"Well, it builds muscles you didn't even know you had," Kinsley tells him.

"Communication. That's the key," Stonecypher adds.

Mulder nods gamely, but says, "I find that communication doesn't take that much effort when you're engaged in a carnal relationship with your partner." Scully's eyes widen at his daring, so he quickly adds. "Once you're married, I mean. What about you two, you're both single aren't you? Maybe you ought to give a relationship a shot."

Interestingly enough, both agents turn red and can't seem to get any words out, so he wonders if he's hit on something he hadn't suspected about the seemingly straight-laced pair. Before either of them can think of a way to respond, the car rolls up to a familiar looking road block.

The officer who approaches the car gives them a mild look. "Sorry, folks, it'll be a few minutes."

Kinsley looks desperately pleased at the change of topic. "What's going on, officer?"

"Got a little situation is all."

Before anyone can stop him, Mulder opens car door and gets out quickly. "Free at last, free at last." The others watch him from the car, but no one makes a move to get out.

As Mulder's stretching his cramped legs, he's approached by Mrs. Asekoff. "Oh, excuse me. Are you from search and rescue?"

"No, I'm sorry, I'm not. I'm just stretching my legs."

"They said they'd have word for us about what happened to my husband. I need somebody to tell me what's going on." The woman looks like she's about to cry.

"Just slow down," Mulder says soothingly. "I - I don't know what you're talking about."

"My husband, Michael, he was teaching our son to shoot, and he said the dog got spooked and then he heard gunshots and now he's said they've found a jacket with blood on it, but they won't tell me anything about my husband..."

"I'll try to find out who's in charge, all right?"

"Oh, thank you." She looks so grateful he almost tears up himself.

* * *

Scully scrambles out of the car when she spots Mulder heading for the woods. The other agents get out too, but get distracted by a tree, so she leaves them behind. He's in the middle of explaining to officer Michele Fazekas that he's with the FBI when Scully catches up to him.

"FBI? Who called you guys out?"

Mulder puts his badge back into his pocket. "Nobody. We just got stopped at your roadblock. It sounds like you had a shooting."

"Shots were reported, but we have no evidence of anyone being shot."

"Well, what do you have evidence of?" Mulder asks, trying not to catch his impatient wife's eye, so he can ignore the "we've got to go" signal she's trying to send him.

"A survey team working these woods didn't report in last night We found one man's bloody jacket pretty torn up. And this morning, a boy got separated from his father."

"Separated by what?"

"It looks, maybe, like some kind of animal attack."

"What kind of animal?"

"I'm not sure yet. I followed good tracks for the two surveyors but the trails became confused as they moved into the brush. There was a third set of tracks leading away. I....I couldn't identify." Michelle says reluctantly.

"Couldn't identify as the surveyors'?"

"As man or animal."

"Mulder?" Scully asks.

"Oh, just, uh..." She gives him 'come on' look." "Hold on a second…What about the boy's father?"

"I tracked him all the way down to where he fired the shots. The ground's rocky, but from the depressions in the underlying soil, I can tell you that he entered the bushes from over there where I pick up another set of tracks - two distinctly different sets of tracks that from the way the ground's upset that is probably where the man was attacked."

"But no other sign of him? Do you have panther in these woods?"

"There's panther. Bear, too."

"But these tracks look like neither of those."

"No, sir."

"You know of a good motel in the area?" She's about to protest when he smoothly continues. "My partner and I have worked on several wild animal cases in the past, so if you could use a couple extra sets of eyes..."

To his surprise, Michelle doesn't bristle this time. "You're not the agents who dealt with that thing they called the 'Flukeman' are you? Even the news stations out her covered that. And the tabloids of course."

Scully shudders. "This better not be another flukeman, one was enough."

"So it was you!" Michelle gives them an admiring look. "If you could spare the time, I'd love to have your help."

"I think-" Mulder begins.

His reply is interrupted when Scully pulls him out of earshot. "What gives, Mulder? We've got this conference. They're waiting."

"Yeah. How do I say this without using any negative words, Scully?"

"You want me to tell them that we're not going to make it to this year's teamwork seminar."

"Yeah, you see that?" He puts his hands on her arms. "We don't need that conference. We have communication like that, unspoken. You know what I'm thinking."

She shakes her head and starts to walk off, but he calls to her. "Besides, I think that Kinsley and Stonecypher would be happier if they had the rest of the trip to be alone."

"You don't know that," Scully protests.

He taps the side of his head. "Call it ESP."

* * *

Hotel

Mulder is looking at websites about predators when Scully returns to their room carrying a tray of cheese and mini bottle of wine. "You're the one who cut the cheese?" he asks with an immature grin.

"Since we won't be making it to the conference for the wine and cheese reception..."

"Partaaayyy!" He crows, making her laugh. "And unlike our esteemed traveling companions we don't even have to worry about that Tailhook crap. See? There are some advantages to being married to your partner."

"Sure are…" Scully says, climbing onto the bed next to him.

"Pop quiz. What animal will attack the strongest leaving the weakest to escape? The answer is none. Not one of the over 4,000 species native to North America will attack the strongest when the weak is vulnerable."

"Well, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It makes me think that what we're dealing with here is no ordinary predator."

"I thought this was just a ploy to get out of the conference."

"I think what we stumbled upon here is something more than what local authorities realize. The scenario described by that boy sounds to me like a primitive culling technique."

"Mulder, we're in Western Florida. The closest thing to primitive down here is living in a beachfront retirement condo."

"Funny, I thought you'd be more sympathetic to a child in anguish," He chides, and she doesn't look contrite. "Those woods are as old as anything in the south and there's 800 square miles of them. There's no telling what's alive out there." He stands up.

"Where are you going?"

"I've got to check something out."

"You know, Mulder, sometimes I think some work on your communication skills wouldn't be such a bad idea," Scully says with a smirk.

"I'll be back soon, and we can build a tower of furniture. 'Kay?" He smiles at her.

"Nope." She slides of the bed too. "I'm coming too."

He shrugs. "That works, too."

* * *

Asekoff house

Early Morning

Scully takes the tape of the classic Invisible Man film out of the VCR in Louis' room.

"How's the boy?" she asks as she rejoins him in the living room.

"He's still freaked out."

"I think I might have some insight into this invisible creature he said was chasing him." She hands him the video tape.

"The Invisible Man was invisible," he protests.

"Right."

"Yeah, he said he was chased by a creature with glowing red eyes." Scully rolls her own eyes. "Let me show you something." They go to the door. "Mrs. Asekoff said she went outside with the dog, right?"

"Mm hmm."

"But when she came back, the door was locked from the inside."

"And?"

"Look at this. We got some tracks here."

"Where?"

"Here, and here..." He points at the floor. "Dried mud against the tile, tracked in from the outside."

"That could have been brought in by the dog."

"No, no. You see, uh, the ball of the foot here? A large foot and I count five toes."

"Wait a minute. I thought you said it wasn't human."

"Well, I'm not saying it is. The weight distribution is all wrong. People walk heel to toe. Whatever this thing is it walks on the ball of its foot."

"You're putting me on."

"No. My dad and I were Indian Guides. I know these things."

"So, if it's not man and it's not animal, what the hell is it?"

Michelle enters just as he shrugs. "Guess I'm a little late to this dance." She remarks.

"I found some tracks - right here."

"Same as I saw before," Michelle confirms.

"Where was that?" Scully asks.

"In the woods. Weight distribution's strange. They appear to be human, but whoever left these uses the balls of his feet more like an animal." Scully glares at his triumphant look.

"Well, whatever it is, it's attacked three grown men, presumably in broad daylight disposing of its prey without detection. And it wasn't shy last night about coming out of the woods to try again. What we've got here is a predator with low visibility and a high degree of motivation. And it's got one advantage we don't have - the entire Apilachacola National Forest," Mulder says.

"Then how do you stop it?" Michelle asks.

"By identifying it. Finding it before it finds somebody else."

* * *

Mulder balks when the women indicate that they'd like to get going quickly. "These things are dangerous. There's a possibility that we could end up here overnight like the missing men - assuming they're still alive. We need to bring warm clothes and sleeping bags if we're to have a chance of survival in that case."

"Agent Mulder, we don't want to be carrying that sort of extra weight with us," Michelle protests, and Scully nods her agreement.

"We won't carry it then, but better safe than sorry. Look, I saw a documentary recently in which having the proper equipment might have allowed the three missing people to survive -"Realizing that he's beginning to describe the plot to the Blair Witch Project, which won't be out for another two years, he opts for vagueness. "I just don't want it to be us, okay?"

They grumble, but do spare the twenty minutes at a sporting goods store to buy what he wants before they go and meet the other member of the team in the woods.

* * *

On The Edge Of The Woods

Jeff Glaser the tech expert Michelle called in shows them how the heat sensor's camera and monitor reveals the presence of warm bodies. "It's called FLIR for Forward Looking InfraRed. It was developed for chopper pilots in Vietnam. Detects body heat at 300 yards."

"That's pretty sophisticated for government issue," Mulder remarks.

"Some people prefer searching with dogs, I prefer an extra pair of hands if I get in trouble," Michelle explains. "Are we ready to go, here? Once we start in, you can put away your cel phones. The only communication in these woods is with short-wave radios. So stay close, maintain visual contact. If you get lost, initiate oral contact. That means holler. If nobody responds, sit down - don't move. I will find you. Don't go looking for me. I know it sounds obvious, but folks still get lost."

Scully hangs up her phone, which is just as well, because the signal is fading out. "Local PD has all their resources looking out for a transient, a drifter who's wanted for a double homicide in Gasden, Alabama. They were amused when I told them what we were doing."

"I don't think it's a drifter, Scully, and we may be looking for two individuals."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, that thing lured that woman out of the house last night to separate her from her son."

"But for what purpose?"

"Divide and conquer. If your enemy has greater numbers than you, you divide and conquer it to diminish those numbers."

"What enemy would that be?"

"Humans invading their niche. Encroaching development. That's what I suspected when I went to check on Louis and his mother."

"You think this is about a housing tract?"

"That survey team was staking out a new 100,000 acre plot. Civilization is pushing very hard into these woods. Maybe something in these woods is pushing back."

"Anything?" Scully asks, looking over Jeff's shoulder at the blank monitor.

"No. No, nothing at all. Not even wildlife."

"Isn't that a little strange?"

"Yeah. This forest is usually alive with sound. I'm not like an expert, but I've never seen it like this before."

"Well, it sure is beautiful, though."

"That's what happens. People get to looking around, next thing they know, something eats 'em."

"What do you think killed those men?"

"Nature is populated by creatures either trying to kill something they need to survive, or trying to avoid being killed by something that needs them to survive. If we become blinded by the beauty of nature, we may fail to see its cruelty and violence."

"Walt Whitman?" Scully guesses.

"No. When Animals Attack on the Fox Network."

* * *

Despite Michelle's caution, two hours later they're again minus one police officer. Once she disappears Jeff becomes semi-hysterical, and Mulder gives in to his demands that he lead the way only to keep him from cracking up.

Jeff walks ahead, holding the device like it's their salvation.

Hanging back a bit, Scully speaks to her husband. "I don't have much faith that this device will do us any good."

"So far all it's done is split us up."

"Whatever it is that we were chasing did show up on the screen at first."

"What does that tell you?"

"Nothing," Scully concedes.

"Mm hmm."

"Except that we're going in the right direction."

"Maybe it can regulate its temperature. Do you know of any animal that can?"

"Ticks. I've heard that they can halt their metabolism for up to 18 years, essentially going into suspended animation until something warm-blooded comes along."

"That's interesting."

"Why is that interesting?"

"30 years ago, the, uh, the town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia was terrorized for over a year by something - killing livestock and terrorizing the people. Witnesses described them as primitive looking men with red piercing eyes. Became known as the 'moth men.' I've got an X-File dating back to 1952 on it."

"What would that be filed next to…'The Cockroach That Ate Cincinnati?'"

"No, 'The Cockroach That Ate Cincinnati' is in the C's. 'Moth Men's over in the M's."

Jeff interrupts their conversation to inform them that they must have gotten off the trail.

Scully sees movement in the trees. "Everybody stand still. There's something out there."

She and Mulder pull their guns out. "Where?"

"About 40 or 50 yards out."

They give chase for a while and Scully fires at it, hitting nothing.

"Don't fire again unless you're sure you're gonna hit it. It may be trying to spend our advantage." Mulder warns her after she admits she only has one clip.

She's shaken. "What the hell is it, Mulder?"

"I don't know. But what ever it is, it's smarter than us - at least out here." No sooner have the woods left his mouth is he pulled out of Scully's view.

Running towards where he was, she screams his name until she hears his pain-filled voice. As she nears she sees him wresting with a creature that keeps wandering in and out of her sight. She fires several shots at it, missing each time but driving it off. Mulder is bleeding from a deep shoulder laceration when she finally reaches him.

"You okay?" she asks breathlessly.

Mulder winces and nods weakly. "Jeff's gone now too."

Whirling on her heel she sees that he's right. They're alone in the quiet woods.

* * *

The Forest

After Dark

Since Michelle isn't around to scold them, they wander in the woods a bit trying to locate where they dropped the sleeping bags. Unfortunately, they don't stumble across them.

When they eventually give up, Mulder huddles up against a log while Scully tries to start a fire with rocks.

"You were an Indian Guide. Help me out here."

"Indian Guide says maybe you should run to the store and get some matches."

"I would, but I left my wallet in the car. Wherever we left that…" She sits next to him and picks up her gun.

"What are you doing."

"Trying to open my gun. If I can separate the shell from the casing maybe I can get the powder to ignite."

"Oh. And maybe it'll start raining weenies and marshmallows."

"Do I detect a hint of negativity?"

"No. Yes...actually. Yeah. And I'm more concerned about being able to shoot at that thing if necessary, than about an unlikely fire."

"Mulder, you need to keep warm," she protests. "Your body's still in shock."

He looks over his shoulder at something she can't see before saying, "I was told once that the best way to regenerate body heat was to crawl naked into a sleeping bag with somebody else who's already naked."

"Well, maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you'll get lucky."

He flips one of the sleeping bags that she hadn't noticed until then up in the air, making her laugh. "Do I get lucky now?"

"It's worse than I thought. Not only are you in shock, you're delirious." He snorts. "Have you thought seriously about dying?"

"Yeah, once, when I was at the Ice Capades."

"When my dad died unexpectedly like that, I was angry at the injustice of it and its meaninglessness. And then I realized that that was the struggle - to give it meaning. To make sense of it. It's like life."

"I think Nature is supremely indifferent to whether we live or die. I mean, if you're lucky you get 75 years. If you're really lucky you get 80 years. And if you're extraordinarily lucky, you get to have 50 of those years with a decent head of hair."

"I guess it's like Las Vegas. The house always wins."

"Hey, who did you identify with when you were a kid? Wilma or Betty?"

"I identified with Betty's bustline," Scully tells him as she unzips the sleeping bag.

"Yes! I did, too." He stares at her chest. "At least one of us outgrew the likeness."

"Could never have been married to Barney, though. The kids were cute."

"But where are they today?" Mulder asks. "And our kids are way cuter."

"Moth Men? Really?"

He nods. "Yeah. But there seem to be only two of them." Scully tries to pull him onto her lap. "I don't wanna wrestle."

"Get over here. I'm going to try and keep you warm." Mulder complies but she accidentally rubs his wounded shoulder. It makes him hiss in pain. "Sorry."

"One of us has got to stay awake, Scully," he protests as she wraps the sleeping bag around them both.

"You sleep, Mulder."

"If you get tired, you wake me."

"I'm not going to get tired."

"Why don't you sing .. something."

"No...Mulder."

"You sing to the kids." He pouts. "I've heard you. Well, if you sing something, I'll know you're awake."

"Mulder, you don't want me to sing. I can't carry a tune."

"It doesn't matter. Just sing anything."

Scully looks around, making sure there are no other witnesses, and then begins to sing slightly off key and without enthusiasm. "Jeremiah was a bull frog…"Her voice wavers when his eyes pop open "...was a good friend of mine. Never understood a single word he said.. but I helped him drink his wine." She pauses.

"Chorus," he demands

"Joy....to the world. All the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. Joy to you and me." She looks down at him. "I…I can't sing any more. Were you serious about wanting to get lucky?" After a moment of investigation under the sleeping bag her eyes widen. "Ah, you were."

"I was."

"Well, that'll keep me awake for a while…"

"And you're better at *that* than singing," he agrees, knowing that she hasn't the heart to hit him. For now. Instead of smacking him she laughs and pulls the sleeping bag over their heads, figuring the noise will scare away any less than voyeuristic animal.

* * *

Morning

Mulder wakes up slightly panicked when he realizes he's alone. "Scully?!"

"Mmmm....over here." She's about 20 yards away, apparently eating something.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for food. I found some wild berries."

"That sounds like a good way to get the wild runs," he tells her. "Please don't go far."

"Mulder, you never left my sight," She reassures him, right before disappearing from sight.

"Scully?" He gets up painfully and goes to where she was. "Scully? Scully! Scully!?"

A voice near his feet says, "I'm down here".

"Where?"

"I fell down a hole."

He looks and sees her getting to her feet at the bottom of a hole ten feet deep. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I landed on soft dirt .. kind of."

"What's down there?"

"I don't know. It's pretty dark." Scully steps out of view. "Oh!"

"Scully, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"I found Michelle."

"Is she alive?"

"Not for much longer. Mulder, we have to get her out of here."

"Is there a way out?"

"I don't know. I... I'm in some kind of a chamber. There's...there's like some kind of network. Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not alone. I don't have my weapon. Mulder!?"

"Hold on, I'm going to drop my gun down."

He drops gun, then hears rustling behind him. As Scully bends to pick up his gun, Mulder dives into the hole too. "Jeez!! Mulder, are you okay?"

Groaning, he holds his shoulder, and ground in pain. "Don't mind me."

The creature begins to move towards them, and he shouts a warning. "Scully!"

Scully fires three or four shots and it drops to the ground, seemingly dead. They look at creature's body. It looks like a person carved out of wood.

"Mulder, look. There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

* * *

Mulder looks up at Scully as they work to stack bodies of long-dead victims up under the hole. "Too bad we don't have any office furniture."

"If they could see us now."

"Go, team. 20 more bodies and we'll win the Honey-Baked Ham."

A familiar voice calls out, "Agent Mulder?"

"We're down here!"

Agent Kinsley peers down at them. "What're you doing down there?"

To Mulder's surprise, it's Scully who has the smart remark. "Seemed like a good place for our second honeymoon."

"We've got injured people down here," Mulder tells Kinsley.

"We need a ladder," Scully adds, waving with her hand to indicate they're too deep under ground to climb out.

"Right away."

**

Ambulances load Michelle, Jeff and Mr. Asekoff, while another EMT bandages Mulder's injured shoulder.

As soon as Mulder is released, Kinsley comes over to him. "Well, we just got all the thanks when you did all the work."

"No, on the contrary, Agent Kinsley, we would never have gotten involved in this if not for you."

"Really?"

Mulder points at a tab on the crosscut - 1521 Ponce De Leon Lands Looking for Fountain of Youth. "Yeah, you see this?"

"Oh, yeah. I pointed that out to Agent Stonecypher on the drive down."

"There was something in the cave that Scully fell into, an inscription - Ad Noctum."

"That's, uh -"

"It means 'into darkness'. The Spanish Conquistadors used to carve it on the posts that they would lash the natives to as a warning," Mulder explains.

"So who're you saying wrote this?"

"Ponce De Leon came here 450 years ago looking for the Fountain of Youth."

"You mean you think that these...that - that - that- that body the one that Agent Scully shot? No-"

"After 400 years in the woods don't you think they might have adapted perfectly to their environment?"

"You're just making this up."

"Why do you say that?"

The other agent laughs uncomfortably. "'Cause, you work on the X-Files, and you just want to write off your motel." He looks over his shoulder quickly before adding. "And earlier? You were right."

"About what?" Mulder asks blankly.

"About us giving the couple thing a shot." Kinsley blushes when they see Stonecypher approaching.

"Search and Rescue are still unable to find one of the surveyors or the second predator that you reported," she tells them.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they couldn't find either one of them," Mulder replies.

"Agent Mulder, I'm confused about one thing. Why would they come after the boy in the house that night?"

"These predators have been in these woods for a long, long time. They would have perceived any encroachment on their territory as an enemy, even a little kid like that."

"But that would mean that they'd come after any one of us that had gone into the woods, wouldn't it?"

He nods, then looks around. "Where's Scully?"

"Oh, she got a lift back to the motel to pack up both your things." Stonecypher says.

"She did? Excuse me." Before either agent can protest, he hops into their car and drives off.

* * *

Motel

"Scully!? Scully!!!??"

Scully leans out of the bathroom. "Mulder, what's going on?"

"Let's get out of here," he says, picking up his suitcase and bumping gently against her until she gets moving.

"'Kay," she says, picking up the other suitcase.

"You pack everything?"

"Yeah."

As he closes the door he catches a glimpse of red eyes under the bed. Scully thinks he's shivering from pain, and wraps her arm around his waist, having no idea that he's praying that the manager doesn't rent out the room in the next few hours.


	51. PostModern Prometheus

Halloween 1997

Although agent Brandywine doesn't have children, his sick partner Jerry Stone does, so he's not terribly surprised to find himself roped into chaperoning. This isn't his ideal way to spend the day, because as much as he dislikes his partner, he dislikes his kids even more. Luckily, only the youngest goes to the preschool.

On the other hand, it's only a few minutes after he gets there that he's got little Reese demanding his attention - just like his father.

"Uncle Bobby!" Reese whines, tugging on his sleeve. Brandywine tries not to shudder; he really hates being called Bobby, and is still pissed that his partner encourages his kids to. "Tell Page that she's a liar!"

A small blonde girl scowls at Reese. "Am not."

"Uh huh," the little boy insists, quickly sticking his tongue out at the little girl. "Page says her daddy and mommy work with monsters."

"They do!" the little girl insists.

Sighing, Brandywine looks down at the girl. Her parents are almost certainly FBI agents, but he can't think of any blonde agents off the top of his head that would refer to criminals as monsters. Not that the parents need to be blondes. "What's your name?"

"Page."

"Page what?"

"Page Nicole Mulder," the child chirps.

"Oh..." Brandywine can't help but smile. The child's parents were being literal, if they told her about who they've been involved with. "Your mom and dad are agents Mulder and Scully, aren't they."

"Yup."

The agent looks down at his partner's son. "Page isn't lying, Reese. Her parents do work with monsters."

Reese's eyes widen in shock. "Mommy and Daddy say monsters ain't real!"

"That's because your parents are narrow-minded and over protective." Brandywine explains.

"Daddy!" The little girl runs towards a tall smiling man.

His partner's brat is still staring at Brandywine with a dumbfounded expression on his face, making the agent feel a bit self-satisfied. Maybe when the little brat tattles his father will request a new partner and he'd be able to wash his hands of the whole family.

* * *

At first Page was very excited that her Daddy is going to be at school, but now she's not so sure. Not everyone's parents are there, so she has to share her Daddy with three other kids. Megan is a witch, Hannah - who has the same name as her parents' friend's little girl - is a kitten, and Hunter is Batman. Page is a princess, and Daddy says that she's one even when she's not all dressed up. But he's silly like that.

"So," her daddy says, looking at the four of them. "Are you guys ready to go to the haunted house?"

"Yeah!" They all scream, but Page thinks that Hannah is a scardy-cat, 'cause she doesn't look as happy as the rest of them.

"Looks like it's time to get on the bus," Daddy notes before ushering them out to the line. Page is very careful to tell him where the best seats are, and they're real lucky to get to them first before Reese and his friend do. Daddy tells them all to sit down safely, and they do.

The drive doesn't take too long, but Page wishes it was longer. That way she could make more faces at Reese, who is pouting with his arms crossed, and not listening to anything the grown up friend of his is saying.

"Let's go," Daddy says. "We're going to have lots of fun today, right?"

"Yeah!" they say again, but Page looks at her three friends. She has no idea what a haunted house is, and she wonders if any of them do.

* * *

As far as Mulder is concerned, this is the best Halloween ever. At least the best one since he was a little kid, anyway. His parents didn't believe in letting kids go trick o treating as teenagers - not that he really wanted to after Samantha disappeared. Before then there were some good Halloweens, but they're bittersweet to remember, so he usually tries not to.

This is better. His little girl and her three remarkably well-behaved classmates are completely wide-eyed as they begin to go into the haunted house. He has the sense that no one told any of the kids what a haunted house was, given that they seem perpetually surprised by what's going on.

*

"Hannah and Hunter, you come back now," he demands, beginning to become exasperated by his duty as kid-herder. The two kids squeal and run back to where he's standing with Page and Megan.

If this is the "less scary" version of the haunted house like the preschool claimed, he's really glad that they didn't choose to go to the scarier version late in the day. The kids are getting a bit less well-behaved because they're scared. It's not as though he can blame them, he knows his own behavior goes to pot when he's got a scary case. Although to be honest, his cases are considerably scarier than the things that fall or jump out at the kids.

He scarcely has gotten those two back when Page and Megan take off. Before he quite knows it, the only one still near him is Hannah. "Hey, Hannah, why don't we go catch up with the rest of them," he says cheerfully.

Before they do he hears a familiar little voice shout. "Ah, it's a monster! Daddy, come kill it!"

Rounding the corner he almost screams himself…with laughter. Three tiny people have cornered a much larger one, and they're swinging the plastic sacks full of candy from the trick-o-treating back at the preschool at the poor cowering figure.

"Page's Daddy kills monsters. You gonna be in trouble," Hunter says in what is probably supposed to be a warning tone.

"You three, here, now," Mulder demands sternly.

His tone of voice doesn't have quite the desired effect, because instead of being contrite, three little faces look up him expectantly. "Kill the monster."

"Yeah, kill it!"

Across the room the figure struggles to its feet, and it's impossible to tell if he or she is alarmed because his or her face is covered by a hideous mask. It reminds Mulder a bit of the Flukeman, but greener.

"That's not a monster," Mulder tells them.

"Is too!"

"Yeah Huh!"

Trying not to roll his eyes, Mulder raises his voice instead. "Would you mind taking off your mask, please, and showing them you're not a monster?"

"I'm not supposed to," is the muffled reply.

Mulder looks down at the knee-high but bloodthirsty quartet. "Are you sure you want them to continue thinking you're a monster?"

The "Monster" seems to consider this for a moment, then peals off the mask, revealing a woman around eighteen or so.

The kids look a bit disappointed, and scowl when Mulder tells them, "Now apologize for hitting the nice lady and calling her a monster."

"We're sorry," they chorus, then Page walks over to her and holds out a Snickers bar, which Mulder knows is her favorite. "Want some candy?"

The woman takes it and they soon leave her behind. No one else is hit the rest of the day.

* * *

December 1997

A family is driving through the deep heartland of America, taking an all-American trip in an All-American Taurus, looking for all the world like a car commercial in motion. "Mommy, where are we going?" a plaintive voice from the back asks.

"Read 'em the letter, Scully," Mulder says as his wife glares daggers at him.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," the redhead digs through her work purse, designated as such so that nobody stuffs Cheerios into it. It doesn't stop Mulder from putting discarded sunflower shells into it, however, she grimaces as she pulls the envelope from among the said shells. "Dear Special Agent Mulder," she twists somewhat in her seat to face her inquisitive little girl, squirming boy and sleeping baby, "I'm writing to you for help. Several years ago I had an experience I could not explain. I was lying in my bed when I felt a presence in the room. Though I was awake, I felt that something had taken control over my body. I don't remember much else but I woke up three days later pregnant with my son, Izzy."

"Izzy!" Page laughs, and Sammy repeats the name several times before Scully can continue reading.

"That was 18 years ago, but now it happened again. I was in bed and could swear I heard Cher singing… The one who was married to Sonny." Scully indulges herself in an eyeroll as Mulder smirks behind the wheel. "Then the room got all smoky, and I saw some kind of monster. He had a really gross face with lumps all over his head. I was too scared to scream. Then I got all groggy and conked out fro three days. Guess what happened when I woke up? I got your name off the TV. Some lady on the Jerry Springer show who had a werewolf baby said you came to her house." She pauses. "You did what?"

Mulder is careful to keep his eyes on the road. "Just a consulting job, you do that sometimes, don't you, honey?"

"Sure, poopyhead," she shakes her head, then looks at her kids. "Don't repeat that." As they blink, she finishes the letter quickly. "Well, I got her story beat by a mile so maybe you'll want to come see me, too. Sincerely, Shaineh Berkowitz." Hurriedly, she stuffs the letter back into her purse. "You brought us all the way out here for," she's waving her hands, unsure of how best to describe it without using negative words her children will repeat later, "*this*?"

He glances at her, then grins widely. "With our casefiles, *we* got Springer beat by a mile. You think we should get a show together and make some real money?"

She smiles a fuck-you smile, then looks at her sweet babies. "Daddy's silly, isn't he?"

As their children giggle, Mulder shakes his head. "No, no, Daddy's *brilliant*," he argues, but knows it's a losing battle.

* * *

As Mulder and Scully walk through the Berkowitz home, Mulder's careful to hoist his wall-climbing son on his shoulders and carry the diaper bag, while Scully has April strapped to her front and holding on to goggle-eyed Page. Mrs. Berkowitz looked at them oddly at first, but let them in, explaining, "Sorry, I thought you were them preachin' people at first. Well, until you showed my your badges instead of Bibles."

"Uh, yeah," Scully says, wrestling with balance between her two daughters. "I understand you reported both the intruders' break-in and the union to the police."

"Well, I don't know about no union, but I sure woke up in a condition," the heavyset woman nods.

"And what did the police report say?" Scully asks, both to Mrs. Berkowitz and Mulder.

"Uh, nothin'," Mrs. Berkowitz replies, "nobody here ever locks their doors, and it took me a month or two to figure it out...I mean, that I was pregnant, you know?" She raises her eyebrows at Scully, mother to mother.

Yeah, I should talk, if it wasn't for that FBI-mandated exam, I wouldn't've known I was pregnant with April as early as I did, either, Scully reluctantly nods. "So, you're pregnant now?" she says.

* * *

The curly-haired woman nods, "Uh-huh, but as I told Agent Mulder, that's what takes the cake."

"Figure of speech, she doesn't have cake," Mulder cuts off his children's whining before it starts, and to his wife, "she had a tubal ligation two years ago."

"You can't plant a seed in a barren field," Mrs. Berkowitz delivers this with a pragmatism learned and leads them to her kitchen, where the two older children still hold out hope for cake. She holds up a frying pan, then hands it over to Scully. "They were cooking something on the range. Took me two days of scrubbin' to clean the skillet." She watches the red-haired woman inspect the pan, then glance at her husband before setting the skillet down. "I don't know how many of them there were. I only saw the one, but they ate almost a whole damn jar of peanut butter." She holds aloft the empty jar, then hands it over when Sammy starts reaching for it.

Mulder smothers a smile at both his son and his wife as she tries to salvage what she believes is a complete waste of their time. "You were gone for three days but nobody noticed?"

Mrs. Berkowitz crosses her arms. "I know what you're thinkin'."

Always straightforward when she has to be, Scully asks, "Do you drink, Mrs. Berkowitz?"

"No," Mrs. Berkowitz replies in the same tone, "but I'm not so sure my intruders, as you call them, didn't have a few." She walks over and points to two ring-shaped watermarks on an old cabinet. "Somebody set a tumbler here and didn't use no coaster." She notes Scully's look and adds, "And don't you think my boy did that. He don't have much brains, but he does value his life." She waves at an open door. "That pigsty there is his room."

Page laughs. "That's what Mommy calls Daddy's office."

"Page," Scully sighs as Mrs. Berkowitz chuckles and Mulder gives his wife a mock-outraged look. She doesn't hear her husband's muttered conversation with the woman, since Page has picked up a comic book. "Page, you shouldn't touch other people's things," she says, but then frowns at the cover. "Honey? Mommy wants to look at that," she says, taking it from her daughter. Besides, she'd rather flip through the black-and-white funnybook than go through the well-described pigsty. "Mrs. Berkowitz? You gave a description of the intruder. You said that he had a gross face and lumps on his head?"

Mrs. Berkowitz nods enthusiastically. "And two mouths. I don't know if I mentioned that."

Scully almost takes it in stride. "Funny. Sounds just like this." She holds up the comic book. Mulder joins her and peers at the familiar comic book, making sure his son's peanut butter-stained hands don't touch the evidence.

"Oh, that?" The curly-haired woman blinks, then explains, "That's the Great Mutato." In a proud voice, she adds, "That's a comic book character my kid Izzy created."

They all turn when they hear the door slam. "What's going on?" a heavyset young man with a blank expression asks.

His mother gives him a scolding look about the door, then explains, "These are agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI. They brought their kids."

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation?" Izzy asks, less blank but no less confused as to how a perfectly normal-looking family is standing in his house.

"We were wondering how this suspect in your mother's case looks exactly like this?" Scully asks, then nudges her husband.

Mulder closes the comic book and holds it up. "The Great Mutato."

"Because I," the young man says hesitantly, "I've seen him, too."

"You've seen the Great Mutato?" Scully says the name in the same tone she reserves for aliens, Elvis, and Big Blue sightings.

"Yeah, a lot of people around here have," he says, more eager now.

The redhead is trying not to scream. It wouldn't look very good for her kids or the FBI, and she's long given up on Mulder. "Has it crossed neither of your minds that what you say you saw that night fits perfectly with this creature that your son created?"

Now the curly-haired woman is somewhat defensive. "Well, yeah. But," she looks at each of them, "that don't mean it didn't happen."

Mulder and Scully share a look, but each with their own thoughts.

* * *

Later that night, after they have tucked their kids in the motel bed for the umpteenth time, Scully looks at Mulder. "Okay, what the hell is this?" she asks, careful to keep her voice down just in case.

Mulder looks up, then looks back down at the casefile he's hastily assembled and spread out on their bed. "What's what?" he asks back.

She sits on the bed, then leans in so he can't avoid looking at her. "Why the hell are we out here?" she asks. "It's a classic rape case, with a neighborhood scientist in the area, nothing unusual or paranormal about it."

"But doesn't Dr. Pollidori scream 'Frankenstein' to you?" Mulder really looks at her. "And what about that creature we saw in the woods? You saw it, didn't you?" he frowns.

"I saw," she sighs loudly, "something. But it could've been a normal person taking two quick bites, not a monster," she adds quickly.

He grins, then sobers, his eyes crinkling with his forehead. "I also think Shaineh Berkowitz deserves to know who raped her, don't you?"

His wife nods. "Then that's for the local police to investigate," Scully kisses her mildly insane husband's forehead. "Not an FBI matter," she tries to put the papers away.

He shakes his head. "No, there's something more here," he insists, brushing away her hands, knowing that saying "Because we've lived through this before and there is a monster and a Frankenstein" won't help his case.

"Mulder, stop," she says, putting her hands on his, "please. There's nothing for us here."

"There is," he repeats, but the sight of Scully unbuttoning her FBI-approved blouse has him mildly distracted. "Really, there is," he tries again, but his hands are unfastening her bra while she kisses and fondles him. "Scully."

"Shut up, Mulder," she whispers in his ear, wriggling out of her pants, "the kids are asleep and :censored, quite a lot: and managing, by some miracle, not to wake their children while indulging in the original process of procreation.

* * *

The FBI couple pull up to JJ's Country Diner, absently rubbing each other's shoulders. They've still got a bit of an afterglow, which their children have unfairly taken advantage of, so they've got to a bit of a late start. "Coffee?" Scully asks as she opens the back door to unbuckle their kids.

"Two sugars, no cream," he says, and she gives him a relieved smile before he walks inside. And this time, he welcomes the massive spread the waitress sets before him, since it'll save him time ordering for the kids. He half-grins as the strange woman rattles off the large repast, including the "monster grapefruits." If she only knew, he thinks, and yawns briefly before asking, "Excuse me, could I have some coffee? We'd appreciate it."

"Sure," the waitress nods, deftly filling a coffee mug, "on the house. Compliments of JJ." Mulder nods as JJ calls out, "That's with two Js!" Then the woman blinks. "Did you say we?"

No, I was speaking French, Mulder's about to say as he dumps two sugars in the cup, when his family troops in, settles around him and helps themselves to the food. "Another cup of coffee," he says, pushing the first filled mug to his wife.

"Thanks," Scully smiles, sipping her coffee. Despite the bustle that a small family brings, surprisingly nobody seems to pay them too much attention. "Guess what," she says, handing over the newspaper while keeping an eye on the kids and feeding April. "Amazingly, last night's entire conversation is front page news."

* * *

After Shaineh Berkowitz reams out her son Izzy for recording and giving the conversation over to the newspaper, Mulder and Scully step out of the Berkowitz house, children in tow. "Where are we going now?" Scully asks, shifting April on her hip.

Mulder holds up the tape. "To messenger this to the Bureau. I want special audio to filter the tracks and ten I want to go back to see the professor."

"Mulder, it's just some stupid hoax," Scully argues, then bounces April onto her shoulder when she starts fussing. "Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay, Daddy's got another wild goose chase," she cooes

"What goose?" Page asks. "I don't see goose." She and her brother start peering back at the neighbors who are watching them.

"Figure of speech, Page," Mulder says by rote, "and something recorded its voice on this, Scully."

His wife shoots him a wry look. "And you think Dr. Pollidori has something to do with it?"

He grins and squats down to his older children's height, but still towers over them. "When Victor Frankenstein asks himself, 'Whence did the principle of life proceed?' and then as a gratifying summit to his toils creates a hideous phantasm of a man, he prefigures the Postmodern Prometheus. The genetic engineer whose power to reanimate matter -- genes into life -- is only as limited as his imagination is." Then he takes Sammy's chubby little wrists and waves them around in a parody of a monster, making the boy rock back and forth rather than walk. "Loiiiife," he cackles in a horrible Boris Karloff imitation, "I have created liiiiiiife."

Two of the Scully girls laugh while the third is drooling on her mother's shoulder. The eldest Scully shakes her head and adjusts the towel on her shoulder. "I can't believe you'd reduce this man to a literary stereotype, a mad scientist."

Still playing monster with his boy, Mulder replies, "Who else would go to such trouble to impregnate Shaineh Berkowitz?" Grinning at his oldest daughter, he adds, "Bwuhahahahaha!" and makes as if Sammy the Monster is going to attack.

Page squeals and laughs as Scully rolls her eyes. Honestly, he may quote classic literature, but will he never grow up? As Sammy growls and roars along with his father, she sighs. Never mind.

* * *

The trip to the hospital was complicated only by the fact that the obstetrician thought they were coming in for themselves rather than for Mrs. Berkowitz. Once they had that miscommunication straightened out, Scully got her hot little hands on the subject's file and never took her eyes off it. That left Mulder to shepherd the kids into the backseat and buckle them in, while his partner peaceable peruses the contents of the folder. Driving down the road of this somewhat bland neighborhood, he glances at his wife, then his kids. Strange to think we're actually the most normal people in this town, he thinks, and smiles, returning his eyes to the road.

"I have to admit, Mulder, everything looks in order. Mrs. Berkowitz had a tubal ligation in 1993 and two months ago, she had two pregnancy tests both with positive results."

When he sees the tented house, Mulder formulates a plan of action. He stops the car and reverses it, with amazingly no cars to hit either way.

"What are you doing?" Scully frowns as the scenery goes by backwards.

"Mrs. Berkowitz said in her letter that when she saw her intruder, there was a gaseous white cloud and then when she woke up three days later, nobody knew that she'd been gone."

Scully's staring at her husband like he's lost his mind. Not a new expression, but still. "Yeah. So?"

He pulls up to the Pollidori house, covered in a bug extermination tent. "So," he says, unbuckling himself, "if I'm not out in fifteen minutes, call an ambulance. I don't want you or the kids inhaling any of that stuff."

She shoots him an indignant look and unlocks her seatbelt. "What about you inhaling that stuff? What about backup?"

He kisses her on the forehead and puts his hand on her shoulder, keeping her in her seat. "Fifteen minutes," he says, unholstering his gun and running towards the house.

She exhales, then looks at her kids. "He's right, but it's still stupid to run in there without backup," she tells them.

Page nods. "Silly Daddy."

Scully nods back. "Exactly."

* * *

Exactly eighteen minutes later, paramedics are dragging out not only a seemingly hung over Mulder, but also a thin, unconscious woman, while an unmarked car releases a birdlike woman with glasses onto the scene. Scully grabs April and flashes her badge. The paramedics dump her husband in the back seat of their rental, giving Scully a small oxygen canister with a plastic mask attached to it while they attend the thin woman.

"Mulder," Scully says, forcing her medical side to take over as she fastens the mask to his face, saving him the trouble of holding it himself. Her children, however, have no compunction about throwing themselves at their red-eyed, coughing, and rather smelly father.

Weakly, he puts his arms around his children and leans against the carseat. "How is she?" he asks in a muffled voice behind the mask.

She watches as the ambulance pulls out and the birdlike woman joins them. "Mrs. Pollidori is unconscious, but fine," the woman with the glasses replies. "I do believe she'll be treated for that nasty gas inhalation and put under observation."

"Who are you?" Scully asks, and now the kids look up at the strange lady.

The woman pushes up her glasses nervously. "I'm with the newspaper," she says, her large eyes darting at the adults and children with the same nervous glance.

"We gotta go back in," Mulder mutters, taking off the oxygen mask and lurching out of the car, only to be caught by his wife.

"We aren't going anywhere but to a hospital," Scully says firmly while their kids grab his jacket.

He rolls his bleary eyes at his beloved, heavenly wife. "You say the sexiest things, G-Woman," he says, closing his eyes.

Scully rolls her eyes heavenward, then looks at the reporter. "This is all off-the-record, understand?" she says, buckling April back into her carseat. "That was Mrs. Pollidori?"

The reporter nods jerkily. "Yes, her husband is out of town for a conference. It's a good thing you got here when you did, that poor woman might be dead otherwise. How did you know?"

"A hunch," Scully mutters, finally wrestling her too-tall husband into the backseat. "I'm sorry, your name is?"

"Here's my card," the reporter says, proffering a small rectangle, and the distracted FBI agent pockets it while reseating Page in the front passenger seat. "Give me a call when you find anything."

"Likewise," Scully says, locking her door.

As the redhead speeds off, putting some serious distance between themselves and the tented house, Mulder mumbles, "Pans're violated."

"What?"

"She's pregnant," Mulder says, his eyes still closed with his head drooping forward, "th' pans is violated."

"Mulder," Scully says in a no-nonsense voice, "put on the mask, lie back, and shut up."

"Ooh, Mommy said shut up," Page says, her eyes wide.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Sammy crows, bouncing in his car seat.

"Samuel Taylor Scully Mulder, not another word," his mother says with steel in her voice.

Nobody says a thing for the rest of the trip to the hospital.

* * *

The next day, Scully and her children are in Mrs. Pollidori's room, the children being given an exemption as long as they stay by the door. "How old are they?" Mrs. Pollidori asks, smiling in spite of her weariness.

"Page is three, Sammy's two, and April is nine months," Scully says, shifting her youngest daughter on her shoulder.

"You're so lucky," the thin woman smiles, and the FBI agent finds herself smiling back. "I've always wanted children."

"It may be your lucky day," Mulder's voice drawls from the doorway, "according to the doctors, you are with child."

"Mulder, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" Scully whips around, missing Mrs. Pollidori's ecstatic smile.

He's dressed in his FBI suit and tie, but that was only due to great effort and concentration. "I was, but I got bored," he says, sitting on his haunches to be close to his kids and to give his unsteady legs a break. "Are you two being good to Mommy?"

"Uh-huh," they chorus, pretending not to notice their mother's watchful eyes.

"I see," he says, grinning up at his wife. "We need to get back to the house to look for clues."

"Are you in any condition to do that?" Scully looks at him more carefully.

"The cops are airing out the house right now," he says, as much to his partner as to the woman in the bed, "and if they've inhaled anything, they might miss something."

"Mrs. Pollidori, did you see anything?" Scully turns around to face the now-pale woman.

The thin woman's eyes have gotten larger in the space of a couple of seconds. "The thi--, he, he had this face with these hideous tumors, and," she shudders, her eyes staring at nothing in particular, "and two mouths, not just one."

"I see," Mulder says, rising too fast and lurching against the doorframe. "Well, we better get going. Daylight's burning."

"Not so fast," Scully says, walking over and pinning her husband to the doorway. "You stay here. I'll go and check it out."

"No, we all go together," Mulder says, using Page and Sammy as giggling leg braces, "strength in numbers."

"Right," Scully sighs, then turns around. "Thank you, Mrs. Pollidori."

The thin woman shakes her head. "No, thank you." A smile lights up her drawn features. "I'm going to be a mother!"

* * *

At the Pollidori house, they are greeted by an irate scientist and some rattled policemen. "What are you doing in my house?" Dr. Pollidori thunders as the local PD scatters while the FBI agents and their children head to the kitchen.

Mulder and Scully flash their badges, Mulder less smoothly than Scully. "Dr. Pollidori, is there something you'd like to tell us?" the tall agent asks, glaring at the doctor glaring at his kids.

"Are you accusing me of knowing something about this, this mess?" the white-haired man throws his hands dramatically at the fingerprint dust coating almost every other surface in the kitchen.

"I'm accusing you that your wife may have been impregnated."

"How? By whom?" the scientist looks genuinely baffled.

"Oh, I think you know," Mulder says, attempting to lean forward menacingly, but managing only to lurch forward like a drunk and catch himself on the counter.

"This could all be part of an elaborate hoax," Scully offers, then grabs Sammy's hand before he puts it into his mouth. "No, it's not sugar," she says, dusting off his hands as best she can.

"A hoax?" Dr. Pollidori frowns.

"Dr. Pollidori," Mulder says, holding up the frying pan with some whitish, non-fingerprint dust residue. "The other victims had their frying pans… violated." He puts the pan down before he falls over, stumbling and catching himself on the counter again. "Do you know what that is?"

The scientist purses his lips. "No, I don't."

Mulder staggers over to the trashcan and pulls out a large, partially-emptied peanut butter jar. "I think we have our smoking gun," he declaims, setting it on the table and sitting himself on a chair. "We must've interrupted the intruder before he could finish it off."

"Of course," Dr. Pollidori says in a smug, indulgent tone. "But it does rather sound more like an elaborate hoax than anything, yes?" He raises his eyebrows to include Scully. "In the meantime, please have this place cleaned up while I visit my wife. Elizabeth is in a very delicate state right now, and if I were to bring her home to this, she may have a relapse." He strides out the door, slamming it decisively shut behind him.

"She's in a delicate state, all right," Mulder mutters, then looks at his family. "What?"

"Mulder, I thought you'd behave," Scully says, "or at least sit down sooner than you did."

"Hey, I was fine," he protests, "it's Dr. Frankenstein there that has a problem."

"He may be an insensitive, egotistical pompous jerk, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the culprit," Scully grunts, helping her husband to his feet. "Otherwise, you'd've been a bad guy a long time ago."

"Hey!" Mulder says, pouting even as Page and Sammy resume their role of leg braces. "I was never that bad!"

"Uh-huh," Scully says, leading the march back to the car.

* * *

Fortunately, there was never a headline with the FBI declaring the Great Mutato to be a hoax, but the postman still fanned the flames of distrust when he showed Izzy Berkowitz off as a false representative of his comic book creation. Still, Mulder's uneasy about the fate of the elder Mr. Pollidori as they research the origins of the frying pan residue. He tries not to snap impatiently as he asks, "Is there someone registered locally?"

As expected, his wife nods, and he strides towards the car. Unfortunately, his legs are still a bit on the wobbly side, and Scully grabs the keys. "Until you stop weaving like a drunken sailor, I'm driving," she says, and buckles everyone in with a firmness that forbids argument.

Once they reach the barn, Mulder's got a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he's sure it's not from the anesthetic gas. They uncover not only the freshly-dug grave, but also the birdlike reporter. What is up with this lady? Mulder thinks as they try to escort her from the premises, but instead she joins them into the kitchen. There, they find the photo album, and behind the shorter women and the small children peering at the photos, the tall agent's face shows a sadness rarely seen by even his wife as they flip through pictures of a shared life with father and son, however hideous the son may look.

"That's it," the reporter finally says, her head bobbing with a jerk-like motion, "that's the thing that buried the old man in the barn."

"How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am," Mulder mutters as the birdlike reporter leaves to scribble furiously and privately.

"Who said that?" Scully turns around to look up at her husband.

"Justine Moritz, an innocent woman who died for the sins of a madman," he replies, "at least in the book."

"Frankenstein?" she asks. "I must've missed that."

He shrugs a little, a half-grin on his face. "Yeah, well, your literary appreciation's incomplete with only Moby Dick," he says.

She draws herself up to her full height, which is still not very tall. "That which is in Melville's classic is the sum of what literature has to offer," she says in stentorian tones, "all else is superfluous."

"And you passed your undergraduate how?" he asks, only to be swatted by his partner. "Ow."

"What's that?" Scully frowns as sounds of a large crowd and sights of torches lighting up the night begin to fill the farm grounds.

"Oh, no," Mulder says, unconsciously holding his family to him. "They're here."

* * *

As before, the FBI couple tries to calm the worked-up crowd, but Dr. Pollidori plays them like a fiddle, and Mulder and Scully are forced to retreat back to the house for their children's safety while the townspeople unwisely go through the wooden barn with torches. Mulder hates that his kids should have to see the dark side of human behavior before they even hit kindergarten. Not to say that preschool isn't an education in the dark side, but anyways…

"Daddy, are they mad at us?" Page asks.

"No, sweetie," Mulder picks her up, keeping an eye on the barn. "They're scared."

"Why?" Sammy asks.

"Because they think being ugly means being bad," he says, squatting down to his son. "And we know that's not true."

"It's not?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

He looks up at her. "Hey, the Lone Gunmen aren't the prettiest people on the planet, but they're definitely the good guys," he says, then grins.

"I don't know about that Frohike," she mutters, but grins back anyways. Then she hugs April to herself. "Besides, the only way Pollidori could've seen the monster was if he was out here himself." As she muses, she notes Page waving. "What is it, honey?"

"It's a ghost!" Page smiles as the cellar doors close. "See, gone now."

"I don't think so," Mulder says, putting her down to pull out a flashlight while Scully pulls out her gun. "Let's go check it out."

And check it out they do, with Mulder leading and Scully and the kids hanging behind. They find the Great Mutato, and it's the kids, rather than the agents, who coax him out of hiding, to Mulder's surprise. He would've thought Mutato would be less inclined to scare little kids, but apparently, his kids are harder to scare than others. And as before, the thoughtless crowd burns down the barn, even as the small family tries to make their escape quietly this time. Again, they retreat into the cellar, and Page screams as people break the cellar windows with pitchforks and rocks. He picks her up and holds Sammy to his leg, while Scully holds onto both April and the Great Mutato, his jaw working as his children bury their faces into his clothes. He's pretty sure that if he weren't an FBI agent, he'd shoot every last one of those idiots scaring his children, laws be damned.

As the hysterical crowd force their way into the cellar, Mulder and Scully stand in front of the Great Mutato protectively, and they lock eyes as well as hands before facing the crowd. Here we go, the tall man thinks, as Dr. Pollidori swaggers to the forefront.

* * *

If this man even touches my kids, there'll be a bloodbath tonight, Mulder thinks as Dr. Pollidori, Shaineh Berkowitz, and the crowd demand to have a look at the "monster." Reluctantly, the agents do so, but only because they really have no other choice. The so-called monster acquits himself quite well once he's allowed to speak, and finally says in his hoarse voice, "Suffice it to say, his experiments failed and… my father is dead. I am alone… and miserable. But as one deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me." He looks pleadingly at the monster who created him, "If this being you can create, then I will take blame as the murderer."

The scientist, true to form, sneers as he says, "I don't know how to recreate you. You were a mistake!"

Mulder forces himself not to punch the guy out, and is pretty sure his molars will be dust by the way he's grinding his teeth. "What we did was wrong," the Great Mutato hangs his head, "but in our trespasses we gave you a loving son and in your homes I went places I'd never dreamed of. With your books, and your records and home media centers, I learned of the world and of a mother's love that I'll never know." He smiles sadly, and Mulder's almost shocked to see he can recognize that expression on such a warped face. "Cher loved that boy so much."

As Page reaches out to pat the deformed man's shoulder, Izzy Berkowitz looks at the crowd. "Hey, he's no monster," he says, and the crowd murmurs.

His piece said, the Great Mutato nods at the little girl before holding out his wrists. "Arrest me, then, as you will."

"No!" Sammy shouts, peeling himself off his father's leg and attaching himself to the deformed man's. "Not bad guy!"

Scully blinks at her son, then at her husband, then at the crowd. And somehow, she's not surprised to find Mulder and herself beaming at their boy, nor the crowd wearing similar expressions, save for Dr. Pollidori. But she is surprised when the Great Mutato smiles on both faces and bends down, hugging the boy back. "Thank you," he says in his soft voice, clumsily patting the small child's back.

Now what do we do, she thinks, looking up only to find Mulder with the same look on his face.

* * *

"_Saw the ghost of Elvis_

_On Union Avenue_

_Followed him up to the gates of Graceland_

_Then I watched him walk right through_

_Now security they did not see him_

_They just hovered 'round his tomb_

_But there's a pretty little thing_

_Waiting for the King_

_Down in the Jungle Room_"

As Cher belts out the chorus of "Walking in Memphis" to the crowded nightclub, Mulder's again amazed at what a little FBI finagling can do, as he, his family, and the Great Mutato are sitting in the front row. That, and the fact that most of the people who were ready to kill the poor man less than a couple hours ago are now sitting behind him and enjoying the show. He shakes his head, then laughs as the Great Mutato is all but spazzing in the chair, then high-fives the crazy guy. Sammy is standing on his lap and bouncing as energetically as Mutato, making Mulder a little careful about his boy falling off. When Cher steps down and takes the two-faced man by the hand, Mulder gives him a helpful push and Scully smiles while Page dances between her parents' legs and April's lying peaceably in her mother's arms, thanks to earplugs.

"_They've got catfish on the table_

_They've got gospel in the air_

_And Reverend Green be glad to see you_

_When you haven't got a prayer_"

"Dance with me, Daddy, dance!" Page says, tugging at her father's pants leg.

He shrugs, then puts Sammy on his chair before picking up Page and joining Cher and the Great Mutato on the dance floor. Both Mutato's faces are grinning from ear to ear, and Mulder smiles back. Then he spins back to his wife, sitting next to a jumping little boy with a dozing baby in her arms. He puts out a free hand to her, and she raises an eyebrow.

"My hands are full," she says, shrugging helplessly.

"So are mine," he says, pulling her up by the elbow. "Come on."

"Fine," she says, gingerly shifting April to accommodate not only Mulder, but Page in his arms. "You are a silly man."

"And you love me, don't you?" he grins, and she grins back as they slowly balance their daughters between them, allowing Sammy full reign of their chairs to jump all over.

"_And I'm walking in Memphis_

_Walking with my feet ten feet off of Beale_

_Walking in Memphis_

_But do I really feel the way I feel?"_

"Yes," Scully smiles, and leans against her husband.

"Yes?" he blinks as the song winds down.

"Yes," she repeats, "I really feel like my feet are ten feet off of Beale."

"Does that mean we're going to Graceland next?"

She snorts. "When it starts raining sleeping bags." Then she looks up, half-expecting an unseasonal shower of camping equipment, then laughs when he looks up, too. "Keep dreaming."

"I already am," Mulder says, pulling his family close to him.

* _"Walking in Memphis" by Marc Cohn._ *


	52. Christmas Carol

Bill Scully's House

US Naval Station

San Diego, Ca

December 21st, 1997

Tara looks up from arranging the crèche on the mantle when she hears voices outside. Before she can leave the living room, the front door opens.

"Hello? Merry Christmas!" Scully calls from the entryway.

"Hello!" Tara cries. "Is that my niece and nephew behind Dana?" Playing shy, Sammy and Page hide behind their mother.

Before they run to throw their arms around Tara's legs. "We tricked you!" Page tells her. "We're not shy."

"That's for sure," Scully tells Tara with a smirk as she works to herd the children into a corner where she can remove their coats.

Maggie Scully comes in too and looks thrilled to see Tara." Oh, my God. Look at you." She hugs her.

"Can you believe it?" Tara asks with a happy grin.

"How am I going to get my arms around you?"

"Sammy, where are you going?" Scully asks as he bolts with his snowsuit still hanging off him.

"Gettin' the door," Sammy explains as he pulls it open for Mulder and Bill. Bill has suitcases, and Mulder's arms are full with April and the children's belongings.

"Thanks, buddy," Bill tells his nephew.

After dropping the bags onto the floor near the stairs, Bill turns to his mother. "Sorry about the digs, Mom. I know you hoped like hell you didn't have to spend another night in base housing."

"Are you kidding? This is wonderful. "

Scully looks up in wonder. "This is the exact same layout as our old house. "

"That's the Navy for ya."

"Yeah. Bill tells me, Mom, that you'll be staying in your old room. And the nursery is going to be in Dana and Melissa's room. "

Bill nods. "That's right. Dana and Fox will have 'my' room and the little ones will be in what would be Charlie's."

"Let's bring these bags up stairs, Bill. So no one trips over them," Tara says pointedly.

"Aye, captain." He gives her a mock solute before grabbing up all the heavy bags, leaving her the baby bags. "Fox, why don't I show you the rooms?" Bill adds, and Mulder suppresses a wince. He's going to be Fox all week, he can tell.

"Sure, thanks. Come on, Brats, let's see where we're sleeping."

"We're not brats," Page complains, but she and her brother beat Mulder up the stairs.

Still in the living room, Scully catches Maggie looks at the tree with a wistful look.

"Mom? You okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I was just thinking about your Dad...and Melissa...and how much I miss them." She gives a bitter little shake of her head. "I couldn't even get a hold of Missy."

She walks past Scully to the stairs. Scully is about to follow her when the phone rings. She looks upstairs.

"Bill?" Scully calls, unsure if she should answer. When there's no response, she picks it up. "Scully residence..."

"Dana?" a male voice asks.

"Yes, sorry, who is this?"

"Dana...she needs your help. She needs you, Dana. Go to her."

"Who...who is this?"

Giving the receiver a puzzled look, Scully hangs up and calls a number. "FBI, San Diego."

"This is Special Agent, Dana Scully. My badge number is 2317616. Can you transfer me to your sound agent, please? I would like to trace the last number that was dialed into this phone."

"Who was that?" Mulder asks as he climbs down the stairs.

"I don't know. Feel like going for a ride?"

"Sure, just let me ask your Mom to keep an eye on the kids."

* * *

The Sims Residence

30 Minutes Later

There are people mingling and an ambulance parked outside when Scully and Mulder arrive. Taking in the crowd, she asks Mulder to wait in the car, which he agrees to with a shrug. Scully shows her badge to a cop and walks into the house. A photographer is taking pictures of a phone off the hook. She goes past the photographer up to the bathroom where there are policemen.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who are you?" Officer Kresge asks irritably.

"Agent Scully, FBI. Can you tell me what's going on here?"

"Well, no offense, Scully, FBI, but what's it to you?"

"I received a phone call from this address. It was an older man's voice. He said that somebody here needed help."

"When was this?"

"About 20 minutes ago."

"I've been here 30 minutes. Guarantee you no one's called out to you or anyone else. Phone's off the hook."

Scully is confused. She looks to the bathroom. "Please, can you tell me what happened here?" Kresge brings her into the bathroom. A photographer is taking pictures of the crime scene. Kresge allows Scully take a look at the body. A woman naked in a bathtub. Wrists slashed, blood pooled on the floor and staining the water pink in the tub.

"This is Mrs. Roberta Sims. Age 40. Suicide. She's been dead at least three hours."

"I guess she's beyond help now," Scully agrees.

"What's going on in there?" Mulder asks as she comes to the passenger side window.

"A suicide from the looks of it."

"Why are we here?" Mulder asks. ::I thought that this wouldn't happen. Scully was never abducted, so how could Emily exist?:: His forehead creases as he tries to puzzle it out.

"A man called and told me that a 'she' here needed my help." Scully pauses. "And I'm pretty sure the man calling was my father."

He blinks in surprise. "You got a call from 1-800-the great beyond?"

"Don't joke, Mulder. This is serious."

Mulder stares out the window at the police cruisers. He's not sure he that he was joking.

* * *

When Scully goes back into the house a few minutes later, she brings Mulder with her. They stop in the hallway to wait for officer Kresge, and Mulder notices something in the kitchen that makes his belly feel like it's full of lead. Emily.

Neither Scully nor the officer notices his stricken look, but instead tall about the call Scully got. "I don't know what to tell you. Pac Bell confirms that a call came in from this address to your brother's house, but from this end, they show no outgoing call. Plus they confirm that the phone here had been off the hook for the last three hours."

"What was their explanation?" Scully asks.

::Your dead father called to tell you that you need to help a child who shouldn't even exist in this reality.:: Mulder thinks, and it takes all of his self-control not to release the insane laugh that's bubbling just below the surface. ::Get a hold of yourself, Mulder. There's some other explanation, because that kid isn't Scully's. It's not possible.::

"Records mix-up, software glitch. It was obviously some kind of mistake. Anyway, I've got to wrap this up. Talk with the husband. Listen, weird phone calls aside, this is looking pretty straightforward. A lot of people check themselves out around Christmas time."

Kresge goes to talk to Marshal Sims, and Mulder stares until the officer swings the door closed. "Mulder, what were you looking at?" Scully asks.

"The little girl. She reminds me of Page."

"It must be because they're the same age, since they don't look alike." Mulder nods, but he's not really inclined to agree. True, Page's hair is platinum and halfway down her back while Emily's is sandy and short, but they both have the same ocean blue eyes that is common to Scully's family. Strangers might think they were sisters.

* * *

Scully misses dinner that night, because she and officer Kresge discover that the dead woman was drugged before she died. This leaves Mulder alone in what he considers hostile territory. It isn't as bad as before when Bill Jr. laid a number of sins at his feet, but he and his brother-in-law are anything but close, so Mulder spends the entire dinner huddled near Maggie and saying nothing other than things that'll encourage his two older children to eat.

Needless to say, he's completely exhausted by the time Scully finally gets back. She doesn't seem to notice. "Mulder, look at this." Scully shoves a picture at him.

It's Emily. "How'd you get this?"

"Officer Kresge let me have it."

He's afraid to ask, but he does. "Why did you want it?"

"I thought about you saying that the little girl reminds you of Page."

::crap::

Scully goes over to a bookshelf and pulls out a photo album. "I think you're right. She does look a little like Page. But she looks more like Missy did at that age. Take a look at this. This was taken when my dad was stationed in Japan. Missy was three." She places Emily's picture next to it. "They're identical."

"What does that prove?" Mulder asks reasonably.

"That there's something I'm missing. Did you bring your laptop?"

"Do you really need to ask that?"

Mulder leaves the room long enough to put the kids to bed, and when he comes back in, Scully has an excited look on her face.

"Look, Mulder. Emily's adopted."

"And?" he asks, already knowing what's coming next.

"And she might be Missy's daughter."

"That's a long shot," he objects.

"Since when are you one to scoff at long shots?" she asks. "Dial Danny for me, would you?"

He wants to refuse the request, and hope that she forgets, but he decides that it wouldn't be fair to the little girl, so he pulls out his cell phone and punches in the numbers before handing it to her. ::I hope this doesn't end as badly as it did the last time.:: he can already feel himself becoming depressed.

"Hi Danny, it's me, Dana...Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too...I, ah, I'm wondering if you can do me a favor...Back when I was in med school my sister volunteered to be part of a genetics project I was conducting, so I ran a set of PCRs. Do you think you could get a hold of a copy for me? If you can, I need you to send them to the San Diego field office. As soon as possible. Ok. Thanks, Danny."

* * *

The Next Night

Most of Scully's day is spent doing an autopsy of Roberta Sims. Mulder has yet again stayed behind, and seemed to her to be fairly eager not to get involved with the case.

The house is dark when she gets in. a cursory peek upstairs tells her that her husband and children are asleep, so she doesn't feel guilty about her intention to do more work since they don't need her attention at the moment. There's a manila envelope on the table. She opens it and sits down. She takes the PCR screen of Melissa out of the report and matches it to Emily's PCR results from the lab, and she's on the verge of crying when she sees they match.

"Dana? Are you alright?" Maggie asks, startling her by approaching from behind." It's two o'clock in the morning. Where have you been all day? We were expecting you at lunch." From her mother's reproachful tone, Scully senses that the kids were not happy. Mulder's probably been miserable too. "Your husband went to bed two hours ago, not that you can blame him since for all he knew he'd be the only one who'd be getting up with the baby tonight."

It's on the tip of Scully's tongue to point out that April has been sleeping through the night for two months, but it's not the discussion she's interesting in having." Mom...sit down." Giving her daughter a wary look, Maggie does. "The woman who committed suicide has an adopted daughter, a three-year-old named Emily. I got a sample of Emily's blood and I had the lab run a test on her DNA. It's called a PCR test. This..." She hands her one of the screens "is Emily's." She hands over the other one. "And this, is Melissa's which we ran for that experiment I did in college. They match. "

"What does it mean, they match?"

"It means, that this little girl Emily...is Melissa's daughter."

Scully finds the pictures and shows them to her mother, sure that she'll concede to the truth when she sees the resemblance.

Maggie shakes her head. "It's impossible."

"You can't deny that there is a remarkable resemblance."

"Melissa was three years old when this picture was taken. She was practically a baby. All kids can look the same at that age."

"Mom, it's uncanny. Emily looked exactly like Melissa. That's why I ordered the PCR test. Because her face may change, but her DNA can't."

"And the test is accurate?"

"There's a 60% chance that Melissa is Emily's mother. I'll order a more comprehensive test, a RFLP. It'll take a couple of days, then we'll be sure. "

"Well, I'm already sure your sister did not have a baby. She would have told me."

"Mom, remember about four years ago and Melissa took off? She traveled up and down the west coast, we didn't know where she was half the time."

"You're saying she was pregnant and she didn't want us to know?"

"That was 1994. Emily was born that November. She could have given it up for adoption and none of us would have ever known."

"I don't know…" Maggie sounds highly doubtful.

"Mom. Page was four months old before Missy bothered to meet her. Haven't you ever wondered about that?" Maggie nods reluctantly. "If you were planning to give up your baby, wouldn't it make you not want to meet a niece? At least until the baby was old enough that it wouldn't look like the one you gave away?"

Maggie sighed deeply. "Maybe."

* * *

Even though it's painful, Mulder spends most of Christmas Eve trailing after his wife. First to visit doctor Calderon to discuss Emily's treatment and find out that the drugs in Roberta's system were at easy access to Marshal Sims; then to assist in the arrest of Marshal Sims on suspicion of murder, then to see Scully fall in love with Emily as she's taken away to the children's home, and last to go and frown over Marshal Sims' murder, which happens despite Mulder's insistence that he be closely guarded on suicide watch.

Since Scully never told him about her long ago conversation with Bill, he didn't know that it was going to happen, and went up to take a nap before Bill and Tara's party.

Tara and Maggie are putting final touches on the tree while Scully watches listlessly - at least until Bill taps her on the shoulder." Ah, Dana, could you give me a hand in the kitchen?"

She looks around and doesn't see anything that needs to be done, so she suspects that he was luring her away for another agenda. "What's up?"

"I need you to tell me what's going on."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not here, you're a million miles away. I thought you came to see the family."

"I did."

"I'm not sure you did. My brother-in-law and nieces and nephew have been here for the holidays, but not you. I thought this other thing was resolved. I thought you caught the guy that murdered that woman."

"We did." She frowns.

"Then it's about that little girl, isn't it? Mom told me. You really think Melissa had a baby?"

"Yes, I do."

"Dad called you from beyond the grave to tell you that? Sounds like something your husband would say, and even he's been saner than that lately."

"It does not matter where that phone call came from. What matters is that there is a little girl who needs my help."

"This isn't about any little girl, Dana. This is about you. It's about some...maternal instinct gone haywire. You have kids, so now you think you need to save every one you encounter."

Scully mentally winces, thinking fleetingly of Kevin Kryder. "Bill, I don't expect you to understand but I am not going to stand here and justify my motive."

"Dana, I have to show you something."

Bill opens a drawer and takes out a picture. He hands it to Scully. It's a picture of Melissa. "Look at the date on the back." Scully turns it and it says October 7th, 1994. "Does Melissa look pregnant to you in that picture? It's about four weeks before the girl was born."

"Bill, that doesn't prove anything. All that date is when the film was developed. You know as well as I do that mom herself held onto film for as long as a year before finally dropping it off. Even if the date is accurate, Melissa didn't have to be pregnant to have a baby. There's...there's invitro fertilization, there's surrogate motherhood."

"Dana, listen to yourself. You're creating this whole scenario to fulfill a dream."

"What dream?"

Bill shrugs with a frustrated look. "You tell me. If you want another kid, make one. But don't try to make this child our flesh and blood when she isn't."

Scully bites back a scathing remark and stomps upstairs.

* * *

Mulder wakes from a nap when he feels Scully sit down on the bed. "What's up?" he mumbles sleepily, struggling to sit up. She thwarts his attempt by pushing him back down on the pillow.

He wonders why she did it until she puts her thumbs into the waistband of his boxer shorts and yanks them down. Once she strips over her own clothes with the same lack of care and settles onto his waist, he doesn't wonder about much else, except the fact that she's making no attempt whatsoever to keep quiet, as if she would be happy for people down stairs to know what they were doing. Even that concern is lost under a wave of sensation as she grinds her hips into him.

* * *

December 25th, 1997

6:30 a.m.

Maggie Scully looks happy as she plays with her three very excited grandchildren while the rest of the sleepy adults lounge around the room.

Bill yawns a little, then gives the kids a smile. "Did Santa come?"

"Yes!!" To their surprise it's Sammy who is the most vocal about it, and Mulder puts his hands out to keep the boy from tumbling into the fireplace when he attempts to tackle a brightly wrapped package.

"Your mom always was the first downstairs at Christmas. Couldn't wait to get those presents."

"That one has my name on it," Page says confidentially as she points to a package.

"She can't really read that, can she?" Tara asks, attempting to look down where the child is pointing.

"She can really read it," Scully assures her. "And several other words as well."

"Three years old, and already reading. What a smart kid."

Bill hugs his wife from behind. "It's the Scully genes," he says smugly, looking at Mulder as he says it. Mulder just smiles.

They're helping the kids open their gifts when the doorbell rings. "Excuse me. I'll be right back." Bill says, earning a grateful look from Mulder whose hands are full of baby April and wrapping paper.

The visitor's voice drifts towards them. "FBI Courier. Package for Agent Dana Scully."

"I bet that one's not from Santa," Mulder whispers to Maggie, who just raises an eyebrow.

"I'll sign for it," Bill says.

"No, no. I need Agent Scully's signature, sir."

"Oh, all right. Dana?" Scully goes to the door, and shivers when a cold blast of air hits her pajamas.

"I need you to sign for this," the courier says, holding out a clipboard to Scully. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." She opens the package, skims the contents and stumbles to the living room. The others look at her. Mulder stands up and goes to her side, because he's suddenly sure she's going to faint.

"What is it?" Maggie asks.

"It's the DNA test on Emily Sims' blood."

"What does it say?" Bill demands to know.

"It says, definitely, that Melissa is Emily's mother." Her face is as pale as milk.

Mulder gives Scully a searching look. "There's more. I can tell from the look in your eyes."

Scully nods, and tries to clear her throat. "The person who did the test thought it had a lot in common with another sample he'd recently looked at, so he did another test. They matched."

"Who was the other sample from?" ::Please God, don't let her say me. I know I was missing those nine minutes, and who knows what they did to me at Ellens airbase years ago...::

His fear mounts when Scully refuses to look up at him until he lifts her chin. "Alex Krycek."

::It fits:: Stunned, Mulder sits heavily in a chair and doesn't answer Bill and Maggie's alarmed questions.


	53. Emily

"Answer me!" Maggie cries. "I can tell from your reaction that this is horrible. I need to know why. Why would you look that way when you learned who my grandchild's father is?"

Mulder shakes his head, but Scully answers in a husky voice. "He's not a good person, Mom."

"Not a good person how?"

"He used to work with us, but he was a double agent. People, innocent people, have died because of the men he's mixed up with."

Maggie covers her mouth to suppress a gasp. "Oh God."

"We need to find Melissa," Mulder says quietly. "Find out what her side of the story is." He shoots Scully a look - find out if she knows what she's done.

"I couldn't get in touch with her," Maggie frets.

"Leave it to me," Mulder says grimly. "I know people who can find her for us."

* * *

9 Hours Later

Sitting in Mulder's parked rental car, Missy's face is bewildered as she looks from her sister to her brother-in-law. "I never had a baby, Dana. Look, you could examine me if you want to, and you'll just find that I've never been pregnant."

Scully shakes her head. "The DNA tests prove that this little girl is yours, Missy. How do you explain that?"

"The test is wrong."

"It's not, I had them run it twice."

A look of horror crosses Missy's face suddenly. "How old did you say the kid is?"

"Three. She's just a couple of months younger than Page."

"I know how this happened…" Missy moans, wrapping her arms around herself.

Mulder steels himself for her confession that she's an alien abductee, but that's not what comes out of her mouth. "It was in one of the university papers out in California, and it seemed like a good idea."

"What was?" Scully asks, confused.

"An ad begging women to donate eggs to science. They have trouble freezing them, you know, but one of the cutting edge science schools was working on a method that would be more successful than previous attempts. I thought of all the women like Tara who wanted babies but couldn't have them…how could I not help?" Missy's eyes were teary.

"It was just to experiment with freezing them, not to use them for anything. There weren't supposed to be any babies. How could they do this?"

"There are a lot of ruthless people in the world," Mulder says gently.

To his surprise, Scully looks relieved. "So you didn't knowingly have a child with Alex Krycek?"

Missy's head whips up. "What does this have to do with Alex?"

"You know him??"

"He's my…um…" Missy looks like she's unsure of what to say. "We _know_ each other."

Scully and Mulder look at her like she has two heads. "Oh Missy…" Scully groans. "I always knew you had horrible taste in men, but this takes the cake."

"Alex Krycek is probably working for the people who used your eggs, Missy," Mulder tells her.

"No."

Scully shakes her head, as if to clear it. "That aside, we need to figure out what to do with Emily. She doesn't have anyone right now, and you're her mother. The ball's in your court."

"Do you want to go with us to meet her?" Mulder asks.

He expects her to decline, but she nods wordlessly, her lips compressed into a thin line. Saying nothing else, he starts the car and heads towards their destination.

* * *

San Diego County Children's Center

An Hour Later

The three of them are pointed in the direction of the playroom, which is where they find the child. Emily sits on the floor, coloring.

Scully decides to make introductions, since of the three of them, the girl has met her before. "Emily? I'd like you to meet my husband and my sister. His name is Mulder and hers is Missy."

Emily doesn't look up at them." Uh hum."

"She's a little shy," Scully says, and looks at her sister. Missy is shy and silent too.

"What are you coloring?" Mulder asks.

"A potato."

"Have you ever seen Mr. Potato Head? He looks like this." He gives a pretty goofy impersonation of Mr. Potato Head that never fails to make his children laugh. "Doesn't it?" Emily nods.

::My niece.:: Mulder thinks. ::If she lives, she'll be my children's cousin, my wife's niece….::

The three of them watch Emily color a little longer, until Mulder gets a phone call and excuses himself. He's frowning when he comes back in.

"I'll be right back," Scully tells her sister and her niece. Missy's eyes look panicked, but she doesn't say anything as they walk away. Out of earshot, Scully asks," Something's wrong, isn't it?"

"I've found Emily's surrogate mother. I had Frohike hack into the California Social Services Adoption database."

"You got a name?"

"Yeah, her mother of record is one Anna Fugazzi."

"Fugazzi?"

"Yeah, as in slang term for fake."

"I don't understand. Why create a false record?"

"Because there are no true records. Emily didn't come into this world through any system that keeps them."

"How did she come into this world?"

"Have you asked yourself that?"

"Well, she was born to someone, she...she has to belong to someone other than Missy, who has only just learned she exists."

"Someone, who's proven that they'll do anything to protect her or their interest in her."

"Our family can protect her too."

"Yeah, but who's going to protect you? Emily's adoptive parents are both dead, by no accident."

"I know...I've considered that, but I've also considered that there's only one right thing to do." She looks over to her sister, who is still staring at Emily without making an attempt to interact with her. "If Missy is strong enough to do it."

"And if she isn't?" Mulder presses.

"Then we'll think of another way." The far away look in her eyes promises that the 'other way' is something she's thought through and is going to discuss with him later.

Another woman comes into the room then to talk to the girl, and they know it's their cue to leave, so they go and get Missy.

"Good-bye, Emily." Missy whispers, speaking to her daughter for the first time.

* * *

Bill Scully Residence

10:16 p.m.

Mulder is lying on the bed feeding April a bottle when Scully climbs up next to them.

"It takes two of us just to get Tara into bed these days," she tells him with a tired smile.

"When's she due?"

"Two weeks ago. I guess I ought to thank my lucky stars that none of our babies have ever been overdue." There's a long pause as they both watch April rub her fingers over the side of the bottle. "What happens to Emily if Missy doesn't want her?"

Mulder shrugs. "I don't know."

"She has family, Mulder. We shouldn't just send her away to people who aren't even blood relations." She shivers a little. "And I sure as hell don't want her to end up in Krycek's hands - and don't you dare use the 'but he's her father' line." She warns.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"If Missy doesn't want her, do we?" Scully gives him a questioning look.

"I…I think we need to find out what Missy wants before we start making contingency plans," Mulder says evasively.

The phone rings. ::Saved by the bell.::

Scully answers it and speaks to someone who sounds confused. "That's the children's center. Emily's sick."

* * *

San Diego County Children's Center

To Scully's dismay, Missy doesn't go with them when they go to check on Emily. It upsets Mulder too, because he's hoping that his sister-in-law will surprise them by showing some responsibility, and this doesn't bode well for that.

A worker lets them in and they go upstairs. Scully goes to the girls' dormitory. She opens the door and Emily is in her bed sleeping with the other girls. Scully sits on the edge of her bed and turns on the light. Scully touches her forehead.

"She's burning up."

"I'll call 911." Scully lifts the covers and Mulder picks her up.

"Scully? There's something on her neck. "

Scully lowers the back of Emily's nightgown and pushes her hair aside, revealing a patch of green." Oh, my God."

* * *

Hospital

In a room with a window to the hall, two doctors hover over Emily who is lying in bed. The doctor is talking softly to Emily about what he's going to do. Scully looks up when a doctor comes out to talk to her.

"How is she?"

"Well, we've put her on a saline drip to rehydrate her. She's running a fever of about 102. It's a good thing you got her here when you did. "

"Do you know what's causing it?"

"Some kind of infection, probably related to the cyst on her neck."

"Do you know what that is?"

"No. I'm having it biopsied. I'll get it off to the lab right away. Now, are you two the parents?"

"I'm her aunt."

"Oh, okay. Can you give me any history that might help?"

Mulder looks in the window to watch Emily and the female doctor preparing for the biopsy. If he speaks up too soon they'll ignore him or think he's nuts, but if he waits too long to intervene…

"I know that she was being treated for anemia."

"You know what type?"

"I was told that it was some kind of auto immune hemolytic anemia. Her treatment was experimental."

"Who's her doctor?"

"His name is Calderon."

"I don't know him."

Inside the room, the female doctor bends to Emily. "I'm just going to roll you onto your side, Sweetie."

::Let's see if I can help this doctor.:: Mulder watches as she reaches for an alcohol swab, then pounds on the window.

"Wait! Stop!" The doctor ignores Mulder and puts the needle in, Emily flinches." Move away from her! Get away from her! At least cover your eyes!"

The only part of Mulder's warning that the woman heeds is to cover her eyes as the cyst explodes and green blood flows out. Coughing, she makes her way to the door and lets herself out. Emily sits up in bed to see what's happening, with a stream of green blood flowing down her back.

* * *

Quarantine Ward

7:31 a.m.

Missy tears down the hallway, and skitters to a stop outside the quarantine ward, where Mulder has been waiting for Scully to come back with information on the child's condition.

"Fox, can I go in there?"

"I don't know." He taps on the glass to get Scully's attention, which makes her look up and see them. She waves them in.

"She's still sleeping?" Mulder notes with surprise, since Scully and the Doctor's bodies had blocked their view of the girl up until then.

"They have her under a mild sedative."

"The ER doctor is doing okay now," Mulder tells her. "She heard me and didn't get any in her eyes, so it's not as bad as it could be."

"How did you know?" Scully whispers, before realizing that her sister isn't paying attention to their conversation.

"If Emily was someone's creation, then it occurred to me that she might share the same body chemistry that we've seen before. So I had them put the ER doctor in a cooling bath like you did when I was exposed to this."

"So what now? She's still just a little girl. You say I can't protect her, but I can't let this be her life. Just a few days ago she was fine."

"She was also being treated."

Missy looks up at them, fear plain on her face. "I want to keep her. We have to get her better."

Mulder feels a twinge in his stomach as he remembers how hard it was for Scully to prove she was a fit parent. "We'll do what we can to help you get custody."

"It won't be hard," Missy says, leaning down to stroke Emily's hair.

"It won't?" He fails to keep the surprise from his voice.

"We're going to call the police in a few minutes and report a kidnapping with a happy ending," Missy tells him. "My baby was stolen from me and now that her kidnappers have died, we've been miraculously reunited. The police were so derelict of duty that they never even filed a kidnapping report, but DNA proves that the child is mine. Since they don't want me to sue the station, they'll fall over themselves to help me find a judge willing to grant an immediate custody order." Missy wears a calculating expression. "You've got friends who can produce a birth certificate, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure." Mulder blinks in surprise. Missy's plan would probably work. Unlike Scully, who has been anchored in DC for years, Missy's flightiness works in her favor since there are few people who could come forward and say with certainty that she hadn't had a child that'd been kidnapped.

"I'll help you work on Bill and Mom," Scully tells her, putting her hand over her sister's. "They'll be upset that you never told them you 'had a baby' but they'll get over it."

* * *

A Doctor enters a half hour later wearing a worried frown. "Um, I just need some advice. With everything that's happening here, I'm a little at sea. This Dr. Calderon you say is Emily's physician? He's refusing to transfer her medical records."

"He can't do that. He's endangering her life."

"He said Emily was in his care, and if you're the one who's stopping that, then you're the one endangering her."

"It's an ethical violation."

"He said she was part of a double blind medical trial and that he's spoken to you about it. He also says you have no authority over this child."

"Well, authority or not, I'm not leaving her side."

"It's beyond me, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, but it's not beyond Dr. Calderon," Mulder replies.

* * *

A couple of minutes later they're thrown out of the room while a nurse takes Emily's vitals and changes her bedding. Missy, Scully, and Mulder stand in a silent line and look at Emily through a window in the ICU. Even from that distance, they can see how much the child is sweating.

When the nurse leaves Mulder gives Scully a hug. "I need to talk to your sister, so why don't you go keep Emily company?" he invites. She frowns a little, but goes into the girl's room, and turns to watch their unheard conversation.

"Fox?" Missy's voice is uncertain.

"I have something important you have to make a decision about, and you have to do it quickly, so listen carefully."

"Okay."

"Emily's been receiving a treatment that has kept her going - or she was up until her adoptive parents died. If you want me to, I'm fairly certain that I can get her back on the treatment. Doing so will mean that you'll have to have an association with unsavory characters from now until Emily is old enough to deal with them on her own."

"And if she's not on the treatment?"

"She will die," he says grimly. "I met another child with this disease, who was taken off the treatment. She died within weeks. It wasn't an easy death."

"Then you have to get them to put her back on the treatment."

Mulder puts a gentle hand on her arm. "If I do this, I'm serious about being involved with unsavory characters. And you might have to live near the clinic from now on." He adds, thinking of her wanderlust.

A look of grim determination is on Missy's face. "I understand. Do what you have to do to make her well."

Scully pokes her head out of the door. "What were you talking about?"

"Just making sure we were on the same page about what we want to happen next," he says blandly. "The gunmen said they can have the birth certificate couriered here within a couple of hours, so be ready to call the police when it arrives."

Scully picks up on his unsaid message. "What will you be doing, Mulder?"

"Attempting to reason with Doctor Calderon."

* * *

Transgen Pharmaceuticals

Doctor Calderon sits behind his desk, and gives Mulder a sad smile.

"I'd like to say right up front that I know Emily Sims as your partner probably told you. My God, I...never met a sweeter, courageous little girl. I'm so sorry to hear about her downturn. My hope is these custody matters can be resolved so she may resume her treatment here. I'm afraid I can't release any information that relates to our company's experimental drug trials."

"What can I say to convince you?"

Calderon chuckles "It's really not about convincing me. This is something that I - well, we...simply cannot do. It's purely a business reality. It has to do with Transgen's exposure to litigation and of course, our need to protect our research which frankly, represents a significant dollar investment."

Mulder steeples his fingers. "My sister-in-law is keen to cooperate with you. She's willing to do whatever is necessary to get Emily healthy again."

"She's aware that the treatment will probably have to continue on a monthly basis throughout Emily's childhood?"

Mulder nods. "She's working on the custody arrangement as we speak so she'll be able to ensure that Emily can come here as often as necessary."

"Actually, she doesn't have to come here." Calderon corrects.

"She doesn't?"

"No. We have several children in our study group throughout the country. We have five clinics, and if it's not possible for the parents to travel to one of them for treatment, we can make home visits as well."

"And they say doctors no longer make house calls." Mulder smiles a little. He's making a deal with a devil, but it's with the blessing of the child's mother, and he knows the alternative, so he's not ashamed to. "You wouldn't happen to have a clinic in the DC area, would you?"

"Yes, why?"

"If I know my wife and mother-in-law half as well as I think I do, they're going to lobby for Missy and Emily to move back east to be closer to family."

"I see. Please tell Emily's mother that I'll make a visit to the hospital tonight to administer treatment."

Mulder puts out his hand, which Calderon shakes. "I'll do that."

* * *

Mulder's cell phone rings as he gets back into his car. "Mulder."

"Hey Mulder, it's Frohike."

"What's up?"

"We did a little research about those kids you asked us to look into…there were seven of them, but none of the others were a match."

Mulder wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "You're positive?"

"One hundred percent. This is a good thing, right? There being no matches?"

"Yeah. Thanks for getting information for me."

"No problem. Any idea why they'd of DNA tested a whole bunch of kids like that, though?"

"I think they were looking for genetic markers."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"Frohike, you didn't congratulate me."

"For what?"

"I have a new niece. Thirty-six inches, thirty pounds."

"Either this kid is going to be in the Weekly World News for 'world's heaviest newborn' or you're not talking about the kid Scully's brother was expecting."

Mulder laughs. "Nope, Bill's kid is still overdue. Missy has a three-year-old no one knew about, not even her."

"Wish her luck for me. Three-year-olds are rough. Say Mulder, she's not married yet, is she? I've never wanted children of my own, but being a step-parent isn't too bad a deal if you skip the diaper stage."

"Good-bye Frohike."

* * *

Emily's Room

An Hour Later

Doctor Calderon comes into the room while Missy is talking to the police. Scully is about to say something to the man since he doesn't have an ID tag on, but then she feels a hand on her shoulder. "I see that doctor Calderon beat me here."

Scully relaxes a little. "You've agreed to treat Emily."

"Yes." Calderon nods. "I interrupted your sister's conversation with the officers and confirmed that your husband's assessment of her willingness to treat Emily was as he stated."

Once he withdraws the needle from Emily's flesh, he pats her arm. "You should begin to feel better soon, my dear."

"Thank you," Emily whispers back. "I don't like bein' sick."

"No one does," Mulder tells her, thinking for some reason of when Scully had cancer during another life. "Your mom is going to make sure you get to the doctor's when you need to so you don't get sick like this again."

"Good."

Missy returns with a wide smile. "They're going to get a judge to issue the custody agreement tonight. They said the DNA evidence makes it a slam dunk case."

"Oh, thank God," Scully breathes, pulling her sister into a hug. "I know this is all a big shock to you, but you're going to be a great Mom."

* * *

December 31st, 1997

"Oh! Isn't he a doll?" Maggie gushes as she holds April up to see her new baby cousin. April is far more interested in playing with her grandmother's necklace, but her eyes do wander across the blue blanketed bundle that the nursery worker is holding up for them to see. Although all that can really be seen is a tuff of dark hair peaking out over the blanket.

Page and Sammy, who are being held up by their parents, seem slightly more interested. "Our baby?" Sammy asks, giving them a puzzled look.

Mulder laughs and shakes his head. "Not this time. This is Uncle Bill and Aunt Tara's baby. He's going to live with them."

"Okay," Sammy says, not looking at all disappointed.

"Mommy, what's his name?" Page asks, leaning in closer, so her forehead touches the glass.

"They named him Matthew."

"Matt?"

Scully's eyes widen in surprise. "Yup, they'll probably call him Matt."

"Like Sammy's a trick name?"

"Nickname, Page."

"Who's Nick?" she asks, puzzled.

"I'm not sure who he was," Mulder admits.

"We have two new cousins, right?" Page asks.

"Yes you do."

"When we seeing the uther one?" Sammy wants to know.

"Tomorrow," Scully tells him. "Daddy and I are going to bring Missy to get her tomorrow, after we wake up."

"Good!"

* * *

January 1st, 1998

Melissa picks up a plastic bag of Emily's belongings, and looks around the room. She doesn't see anything else that needs to be gathered up, so she walks through the door. A nurse is waiting for her in the hallway, her hands on a wheelchair.

"Looks like Mom is all set, Sweetie, so let's take a ride."

Emily looks up at her with a curious look. "I can walk."

"Nope, today you get to ride. It's hospital policy."

Mulder has his arm around Scully's waist as they stand by their car. They're both watching as the nurse and Melissa walk down the hallway. "You know, Scully, we're witnessing a miracle," Mulder murmurs.

"I know," Scully tells him, leaning back into him.

::Oh, you have no idea. And I'm so glad you never will:: he thinks.

"Hey there, Emily!" Mulder calls as soon as the hospital doors slide open. "Your chariot awaits."

"Like a princess?" she asks as she scrambles out of the chair with Missy's help.

"You're definitely a princess," Mulder tells her with a nod. "Your cousins Page and April are princesses, so you must be one too." He takes a step back to allow her mother to put her in Page's car seat.

"Can I play wit my cousins?" Emily asks as soon as all the car doors are shut.

"Sure."

"Every day?"

Scully looks back over the seat. "That's up to your mommy," she says pointedly. As Mulder predicted, the two have spent hours debating the pros and cons of Missy relocating.

Missy rolls her eyes. "Yes, every day," she says at length. "But your auntie and grandmother have to help me find a house if I'm moving to DC."

"Oh, we will!"

* * *

January, 4th, 1998

8 p.m.

"Scully, door, please?" Mulder begs. April is sleeping on his right shoulder, and Sammy on his left. She's only got one sleeping child to deal with, so he thinks it's fair that she's the one dealing with the keys.

"Hold your horses," she mutters then lets them in. They remove the kids' coats and boots down stairs, then carry them up to their rooms to dress them for bed. All told, it takes fifteen minutes before all three little bodies are dressed in PJs and tucked into bed.

Then Mulder and Scully collapse onto their beds, still in their own winter gear. Rolling over with a groan, Mulder can't resist the urge to kiss her on the forehead. "We need to talk."

"About?" Scully asks, attempting to sit up until Mulder pins her to the mattress, which makes her giggle.

He sits up, letting her go. "Your sister and Emily."

"I'm listening."

"What happens if Krycek comes looking for Emily?" The thought has been on his mind ever since Scully told him who Emily's father was.

"He won't."

"How do you know?" Mulder presses.

"Mulder, what would a man like that want with a little girl? He's too self-centered to want to be a father." Her shoes fall to the floor with a thump. "Don't borrow troubles."

::You're not thinking broadly enough, Scully. He doesn't want to be a dad, I'm sure, but if that kid could ever be used as a bargaining chip, he wouldn't hesitate for a second to use her.::

"Let's just hope he never finds out who she is."


	54. Chinga

Washington DC

Last week of January, 1998

As Mulder watches, Scully's hand closes on a glossy full-color brochure. Although her fingers are half-covering the words, he knows that it says "Westport Island, Maine" on the front of it.

"I can't believe we're finally going on a real vacation." Scully sighs happily. "I mean, it was nice to see Bill over Christmas, but a real vacation is different."

Mulder grins at her. "I think we deserve one after all the monster slaying."

"We can visit Wildwood Art Gallery, spend time on the beach-"

"Not have to change any diapers or look under rocks for mutants-"

"There's a nature preserve close by, and we can go into Freeport to go shopping-"

"We can see if there are any ghost ships passing Pemaquid Point Lighthouse-"

Ignoring that, Scully concludes, "And the Squire Tarbox Inn looks so peaceful."

"More peaceful than DC," Mulder agrees. "We'll have to pack as soon as we get home. I'm so glad that your mom has agreed to come spend the week at our house."

"It should be okay, because Rachel will still be coming over every day, so she can get out of the house and won't suffer from 'grandchildren overload'."

He shrugs. "She doesn't seem to be suffering from seeing Emily every day."

"Missy is closing on that house this week, so she and Emily will be moving out very soon," Scully tells him. Her mother convinced Missy to move to DC as Mulder suspected, and she and Emily have been living at Maggie's while Missy arranges for other housing.

"I don't Maggie think is too anxious to have her house to herself, is all I'm saying. Otherwise, she'd of said no and sent them to stay with us." It puzzles him that no one suggested that, given their house has ten bedrooms. All he can figure is that Scully and Maggie didn't want Missy and Emily alone all day at first.

"Come on, let's go give this report to Skinner and get out of here." The eager look on her face makes Mulder smile.

* * *

A bucket of cold water is dumped on Mulder expectations when he sees the grim look on the nanny's face. Before she even opens her mouth, he feels his hopes for a vacation slipping away.

Rachel wrings her hands. "I'm afraid that the kids are sick."

When he gets into the living room he sees what she means. All three kids are sitting listlessly on the couch, leaning on each other. Each one of them is covered in red spots.

"Itchy, Daddy," Sammy informs him.

Scully comes in right behind him, and is soon exclaiming over her poka-dotted children. He leaves her to that and goes to hunt for clues.

When he returns, he holds a piece of paper in his hand. "Hey, uh, I just found something in Page's bag. A note dated yesterday that explains that the kids have been exposed to Chicken Pox."

"Damn. By the time the kid became symptomatic, he'd already given it to the entire class." Her face suddenly falls. "Oh no, Emily."

He shudders a little, thinking for the first time of his niece's fragile health. Which isn't surprising since he's still having trouble thinking of her as his niece. He knows that his wife worries because Emily is in Page's preschool class now that Missy is serious about permanently relocating in DC.

She's already on the phone, so he listens to the exchange.

"Hi Missy, it's Dana...Is Emily feeling okay? Yeah, the chicken pox thing...She is, and she brought it home to her brother and sister...well, keep an eye on her and let her doctor know if she runs a fever or gets any spots...Okay, take care, love you both."

"She's not sick?" Mulder asks.

"So far, so good." Then she sighs. "But we still have to deal with these three. Good-bye vacation."

"Go without me."

"What? No, I can't leave you alone with you with three sick kids."

"Yes you can. You've been looking forward to this for a long time, and we'll be fine here."

"Mulder-"

"We paid for the room already, and it's not refundable," Mulder reasons. "I'd like at least one of us to enjoy the room we're reserved."

"I don't know…"

"Rachel can still come every day and give me a break instead of your mom." He hopes the nanny has already had the Chicken Pox. "This doesn't seem like a good time for the kids to get sick, but hey, I already took the week off, so it couldn't come at a better time as far as work is concerned."

"Are you sure you'd want me to go alone?" she asks in a tone that suggests that she's warming to the idea.

"Oh, sure. I'll need you to buy a few things for me before you go, though…"

* * *

An Hour Later

After she reads his list, she shakes her head. Some of the items on it make sense, like pedialyte, several canisters of oatmeal, boxes of baking soda and diapers, but others…she's afraid to even guess what he wants 18 pairs of stretchy mittens and three floor tarps for. Still, she throws everything into the cart because she promised him that she'd make sure he had everything needed before she leaves. And now that Page speaks pretty well, she knows that she can get her daughter to squeal later if Mulder himself doesn't confess as to what he's done in her absence.

* * *

King's Crossing, Maine

Gas station

The Next Day

Scully is putting gas into her rented convertible when she feels her phone vibrating in the right hip pocket of her jeans. She pulls it out and takes a second to adjust her sunglasses before flipping the phone open.

"Scully."

"Hey, Scully, it's me." She hears the sound of a door shutting, and from the second of squeaking she guesses that it's April's.

"How are the kids?"

"Sleeping. All three of them. It's very quiet in Casa Mulder right now."

"I'm glad they're sleeping instead of itching and crying."

"Hey, me too. What's it like up there? And do you miss me?"

"The weather is clear. I *do* miss you, but I'm looking forward to hitting the road and breathing in some of this fine New England air."

"I don't know…the air is supposed to be pretty polluted up that way. Not from factories in New Hampshire or Maine, mind you, but from pollution being blown in from western states. Should be a colorful sunset, though."

Scully gives the phone a dubious smile. "I'll be sure to keep an eye out for the sunset, then."

"You didn't rent a convertible, did you?"

"Why?"

"Are you aware of the statistics of decapitation?"

"Mulder, I'm hanging up. I need to get to the hotel before check-in time ends. Love you."

"Love you too, but you shouldn't talk and drive at the same time, either. Are you aware of the statistics-" Before he can finish his sentence, she's hung up on him. She tells herself that if he complains she'll claim it was accidental.

She drives the car into the grocery store lot, almost hitting a car that is speeding away. After she catches sight of a small figure in the cat she feels disgusted by the parent's recklessness. Then she sees an old man staggering out of the store with bloody eyes. She gets out of the car and runs towards him.

"Sir … Sir, what happened?"

The old man seems disoriented. "I...I think we need a doctor."

She becomes alarmed when she hears him say "we" and bursts into the store. What she sees takes her breath away. People are moaning and crying and have horribly scratched eyes.

Eventually she finds the store manager and startles him when she bends to examine him. "Who are you?" He demands to know.

"My name is Scully. I'm an FBI agent. What happened to you?"

"I don't know. But Dave, the butcher...I think he's dead."

When she goes around to the back she sees Dave lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of one eye socket.

* * *

Washington DC

"Daddy, whatcha doing?" The voice alerts him that naptime is over sooner than he expected, for at least one of the kids.

Letting the tarp he's spreading out fall to the floor, Mulder turns to address his oldest daughter. "I was thinking we could go swimming."

The little blonde scowls at him. "Not funny. We're sick. It's winter-"

He ruffles her hair. "Don't you dare say 'Mommy wouldn't like it'."

"Wouldn't," she insists, looking up when his hand grabs her wrist right before she scratches at one of the blisters on her arm.

"Don't scratch, you'll scar. We're going to swim in the house."

He almost laughs when he sees Scully's patented 'you're nuts, Mulder' look on his child's face. Before he can explain, they're interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Page wanders off after giving the tarps a distrustful look.

"Mulder, it's me."

"I thought you said you were on your way to check in at the hotel."

"I am. I'm already up in Maine."

"So why are you on the phone with me, then? Not that I don't like to hear from you, just surprised it was this soon. What's going on?"

"I, uh…I'm at a market here. I'm just trying to give the local PD a handle here."

"A handle on what?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure how to describe it, Mulder. I didn't witness it myself but there seems to be some kind of an outbreak of people acting in a violent, involuntary way."

"Towards who?"

"Toward themselves."

"Themselves?"

"Yeah. Beating at their faces, clawing at their eyes. One man is dead."

"Dead? How?"

"Self-inflicted, it appears."

"Huh … it sounds to me like that's witchcraft or maybe some sorcery that you're looking for there."

"No, I don't think it's witchcraft, Mulder, or sorcery. I've had a look around and I don't see any evidence that warrants that kind of suspicion."

"Maybe you don't know what you're looking for."

"Like evidence of conjury or the black arts or shamanism, divination, Wicca or any kind of pagan or neo-Pagan practice. Charms, cards …familiars, bloodstones, or hex signs or any of the ritual tableaux associated with the occult, Santeria, Voudoun, Macumba, or any high or low magic?"

"I always knew you were the right woman to marry."

"I was hoping for something a little more helpful."

"Well, you know, short of looking for a lady wearing a pointy hat riding a broomstick, I think you pretty much got it covered there."

"Thanks anyway. Kiss my babies for me."

"Uh uh. If you want to kiss the scabby little monkeys, that's your business, but I ain't gonna," he teases. "But I'll tell them Mommy says she loves them."

* * *

By the time Mulder comes back upstairs from the cellar, Sammy is out of bed too. "What's that?" Sammy's wide blue eyes are on what's in Mulder's hands.

"Like I told your sister, who doesn't believe me, we're going to have swimming."

"In the house?!"

Mulder drops the hard plastic wading pool with a thump. "Too cold outside, isn't it?"

"Yes..." both children say, but they give the pool doubtful looks.

"This is going to be a special pool. It's going to do something magical."

"What?" they demand to know.

"It's going to make three itchy little kids feel better," he tells them.

"Us," Sammy says. "He means us!"

"Do you mean us, Daddy?" Page wants to know.

"What other itchy kids do you know?"

"None!"

His son looks pleased, but Page gives him a suspicious look. "How can a pool make us not itch?"

"A very good question. First I add water, then the magic ingredients."

"Oh, magic," Page says as if that explains everything, for once reminding him more of himself than Scully.

"You two sit on the couch until I say so."

"TV?" Sammy asks with a hopeful look.

He considers it for a moment, then decides that what his wife doesn't know won't hurt them. "Okay, sure."

"Yay!"

After putting on Nickelodeon, he brings two buckets into the bathroom to fill with warm water. It'll take several trips, but he thought it would be worth it to dunk all three kids at once, unlike in the bathtub.

Once the wading pool is full, he wakes up April. He expects her to cry, but she's cheerful enough. Back in the living room he pours four canisters of oatmeal into the pool, while his older children watch with interest.

"Okay, off with your clothes," Mulder tells them as he begins to undress the baby.

"You too, Daddy?" Sammy asks.

"Nope, I'm not itchy."

Page is able to get in herself, but he needs to lift the younger kids in. April squeals with surprise, and breaks into a big smile. The older kids begin to smile too when they realize that they do feel better.

Crouching down next to April, Mulder tells the older ones, "You know, your Nana might not seem like she likes kids, but when I was a little boy and had chicken pox, she dunked me in an oatmeal bath too, and I felt much better."

"Oatmeal!?" Page looks down at the uncooked oats floating in the water. "But that's breakfast!"

"Only if you cook it," Mulder tells her. "And I don't have a fire handy to cook you three."

"Good," Sammy mumbles around his thumb. "We yucky."

* * *

Meanwhile…

King's Crossing

Officer Buddy Riggs comes over to watch the tape with Scully. She points at the video screen. "Who's that woman right there?"

"Melissa Turner."

"She's the only one I've seen who looks unaffected."

"What's your point?"

"You might want to talk to her."

When Scully leaves the store office captain Jack Bonsaint follows her.

The captain gives her a friendly smile. "Ms. Scully … you staying in town?"

She decides to overlook the incorrect form of address to see where he's going with his question. "Yes. I'm on vacation. Why?"

"Well, what you said back there about Melissa Turner kind of put a spin on this whole business here today."

"How's that?"

"Well, Melissa's caused some stir. People here say she's a witch."

"Well, that's not the first time for that accusation in these parts."

"Ayuh."

"Look, to be honest with you, Captain Bonsaint, um, I'm not much of a believer in witchcraft. My husband has me beat in spades in that area."

As she suspects, his smile fades when she mentions her marital status. He shrugs in off quickly. "Well, you know, I'm not either. I used to just think it's 'cause Melissa was pretty and single. Threatening, you know?"

"But now you're not convinced?"

"Well, you know, I appreciate the trouble you went to, and I sure do hope there's a reasonable explanation like you said - just this one thing going to make it hard to persuade folks to your thinking."

"What one thing is that?"

"Who she's been carrying on with."

"Who she's been carrying on with?"

"Ayuh. With Dave, the butcher."

* * *

Melissa Turner Residence

2:08 p.m.

Bonsaint and Scully drive up in a patrol car and get out. Undeterred by the sight of the empty driveway, Bonsaint knocks on front door. There's no answer. Scully looks in through a side window.

"Back door's wide open," Scully tells him, then they walk around the house.

"Melissa!" Bonsaint calls before turning to Scully. "The sheets are still wet."

Scully enters house, and searches the first floor before going up to Polly's room. She stops to look at the windows. Both are nailed shut.

"Chief? Take a look at this."

"What the devil's this for?"

"It looks like she was afraid of something."

"Whatever it is, she's run off in a hurry. Laundry's out. Door's unlocked. Beats me."

"You know her?"

"Melissy Turner?"

Scully turns her face so he can't see her reaction to the dumb nickname. "Mm-hmm."

"About as local as you can get. Born and raised here. Married a fisherman. Widowed last year after a boating accident. Don't know if the little girl, Polly, ever really understood." He taps a temple with one finger. "Toys in the attic."

"The daughter's autistic?" Scully guesses.

"That's what they say. There was the incident last year over at the daycare center? Proprietor slapped Polly across the face."

"Slapped her? What for?"

"Well, she said Polly threw a tantrum so fierce there was nothing else she could do. Next thing she knew, she's on the ground. Little girl knocked her silly."

"The little girl did?"

"Well, that's her story. Polly never touched her, far as I could figure. Oh, it was a real drama, though. The lady who ran the school lost her license. People calling the kid all manner of names saying Melissa's a witch. Polly never went back to school a day since."

"This ah, this affair that the mother was having with the butcher…?"

"Dave. Oh, I might have given you the wrong impression. That wasn't really an affair. Although Dave did make quite a fool of himself and his wife."

Scully presses the issue. "So, it was unrequited."

"You could say that."

"To the extent that she'd have to nail her windows shut?"

"Oh, he wasn't that big a fool. You know, maybe she wasn't afraid of something getting in. Maybe she's afraid of something getting out."

"Like what?"

He shrugs. "It was just a thought."

* * *

Jane Froelich's House.

When Scully and Jack reach the steps, Jane looks through door window suspiciously. Pulling back a couple inches of curtain, she puts her face close to the window. "Is that you, Jack?"

"Uh, yeah, it's me, Jane. Can we come in?"

"Who've you got with you?" Jane's voice drips hostility.

"Miss Froelich, my name's Dana Scully. I'm with the FBI. I just happen to be here on vacation, and uh…"

"So?"

"So, I just am helping out the chief here."

"You talked to her?"

"Who?"

"Oh, please." Jane roles her eyes. "Melissa Turner. That whore's a witch sure as I'm standing here. She's descended from the Hawthornes in Salem and the Englishes, too. She comes from a cursed lineage and now she's passing it on to the whelp. God save that little girl if somebody don't do something. Lord knows I tried."

"Jane, if we could just come in for a few minutes and talk."

"I found out last year how much good talking to you does, Jack Bonsaint. I explained everything and the city closed me down anyway. Our great-great-grandfathers knew how to treat witches. They would have driven the demon out of that little girl and given that slattern of a mother just what she's got coming!" Jane slams the door in their face.

"New England hospitality. Heard about it my whole life. Finally got a chance to experience it for myself," Scully says calmly as they walk away from the house. She glances back, noticing that Jane is watching them.

"Well, you see what I'm up against here, public sentiment and all."

"This family tree of Melissa Turner's..."

"Ayuh…"

"It's all talk, isn't it?"

"Oh, I never really asked. Why?"

"Well, I think you need to bring her in to straighten this out."

"Under what pretext?"

"That she might know something."

"About what?"

Scully resists rolling her eyes, thinking that Jack is as dumb as a box of hammers, or really good at playing like he is. "Well, about what I'm sure is a perfectly reasonable

explanation for all of this."

"Ayuh."

"Well, I wish I could help you out. You know, I'm just…on vacation." She smiles ruefully. "This was supposed to be a weekend away for my husband and I, but all three kids got chicken pox, so I'm here alone."

"I guess if he was here, you wouldn't be helping us."

"Are you kidding? He'd love to work on this case."

"Sounds like you're married to quite a character."

"You don't know the half of it."

* * *

Washington DC

8 p.m.

"Hold out your hands, Sammy." Mulder waits for the toddler to comply, then slips a pair of mittens over the child's hands when he does. Sammy gives the mittens a dubious look, but doesn't say anything.

"You next, Page."

"Uh uh." She pulls her hands behind her back. "How come we're puttin' on mittens? We're not going out in the snow."

Mulder lifts the edge of his shirt and points at a scar on his side. "See that?"

"Yup."

"If you scratch at those itchy spots you can make a scar like that."

"But we won't scratch!" Page quickly promises.

Mulder shakes his head. "I know that you've both been very good while you're awake, but people scratch in their sleep too. The mittens will keep you from doing that…I didn't scratch when I was awake, either."

"What about April?" Page asks.

"She already wears mitts on her hands when she sleeps, remember?" April developed a tendency to scratch her ears in her sleep, often causing them to bleed, so they adopted this solution weeks ago while they wait to see if she needs tubes in her ears since scratching is a common symptom.

"Oh yeah."

Giggling, Sammy opens and closes his mittened hands. "Funny."

Reaching down to ruffle his son's hair, Mulder tells him, "It'll keep you warm if you dream about snowmen."

* * *

King's Crossing, Maine

8 a.m.

Coroners are wheeling Jane's body out of her house when Bonsaint and Scully drive up.

"Looks like she died by her own hand. A big slice under the chin opened up the artery." Bonsaint tells Scully once they're inside.

"With what?"

"Buddy, show her the thing."

As officer Riggs shows her a plastic bag with a bloody piece of record in it, a phone begins to ring.

"Jack Bonsaint…. Ayuh. … Who? … Oh, okay. Put him through." He looks up at Scully, "It's for you."

She gives Jack a surprised look as she takes the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey, morning, Sunshine," Mulder crones, making her smile.

"Morning, Mulder. I didn't expect to hear from you this early."

"Yeah, everyone else is still sleeping, so it seemed like a good time to call. And I was a little worried about you. I was wondering if you needed my help up there."

"Needed your help on what?"

"I left you a message at the motel. You didn't get it?"

"I was up and out this morning. Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"How are the kids?"

"On the mend, I think. Less crabby, anyway. They miss you, but not to the point of tears. Anyway, I was thinking about this case. You know, maybe it's not witchcraft after all. Maybe there's a scientific explanation."

"A scientific explanation?"

"Yeah, a medical cause. Something called chorea."

"Dancing sickness."

"Yeah, St. Vitus's dance."

"Yeah, and hasn't been diagnosed since the Middle Ages."

"Oh. You're obviously not a fan of American Bandstand, Scully."

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for the help. Talk to you later."

"That your…" Bonsaint hesitates. "Husband?"

"Yep."

"I'm sorry for eavesdropping but has he maybe got some insight on this?"

Her voice is firm. "No."

"I see."

Riggs briefly plays the record that's in the player - the Hokey Pokey- but then turns it off without explaining why he'd played in the first place.

"You know, Chief Bonsaint, I've been thinking that maybe … maybe we need to explore other possibilities."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Well, maybe we need to keep our minds open to … extreme possibilities."

"Okay, but aren't you on vacation?"

She nods then looks away.

* * *

Not a fan of lobster, Scully is less than thrilled when Bonsaint insists they have lunch at a seafood place. He's delighted with his meal, but she finds herself wishing that she could order a Caesar salad.

"You said you had some other directions you were looking at?" Bonsaint asks between bites.

"I've been thinking about Melissa Turner. Now, you said that her husband died in a boating accident?"

"Ayuh."

"Well, was there anything strange about that? About the way that it happened?"

"It was never quite explained to anyone's satisfaction, actually."

"How's that?"

Before answering Bonsaint rips another hunk off of the lobster, reminding her of the cockroach case Mulder had. "How the man got a grappling hook poked clean through his skull."

"Was Melissa ever questioned about that?"

"Melissa? No. I don't see how she'd be involved. The boat he died on is right over there if you're at all wondering."

They look out window and see the old man on a small fishing boat, named "Working Girl."

"I saw that man at the market," Scully says in surprise. She watches as he throws water overboard.

* * *

The old man allows them onto the boat that night, not unwilling to tell him his version of events. The three of them sit together while he spins his tale.

"What happened? You ask that question around here, you get as many stories as … as fishermen."

"You were on board the night that he died. What do you think?" Scully asks.

"I told my story to the Chief."

"People's stories change," Scully tells him.

"Folks blame the widow."

"Who do you blame?"

"He was wild for her. He worked very hard to build that little house for her and when that daughter came, you'd need a mop to wipe that smile off his face. We'd set out to sea on the girl's last birthday. He was counting the hours before he'd be home again. Found a doll in the ocean, said it was a gift for Polly from Davey Jones. Three days later, he was dead."

"And you know what killed him," Scully suggests.

"The eyes play tricks at night, water up against the hull making noises. He woke me up, all het up….it sounded like the doll was talking to him right before he got speared in the head. Like I said, the eyes play tricks."

"But you saw something in that grocery store. That little girl and her dolly."

"Moment I saw them, I knew."

* * *

Scully's cell phone rings as she and Bonsaint head for the car.

"Scully."

"Hey, I had a new thought about this case you're on. There's a viral infection that's spread by simple touch…"

"Mulder, are there any references in occult literature to objects that have the power to direct human behavior?" She ignores the strange look Bonsaint gives her.

"What types of objects?"

"Um, like a doll, for instance."

"You mean like Chuckie?"

"Yeah, kind of like that," she agrees.

"Sure, the talking doll myth is well established in literature, especially in New England. The-the fetish or Juju is believed to pass on magical powers onto its possessor. Some of the early witches were condemned for little more than proclaiming that these objects existed. The supposed witch having premonitory visions and things…Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious."

"You didn't find a talking doll, did you, Scully?"

"No, no. Of course not."

"I would suggest that you check the back of the doll for a - a plastic ring with a string on it. In any case, don't bring it home to the kids-" Mulder's voice fades out when Scully closes her phone.

Turning back to Bonsaint, she says, "Let's go talk to Melissa Turner."

* * *

Melissa Turner Residence

8 p.m.

Bonsaint pulls into the driveway, and they notice a car parked there already.

"That's Buddy's car." Turning towards the house, he yells. "Melissa!"

Walking up to the house, looks in a window.

"You see anything?"

"No."

They hear noises coming from the inside, and redouble their efforts to get into the house before it's too late. Scully pounds on the door while Bonsaint looks for another way in. "Melissa? Melissa? Bonsaint!" He runs back to her side of the house. "She's got the door nailed shut. She's trying to kill herself."

Bonsaint begins breaking down the door, while Scully knocks at a window. After Bonsaint kicks it, the door finally crashes open, and they run into the kitchen. Melissa is holding the hammer in front of her face.

"Get away from me!" Melissa demands.

"Put it down, Melissa," Scully tells her.

From Polly's arms comes the doll's eerie voice. "I don't like you anymore."

Melissa hits herself on the forehead with the hammer. Bonsaint yelps in surprise.

Scully, now sure of what's going on, kneels next to the little girl. "Give me the doll, Polly." Polly shakes her head, and refuses to hand over the doll.

"I want to play," the doll says right as Melissa hits herself with the hammer again, bloodying her face.

"Polly, give me the doll," Scully demands as the doll speaks again.

Horrorstricken by her mother's appearance, Polly lets the doll go, and Scully grabs it. It continues to say it wants to play right up until Scully shoves it into the microwave. The voice is muffled by the door, and Scully turns the appliance on. The doll catches on fire.

All three adults watch as it incinerates.

* * *

Westport Island, Maine

Four Days Later

The Tar Box Inn does turn out to be very nice, much nicer than the Super 8 motel Scully spent the night in at King's Crossing. The thing she immediately decided as she drove away from the microwaved doll is that if she never spends another minute in King's Crossing, it'd still be too much.

Finally in Westport, she's taken tons of pictures, spent time shopping, visited the local attractions, and only called Mulder twice a day. Each day she's relieved to hear that Emily is still showing no signs of the illness her cousins have. It makes her wonder if perhaps Emily's adopted parents had gotten her that new Chicken Pox vaccination that the HMO she and Mulder have will not cover.

As she puts her suitcases in the trunk of the rental car, Scully reflects on how well rested she feels, and it makes her feel a little bit guilty, because she's sure that despite her husband's complete lack of complaints on the phone, he's none so relaxed with three sick children to look after.

This in mind, she stops off at a grocery store shortly before the end of a very long drive. Unlike her shopping a week before, this visit requires a shorter list. Sunflower seeds, steak, a chocolate cake, some ice tea, diapers…

But as she is about to by-pass the feminine hygiene isle, something occurs to her that makes her come to a dead stop. It's not until an irritated old woman tries to get by that she starts moving again.

* * *

Washington DC

9 p.m.

Scully enters the house quietly, fairly certain that the kids will be sleeping. Mulder creeps up on her, with a finger raised to his lips, confirming her suspicion. She nods and goes to put the food she bought away in the kitchen, then follows him up to their room.

"The kids are better," Mulder tells her. "No more itchiness, very few spots. I think they'll sleep through the night, though, so you'll have to wait until morning to see for yourself."

"I'm glad they're feeling better."

"Did you bring home any creepy dolls?" Mulder asks cheerfully as he drops her luggage on their bed.

"No." She unzips the outer pouch of one bag and pulls out a small rectangular box. "But I did bring home this."

He looks at it for a second, and it seems like he's trying to decide whether or not to smile. "Did you use it yet?"

"I haven't. It didn't even occur to me until I was on the way home."

"You have to wait until tomorrow then, huh? Because of the pee in the morning thing."

"That, and I think I'm about to fall asleep," Scully tells him with a yawn as she lies on the bed. "I bought your dinner, it's down in the kitchen, but I'm afraid you'll have to cook it yourself."

"No problem," he tells her. "I've been cooking a lot lately, and I'm getting good at it."

Before he can go on to confess as to why they have a brand new frying pan, and the fate of the last one, he notices that she's already asleep. He shrugs, pulls of her shoes and covers her up, deciding that she can undress if she wakes up later.

On the way out of the room he eyes the box on her nightstand, and wonders what the results of the test will be.


	55. Killswitch

The Next Morning

The sounds of small feet wake Mulder up. He yawns and rubs his eyes, then notices that Scully is coming through the doorway. "What's going on?"

"Missy dropped Emily off to play, and the kids need supervision if I'm going to…" She trails off and nods in the direction of the box on the nightstand.

"Okay, yeah. Let me get dressed and I'll get the kids out of your hair. There are some things I need to pick up at the store so I'll take them along."

"April's still asleep, so you've only got the three of them to cope with."

"Cope? You make it sound it's hard to look after three little kids while shopping. It's Saturday, how many shoppers could there be?"

"Good luck, Mulder."

* * *

How many turns out to be lots and lots of shoppers. They're everywhere, and he's tempted to put all three kids into his cart, but wouldn't have room for what he wants, so he spends forty-five minutes telling the kids to "put that down and come back here!" while he gathers everything on his mental list.

Even so, things are going pretty well until… "Oh, they're so cute!" a voice over his shoulder coos. "Are they twins?"

Mulder blinks a few times, then it dawns on him that the woman is staring at Page and Emily. "No, they're cousins, actually. My daughter is two months older than my niece."

The woman looks faintly disappointed, but says, "Their moms must look a lot alike."

"They do. They're both redheads, like Sammy here-" He looks over to where Sammy last was, and sees nothing. "Girls, where's Sammy?"

Both little girls shrug, and the woman offers an apologetic look.

"Oh crap," Mulder says, and sees Page's eyes widen. "If you tell Mom, I'm eating your desert."

Unsurprisingly, his daughter says nothing.

* * *

When Sammy looks around, he's surprised to see no one he knows. All he sees is a bunch of grown ups he doesn't know.

"Daddy?" He takes a few uncertain steps and looks around before calling for his father in a slightly louder voice.

"Who are you looking for?"

Sammy looks up at the woman and frowns a little. "My daddy."

"My name is Carol and I work for this store. Why don't we go up front and have someone call your dad to meet us?"

After a moment of serious contemplation Sammy takes her hand. "Okay."

* * *

Sammy thinks it's pretty cool that the man at the customer service desk lets him sit on the counter, but he's still is anxious about not knowing where Daddy is.

The man smiles at him. "What's your name?"

"Sammy."

"That's a nice name. What's your Daddy's name?"

"Mulder."

"Mulder what?"

Sammy gives him a puzzled stare.

The man tries again. "What does Mommy call your Daddy?"

"Mulder!"

"Okay, what do Daddy's friends call him?"

Sammy grins; this is a question he knows the answer to. "Spooky."

The man turns to Carol. "That can't be his real name."

Carol shrugs. "One of the kids in my grandson's kindergarten's class is named Stormy and another is named Blaze. It could be his real name."

* * *

Having spent the past ten minutes looking under clothing racks to see if his son is hiding, Mulder is about to lose it when he suddenly hears it.

"Would Spooky Mulder please come to the custom service desk. Spooky Mulder please come to the custom service desk, your son is waiting."

He mutters to himself and grabs the girls by the hand, then almost stumbles when Emily stops short and looks up at him. "What Emily?" he asks.

"Uncle Fox, why is your face all red?"

"Nevermind." He sighs and both girls giggle.

"There you are!" Mulder says sounding relieved as he claims his son from the customer service people.

"Hi Daddy. I look at toys, then you gone!" Sammy explains with wide eyes.

"Well, I'm here now," he tells him as the little boy half-strangles him in the attempt to get off the counter.

"Sir…is your name really Spooky?" Carol blurts out.

"Yeah," Mulder tells her, then steers the girls in the direction of the checkout lanes.

* * *

As soon as they're through the door the kids run off in the direction of the playroom, leaving Mulder behind as he hauls in all his bags. Feeling unambitious, he drops them onto the floor and notices that April is awake in the playpen. "Hey sweetie," he greets her, ruffling her hair.

"Mulder?" Scully asks behind him. "How did shopping go?"

Shaking his head slightly he puts an arm around her. "Do you know what our son thinks my first name is?"

"No."

"Spooky. I learned this when I was paged over the PA system-"

"You lost him?"

He gives her a guilty look. "Only for a few minutes."

"I lost him in the grocery store last week. We should really consider getting another of those leash things we had for Page."

"What, and let him cut this one to pieces too?" Mulder asks, faking horror.

"I told you not to leave scissors around…"

"So, what's the verdict?" he asks, suddenly serious.

Her smile is bright. "Positive."

"You know, they're going to out-number us two to one now."

"That's okay, we're bigger and smarter than they are." She laughs.

"Bigger, yes, smarter, I'm not so sure," he admits wryly. "Anyway, I guess this means that I shouldn't ask you to help load my trunk, though."

"Load it with what?"

"X-Files. You didn't notice that they're in the coat closet?"

"Why are there X-Files in our coat closet?"

"I was bored this week so while Rachel was here this week I went to the office a couple of times and got them."

"How many? And why??" she asks with a puzzled look.

"All of them," he admits. "I wanted to scan them with my new scanner. The kids slept a lot and it didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would."

Scully stands on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Mulder. But I hope none of our kids grow up to be as strange as you."

"Oh, thanks a lot." He complains, but he's whistling by the time he's dragged the first box of files out to his car.

* * *

February 1998  
2:45 a.m.

As they trade barbs and information in the bullet-shattered diner, Mulder wonders what the outcome of this case will be. Not that he won't be busting his hump any less, but he wonders if that goth chick would still try to join her dead lover in the digital beyond. Then he wonders what sort of heaven that would be, and is on the verge of trying to match other religions and philosophies to that sort of afterlife when his lovely and startling awake wife asks, "What would these lowlifes be doing here?"

He blinks, then grins. "Maybe it was for the pie."

She gives him a "fuck you" look, and not in a good way. "Mulder, not to sound like a broken record, but what the hell are we doing here at this godforsaken hour?"

He nods, then pulls back the white sheet like a magician. "Donald Gelman."

Now it's her turn to blink. "Who?"

"Donald Gelman -- Silicon Valley software pioneer. He's been missing since 1979."

She gives him that lovely eyebrow arch before pursing her lips briefly. "And you recognize him?" she says, clearly in skeptic mode.

As the words come out of his mouth by rote, he's reminded of Al Gore's similar claim years later and smothers a smirk, "He invented the internet." Another skeptical look. Yep, this is gonna be fun. "Okay, well, he didn't quite invent it, but he's a Silicon Valley folk hero. He was writing internet software even before there was an internet."

Now her arms are crossed. Better and better. "Why have I never heard of him?"

He pulls the sheet back up to hide the dead man's face and swipes the laptop as he does so. Yeah, having an amateur magician for an uncle does have it's pluses. "On the eve of the deal that was going to set him up as another Bill Gates, he went hiking in the Sierras and said he'd think about it. Never came back."

Scully frowns, looking at the cops and crime techs swarming the area. "I still don't see the connection."

Mulder smiles briefly, readjusting the laptop under his coat while no one's looking. "Maybe that's the point."

She frowns, heading out the door. "Okay, Mr. Mysterious, why was Gelman in there?"

"You know you can call me Mulder," he flirts, grinning when that twitch in her jaw reveals how much she wants to hit him, "I think it's obvious someone wanted him dead."

"Why put a hit on him? It's just as obvious the man was dying, why go through the trouble of such an elaborate execution?" She gets in the driver's seat, since she drove the way over here.

He shrugs before getting into the passenger's side and locks the door. "Guess the killer couldn't wait when it came to Gelman, since his mind was more likely the threat." He slips the laptop out from his coat and opens it, his face bathed in a mild electronic glow.

Scully's eyes are the same size as her mouth. "Mulder, that's evidence."

Okay, maybe she hasn't loosened up entirely, he grins. "Gee, I hope so," he says, popping a CD out from the laptop and putting it into the car stereo. On cue, the car lights start blinking and the Platters' "Twilight Time" plays. As he smiles at her, Scully reluctantly smiles back. They lean towards each other and kiss, as if in a mini-prom trapped in a car's body.

Then Scully says in a low voice, her eyes still closed but her hands on his tie, "Shouldn't we take the CD out before we attract attention?"

Mulder chuckles. "Too late for that." Before she can retort or pull away, he draws her in for another kiss.

* * *

A few hours later, they're at the Lone Gunman's warehouse in Takoma Park, and as before, the odd trio praise and salute their fallen hero. While the so-called "Twilight Time" CD plays, Scully reads the latest issue of the Lone Gunmen, the headline reading "Infrared Technology." Her eyes narrow when it dissects the role of heat-sensing FLIR, or Forward-Looking Infrared, in the Waco massacre. Originally designed to detect enemy tanks in the Gulf War, it's now being used as a form of night vision technology. According to the conspiracy theorists' paper, however, FLIR cameras documented the FBI running towards the compound, charging forward in front of tanks to shoot at civilians burning inside. Her forehead wrinkles as she wonders at the ludicrous notion of using what would be targets for Davidians as the frontline shooters when they had tanks. She may not have a mind for military strategy like her father, but even she can see the idiocy of that kind of formation.

Just as she's about to verbally drill several holes into the article, the long-haired blonde of the trio speaks up. "We're up against 64-bit encryption -- a password that's a random sequence of twelve symbols. Gelman's locked up this baby tight," he says, with as much admiration as frustration.

Scully walks over while Byers chimes in, "This CD has some kind of enhanced background data. Lots of code. Maybe a programming design."

"Cool," Mulder says, half-wishing the old man was alive to break it down for the boys in person. "What for?"

From behind the men, Scully asks, "Anyone think to check his mail?"

They look at each other sheepishly before shaking their heads, and Langly quickly taps on an icon and a couple of tabs. Byers reads aloud, "David missing, fear the worst, the hunted has become the hunter."

"'Invisigoth'?" Scully raises both eyebrows.

"Could be an address," the suit-and-tie man suggests.

"Seven digits," Frohike puts his two cents in, "an alpha numeric string of four."

"Standard ID," Mulder corrects him, "shipping container."

The short man makes a face when Scully looks at Mulder like she's impressed with his kung foo. Damn, Frohike thinks, she's hot.

* * *

Once again, Esther Nairn zaps him with the mini-Taser. And once again, Scully saves his ass and takes the goth chick down. And once again, the damn AI locks on their location and blasts the ever-living heck out of Nairn's former steel-box residence. Although he has to admit, even the second time around, watching it go "boom" just like in the movies was pretty damn cool. The kids are gonna have a heckuva story when we get home, he thinks, even though he knows the danger level is still high and there's always a chance he could really screw up and die the second time around. Don't get cocky, he tells himself as Scully tells the woman in the backseat, "No more screwing around. We need a name. Your real name."

Mulder would tell her, but that would make both women very suspicious in different ways. Besides, he likes seeing Scully in her tough G-woman mode.

"Invisigoth," the handcuffed woman in the back sneers, in spite of her black makeup smearing and fading. "My address? It's T-O-A-S-T."

Mulder decides to add to the interrogation rather than the catfight he's half-hoping for. "When you said 'it' was targeting us back there, you meant an artificial intelligence. Donald Gelman was trying to create a sentient AI." He twists around slightly to see her face. "He succeeded, didn't he?"

Nairn almost looks impressed, then looks out the window. "Donald wrote an interlocked sequence of viruses 15 years ago. It got loose on the net."

"Whoa, what do you mean, 'got loose'?" Mulder says, already knowing the damn thing's out there, up there. Man, it's a good thing it's not on the aliens' side, he muses, things could get really bad in a James Cameron-kinda way.

"He let it loose," Nairn says in a voice reserved for talking down to small children, "so it could evolve in its natural environment. Urschleim in silicon."

"Digital primordial ooze?" Scully asks.

The goth nods, a little surprised that the woman managed to put two and two together. "Except this time, Donald was the one pushing it to walk on land, achieving the equivalent of Copernicus, Magellan and Darwin."

Scully's stopped being surprised by the worship the dead man obviously inspired. "And what was your role in this? Bass player?"

Nairn gives her a look Mulder recognizes from encounters Scully's had with others who doubted her credentials. "Automata theory, MIT '95. Post doc the Santa Fe Institute. Headhunted to Kobayashi my junior year. Then Donald showed up in Tokyo and made me a better offer."

"A better offer to do what?"

The woman with the pale blonde hair and kohl-outlined eyes sniffs. "You wouldn't understand."

"Give me a small break," Scully mutters, veering off the road sharply before parking it and jumping out.

* * *

Mulder runs out after her, knowing his fiery redheaded wife would dearly love to punch the blonde. Scully spins around, her stance defiant. "You believe this crap?" she asks.

He puts his hands up, wondering again if a catfight wouldn't make everyone, himself included, feel better. Hey, it works for guys, he reasons, but knows she wouldn't go for it. "You saw what happened back there, Scully. You saw that container blow."

She gives him a pitying look. "She could have rigged an explosive charge. There are no weapons platforms, there is no such Department of Defense satellite."

"What about Star Wars?" he argues. "Brilliant Pebbles?"

Her blue eyes flash. "They were never built, remember? Contrary to what sci-fi movies proclaim, we don't even have that kind of technology! I mean, even if an AI was targeting us," and her eyes narrow, "and I'm saying 'if', with an armed satellite, why isn't it frying us right now?"

"Because it doesn't know where we are," the blonde prisoner says, her thin wrists still in cuffs. "If I so much as made a phone call right now, it would nuke us right where we're standing."

"How?" Scully is practically challenging her.

"Recognizes my voice, monitors all communication," Nairn says with a grudging respect. "I haven't used a phone in over a month."

"Then how did it know to target the container?" Mulder asks.

She looks at the both of them. "All I can think of is that some idiot got on Donald's computer and tried to contact me over the net. Only Donald knew where I was. And David."

"Who's David?" Mulder perks up.

"David Markham," the blonde says with a studied indifference shading her now-standard cockiness. "He was hardware. Donald and I were software. We'd been caring for the AI, weaning it. Then Donald warned us that the system started to display more than consciousness. It started to display intention. But before we could stop it, it was gone."

"Where?" Mulder asks the question Scully won't.

Nairn shrugs. "I don't know. Once day David was on the system and it wouldn't come, it wouldn't come when we called it. We knew it was out there somewhere on the net, but it wouldn't answer, and Donald was just getting sicker."

You thought it was a simple puppy, but it turned into Cujo, Mulder thinks. "And you can't find it," he says.

She nods. "It's not just a program anymore," she says, "it's wildlife loose on the net. And either we kill it…"and now she notices there's a crucial person missing in this conversation, now that either the adrenaline or massive suspicion has worn off slightly. "Where's Donald?"

"He's dead," Mulder says bluntly, "killed in a café in what looks like a hit."

Some of the spunk leaves the woman. "That's the Ai protecting itself," she finally says. "It'll find David and… me. It's only a matter of time. Donald was writing a concatenation of viruses designed to find and immobilize the rogue system. The file name was 'Kill Switch.' Without it, nobody can catch it."

"We have Donald's computer," he offers.

"No," she shakes her head, "he'd never leave it on hard drive."

"Well, we have this," Mulder holds up the CD. "'Twilight Time'."

Nairn's eyes light up. "That's it. That's the Kill Switch."

Scully looks at them both as if they've both left sanity and headed for a sci-fi version of Wonderland.

* * *

Watching the Gunmen practically fall over themselves over Nairn was priceless this time around, too, Mulder smothers the grin on his face. Watching Scully look almost arch when she discovers Nairn's real name was just fun, too. After he recuffs the blonde to the desk, however, his usually straight laced wife surprises by murmuring in his ear, "I wouldn't mind if you'd lock me up sometime, too." He almost falls over and she doesn't bother to hide her grin.

Nairn looks at them suspiciously before snapping, "Gimme the Kill Switch."

Scully loses her grin while her eyebrow shoots up. "Aren't you worried it's going to track you, Esther?" she says, not bothering to hide her perverse pleasure at needling the girl with her real name. "Hunt you down with a particle beam?"

Mulder puts himself as a temporary barrier between the two, handing the CD over to the hacker. "Not unless someone else makes another boneheaded internet connection," the blonde shoots back, causing the conspiracy trio to look guilty, even though it was Scully's idea in the first place.

"What's this?" Mulder asks, pointing to a diagram Nairn pulled up.

"That's the sharp end of the stick," she answers, "Donald probably tried to feed this sector over the net, but it took too long, so the system was able to take countermeasures."

"Why didn't it just zap him, too?" Scully frowns.

"Its creator?" Nairn almost looks shocked. "No, it needed to impress Donald. Particle beam would've been overkill."

"Unlike a dozen crack dealers," the redhead rolls her eyes.

"No, that's its sense of humor," Nairn smiles.

"Yeah, right," Mulder says. "But if you load the Kill Switch, what's it to stop it from playing another funny joke on us?"

Now her collegiate background is showing. "Well, obviously we can't inject Kill Swtich over the net. We have to find its home nod and physically feed it the poisoned apple."

"Why?"

Another patient look. "It knows it can't hide in the net forever, so it's gotta have a physical nexus of hardware, a safe house, if you will. David went looking for it."

"Did he find it?" This time Frohike's quicker than Mulder on the uptake.

She shrugs. "There's no way to know."

Scully frowns. "Why don't you just call him?" Everyone looks at her, and then she throws up her hands. "Oh, yeah, death from above."

Now the Gunmen jump in, eager to be part of the solution. "It would need bandwidth," Langly says.

Nairn agrees. "It's a pig for bandwidth."

"It would need a T3, at least," Byers suggests.

"T3?" Scully asks, wishing she didn't feel so out of her depth. Ordinarily, she wouldn't mind, but there's just something about that girl that's just putting her back up and making her hate every time she doesn't get something.

"A hard line," Frohike is happy to explain, "45 megs a second."

"Major research labs and internet service providers use them," Byers adds.

Langly spins around in his seat. "But the government keeps those records secret for fear of sabotage," he says in his nasal voice.

Nairn looks at them as if, well, as if she's a blonde. "Gee, you guys know anyone that works for the government?"

They all look at the FBI couple.

* * *

This time around, Mulder would like to switch places with Scully, but doesn't dare place their unborn child in danger of those hallucinogenic drugs the AI's got, so he reluctantly climbs out of bed, hops in the car, and heads over to Fairfax County in nearby Virginia, knowing Scully's safer with Nairn than with the AI's needle-happy BattleBots.

And hey, maybe this time he won't even get caught, he thinks as he talks to a for-now hostage Scully. When Nairn hangs up on him, he thinks, Well, here's to a more stealthier approach. This time, he's got some funky poaching equipment from the Gunmen that should buy him a little time, but there's no getting around the fact that sooner or later, he's gonna have to go inside that trailer. With the handheld monitor, he sees various sensors around the trailer, and finds with the overlap, he'll end up tripping at least one of them anyways. Great. Well, if two chicks could avoid getting punctured, so can he, Mulder thinks grimly, and proceeds towards the trailer in almost military fashion.

He starts by moving swiftly from tree to tree until he reaches the edge of the clearing, shoots a couple of the sensors as well as the damn siren, then rolls towards the trailer, and finally breaks down the door with a billy stick, not bothering to go in the stealthy way like last time. His face is covered by a ski mask and his clothes hide both kevlar and some tough leather long johns he stole from Langly. Then he pulls down the night goggles onto his eyes so he can see better, and finds the same mess of hardware inside. Try and get me this time, you bastard, he thinks savagely, stomping and beating on the wheeled drone until it falls to pieces.

Then he sees the badly electrocuted body in the harness, its face covered by VR goggles. He doesn't have to lift the visor to know it's David Markham, and keeps his eyes open for any more surprises, like, say, a floating harness of doom similar to the one holding the dead man.

* * *

Scully and Nairn come to what used to be David Markham's home, which is now a charred mess. When the blonde woman steps out to wander among the ruins, Scully unlocks the handcuffs, loosely putting it back together when Nairn gets back in. Putting the gun on the dashboard, the younger woman bursts into tears, and Scully sees her chance.

Then Nairn grabs the gun and points it at Scully. "Go ahead! Do it! I know you've been wanting to, dammit!" Her black makeup is now running down her face, but she honestly doesn't give a damn at this point about appearances.

Scully sighs, takes the gun, and finds herself patting the thin woman's shoulder.

It isn't long before they're standing in the midst of the debris, and the blonde woman inhales sharply against a chill that's not entirely due to the wintry breeze. "I lied to you," she says dully, her eyes on the remains of the house. "I wasn't working with Donald. I mean, I was, and then he found out about us."

"About you and who?"

"David." She sniffles. "About our plans."

Now Scully's curious. "What plans did he find out?"

"Uploading." Now the blonde woman looks at the redhead. "Transfer of memory, of consciousness to the distributed system maintained by the AI. Imagine being mingled so completely with another, you no longer need your physical self -- you're one."

Oh my God, Scully thinks. "So you were going to --"

Nairn nods. "Enter the AI. Give up our inefficient bodies so that our consciousness could live together forever."

I remember being that desperately in love once, the agent thinks, but that was completely wrong. But with Mulder, I don't want to be of the same mind, or same body. I love the way he both challenges and respects me, the fact that we have the same job that tests us mentally and physically, the home and even ghosts we share, and of course, our three, soon to be four, lovely children. And I love having everything, a job, a man, a family, a home, a mind, and a heart, all of which continue to surprise me with the fact that I have more to learn, more to give, more to love. Love isn't selfish, she wants to tell Nairn, love would open itself to extreme possibilities in this present life rather than delusions similar to the Heaven's Gate cult, but I know she'd be as open to the advice as I was when I was with Daniel. "But Gelman forbade it," is what she says quietly.

Nairn smiles bleakly. "He was afraid of his creation. He was afraid of what would happen if other people followed us." She squats down and picks up a partly-burned photo of herself and David. "I loved him so much."

It's too early to tell, but from what the redhead can see, there's no sign of any human remains. Unless he was standing at ground zero, it doesn't seem to appear that Markham was even home. She doesn't want to give false hope, but then, she's not entirely unsympathetic to Nairn's plight. "Maybe he wasn't here when this happened," she says, her words bolstering her own belief. If Nairn could survive an attack, it's possible Markham has, too. "Maybe he's somewhere else."

* * *

He's beating down a second BattleBot when a thought occurs to him. Why not take down the whole damn thing and save everyone the trouble? It's too bad he didn't make a copy of the Kill Switch, as he was busy preparing to save his own hide. So he takes out his gun and starts shooting at the monitors, and when his bullets run out, he gets a firm grip on the billy club and starts whacking away at various machines, tearing out wires and basically going medieval in the cramped trailer. So busy is he wreaking havoc, however, that he doesn't notice the harness until the restraints bind him and a visor clamps down on his head. "NO!" he yells, vaguely aware during his struggles that it's taking longer this time, probably because of the body armor. All that protection is just making him hotter, and electricity sparks off his sweat, making him scream. "Scul-laaaaaaaaaaay!!!"

* * *

When he wakes up, his eyes fly open. If Nurse Nancy shows up, she's dead, Mulder thinks, and is pleasantly surprised to find Scully bending over him. "Thank God," she says, holding his hand. She stops him when he tries to sit up, her hand on his shoulder. "Don't. You just gave us a terrible scare."

He smiles weakly. "Sorry about that. I'm just glad you got to me before I turned into a crispy critter."

She nods. "I know. But not everyone was so lucky. Esther Nairn, for one."

His mouth hangs open. "What?"

Her eyes drop. "She tried using the Kill Switch, but they got her."

His mind reels. "How?" he says in a dry voice.

"I think it tracked us through my cell phone," she says. She holds his hand up to her cheek. "Fortunately, you managed to damage most of the equipment in the trailer, so by the time I got there, the AI wasn't able to completely hurt you."

"What do you mean, 'completely'," he asks, "what's wrong with me?"

"Mulder, don't," Scully says, but it's too late.

He sits up and finds second- and third-degree burns over a large part of his body. As shock ripples through him, an orderly comes in and snaps, "I'm afraid you'll have to leave now, Ms. Scully. His pain medication's wearing off."

As Scully is hustled out the door, she shoots an agonized glance at him. "I'll be okay," he says weakly when the orderly returns to inject him with something that's fast-acting. Damn, that's strong, he thinks, slipping into unconsciousness.

* * *

A shell-shocked Nairn and shaken Scully stand slowly from their crouched positions on the bridge. "Okay, that was too damn close," Scully mutters, seeing the last of the computer fizzle into the river below. "I'm not about to lose my unborn child over some ghost in the machine." Vaguely, she recalls one of her early cases with Mulder involving a homicidal machine at the Eurisko building that killed off his glory-seeking ex-coworker.

"You're pregnant?" Nairn asks, interrupting her thoughts.

Scully smiles a little. "Our fourth," she says, then rotates her neck. It's been a long day, and it looks like it's going to get longer. "Thank goodness Mulder's into large families."

"He's your husband?" The techie is fairly goggling now.

"Yeah," the redhead says, "partners in all the right ways."

"Well, I guessed you were close, but," Nairn shrugs, "wow. Four kids. How do you manage that on top of a job?"

"It helps to have a nanny," Scully says dryly, thankful she's still got the keys. Walking on now-sturdy legs, she adds, "Coming?"

The blonde woman nods as the gate hauls itself up, as if the AI's satisfied the danger's over. "But you guys are always yelling at each other."

Scully smiles as they buckle up. "At the end of the day, the best part is being able to kiss and make up. Or beat the crap out of some sewage-dwelling mutant, but don't tell him that," she adds, and finds some small satisfaction in seeing the other woman smile.

"I don't know about the mutant part, but I think that's what I loved, *love*, about David," Nairn says quietly as Scully drives over the bridge. "Just being with him at the end of the day. Especially when Donald was getting more and more spooked about the AI, it was just so good to come home to David and, I dunno, talk. Sit. You know what I mean?"

"You'll have more of those times, I'm sure," Scully says, her foot unconsciously pressing harder on the gas to reach Mulder. They spend a couple of miles in silence, until Scully grabs onto the train of thought that eluded her earlier. "Have you heard of Brad Wilczek? He used to work at Eurisko."

Nairn nods. "I heard the CIA kidnapped him to rebuild a similar prototype." Then her eyes narrow. "How do you know him?"

"Mulder and I worked that case," the redhead says, her eyes on the road. "I never was quite sure what happened to him, if he was kidnapped, as you say, or incarcerated in some mental institution, or even killed. It seems strange things happen when the government takes an interest in AI, Esther," she finishes quietly.

In a voice just as quiet, the blonde woman says, "Which was why Donald took the utmost precautions when he picked David and I. He didn't want to take the chance that what happened to Wilczek would happen to any of us."

"And yet, it's the AI hunting you down, not the government," Scully says.

Nairn smiles. "You and your husband work for the government, right?" Then she looks out the window, her cynical face reasserting itself. "It's only a matter of time before others add things up. By then, we should be long gone."

Scully's about to ask her what she means by that, but they've reached the chicken farm and her heart's in her throat when she sees Mulder's empty car.

* * *

The next time Mulder wakes up, someone is massaging cool, soothing lotion all over his body. "Don't stop," he says, smiling at his wife.

Scully smiles back. "You're awake. Good." Her hands work slowly down his torso until they rub small circles around his groin. She licks her lips when he gets bigger. "Very awake."

"You have no idea," he groans, thankful that's one of the few parts of his body that hasn't been charbroiled. "Oh, Scully, oh my go…" :censored:

"Mmm, Mulder," she groans, "I wish we could do more."

"Me, too," he agrees.

"I talked to the doctor, and he says he can speed the healing process along with skin grafts," Scully says. "But he needs your help."

"How?" he wonders. "I don't have much unburned skin to work with."

She smiles. "It's not that. It's information you have on this case."

"Like what?"

"The Kill Switch," she says, :censored:

"I thought Nairn had it," he says in a hoarse voice, trying his damndest to think straight.

"We thought so, too, but she didn't," she says, and he's hypnotized :censored:

"That's too bad," he moans, breathing shallowly:censored:

"Do you have it?" she asks.

He blinks at her dazedly. "Do I have what?"

"The Kill Switch," she says :censored:.

I can't believe I fell for it a second time! he thinks angrily. And I can't believe I came for an AI! How sick is that? "Duh," he says, twisting his hips and kicking her in the head. As she slams into the wall, everything starts to blur and pixellate.

As he struggles into awareness, the machine plunges another needle into his neck. "Scully," he whispers, his head slumping forward, even as the visor and clamps hold it hostage.

* * *

As they emerge from the forest, they can see a trailer with its door missing. "Scully," the women hear a groan coming from inside the trailer. Cautiously, they make their way towards the violated opening.

"Dammit," the agent sighs, pulling out her gun and running in, her flashlight sweeping through the cramped space. "Mulder? Mulder, can you hear me?" she calls out, squinting her eyes for a sign of him, or maybe a light switch. It's obvious he did some damage before he went down, unless those monitors were supposed to be smashed in.

"Brilliant," Nairn mutters, looking for a serviceable console and keyboard that hasn't been destroyed. As she spins her flashlight around, she sees two bodies hanging from harnesses. She flips up one visor and screams. "David! Oh, God!"

Scully joins the other woman and flips up the other visor. "Mulder! Mulder, come on, talk to me," she says, trying in vain to free him. A whirring sound catches their attention, and Scully draws her gun at what turns out to be an opened CD-ROM drive.

"It wants the Kill Switch," Nairn says woodenly.

"Well, we don't have it. You threw it in the water," Scully sighs, half-wishing she had a Swiss Army knife to cut these damn restraints. Her eyes widen when Nairn pulls out a CD. "That's going to kill it, right?" she says hopefully.

"Not if it can learn the program and vaccinate itself against it," the blonde woman says grimly, staring at the disk in her hand.

Suddenly, Mulder twitches, and Scully jumps back as electricity surges through his body. "Just give it what it wants!" she shouts, not daring to touch the man she loves for fear she'll be knocked out, but hating that she can't even comfort him in his pain. "Please, Esther!" she screams, pain tearing at her voice.

The lone intact computer starts beeping, and its screen is filled with aerial maps that are quickly zooming in on their area. "It's targeting us," Nairn turns away from both the painful sight of a tortured couple and her own dead love. If she can't be with David alive, she'd rather be dead.

Scully, however, doesn't share the same sentiment, and, grabbing the CD, shoves it into the drive. As the Platters sing a song Scully's really starting to hate, the restraints break and Mulder slumps in the harness. Relieved more than words can say, she runs back to him and takes the visor off his head. "Stay with me," the redhead says, "you're going to be okay."

Nairn watches them, then starts typing as Scully supports Mulder. Tears roll down her face, and she sniffles just once as her fingers fly over the keyboard, inputting commands she never thought she'd use in real life until years later. I was looking forward to sharing the rest of our lives together, she thinks, guess this adventure's going to have to online, my love.

"What are you doing?" Scully asks, pausing in the escape.

"Get out!" Nairn snarls. "I got it!"

The agent, thinking it's some kind of payback, doesn't argue, but continues to half-carry her husband out the door as the music continues to insanely play on. Once she's satisfied Mulder's out of harm's way, she goes back to get Nairn, but doesn't see the blonde woman at the console. "Esther?"

"You don't listen, do you?" Nairn's voice may be muffled by the clutter and electricity, but not her anger.

Scully swings her flashlight around. "Where are you?"

"I said, get out!" the other woman screams, and the computer beeps ominously, as if to underscore the point.

Dammit, Scully thinks, grabbing Mulder and hauling ass. And just in time, because, for the third time during this crazy case, a targeting system from above strikes and blows the trailer to smithereens.

* * *

The next night, having finished up and filed in their report, thanked and paid their nanny, and tucked their sweet babies in bed, Mulder and Scully plop exhaustedly on their bed. "I gotta say, virtual reality's got nothing on real life," Mulder says, his eyes taking in the sight of his wife yawning and stretching next to him in a faded Quantico shirt.

"So what exactly did you see when you were drugged?" Scully asks, snuggling up to him. She's rather curious as to why his report is, for some reason, rather abbreviated during that part of his experience for once.

He thinks of the cyber Scully and shudders. "It was a nightmare," he says honestly. "I'm just glad it's over."

She's about to press him further, but stops. "Me, too," she says, thankful that, according to the blood tests, the drugs would soon dissipate from his system. "I wonder if she's happy now," she muses.

"Who?" Mulder squints.

She looks up at him. "Esther. In some ways, she reminded me of me. She was so young and talented, but so unlucky in love."

"You regret marrying me?" he pouts, and she swats him playfully.

"No, silly. I mean, the project brought them together, but at the end, because of Donald's paranoia and the AI's psychosis, they were forced to be apart. I wonder why sentient AI's end up like Hal in that '2001' movie," she muses.

I won't let anything tear us apart, a Neanderthal part of him mentally pounds his chest, not our jobs, not the conspiracy, and not us. "Ah, so you *do* believe there are such things as sentient AI's," he teases her.

She makes a face. "After three near-misses on this case and numerous attacks by that Eurisko thing, I'd have to say, yeah, I do. But that doesn't mean I'll believe any cockamamie theory coming out of your mouth."

"I thought you loved my cockamamie theories," Mulder pouts.

Scully laughs, closing her eyes as she leans on him again. "Esther wondered how on earth we stayed together when we fight so much. I told her at the end of the day, it was nice to kiss and make up."

"Or make out," he leers.

"Shut up, Mulder," she nudges him. "I'm making a point."

"Sorry," he murmurs.

"You're forgiven," she says lightly, hugging him. "I'm just saying, whether it's in a spiritual or digital afterlife, I hope Esther's happy. And that David's with her."

Before the shock of agreeing with her wears off, he nods. "Me, too," he says, enjoying the feel of his wife in his arms. After a moment, he says, "Hey, can we get to the 'kiss and make out' part?"

She swats him again, but giggles and kisses him. "No making out, you've still got drugs in your system," she says, but her voice is regretful. "Good night."

He sighs. "Yeah," he mutters, more regretful than she is, "good night." Stupid AI, he thinks, not for the first time.


	56. Bad Blood

X Files Office

Washington DC

February 11th, 1998

::I thought I was going to behave this time. How could I be this stupid again? Oh, I know why, I needed to let Ronnie drug me rather than her, but still…:: Mulder has his eyes closed as he leans back in his chair, but he opens them when he hears his wife returning from the ladies room.

"Mulder-"

"Don't. Don't even start with me." He hopes his aim with crumpled paper will have improved, but it hasn't, so he misses entirely, again. It makes him feel a little better when he kicks the hell out of the can. Scully just watches, waiting for him to be through with abusing their office equipment. "I know what I saw."

"Skinner wants our report in one hour. What are you going to tell him?" Scully finally asks.

"What do you mean what am I going to tell him? I'm going to tell him exactly what I saw. What are you going to tell him?"

"I'll tell him exactly what…I saw."

"Now, how is that different?" She gives him a look that's mildly exasperated. "Look, Scully, I'm the one who may wind up going to prison here. I got to know if you're going to back me up or what."

"First of all, if the family of Ronnie Strickland does indeed decide to sue the FBI for -- I think the figure is $446 million -- then you and I both will most certainly be co-defendants and second of all...I don't even have a second of all, Mulder. $446 million. I'm in this as deep as you are and I'm not even the one that overreacted. I didn't do the..."She makes a stabbing motion. "with the thing. If we go to jail I can only hope my Mom will look after the ki-"

"I did not overreact. Ronnie Strickland was a vampire," Mulder insists.

"Where is your proof?"

"You're my proof. You were there." She loosens a huge sigh. "OK, now you're scaring me. I wanna know exactly what you're gonna tell Skinner."

"Oh, you want our stories straight." Mulder's not sure, but he thinks she looks a little relieved.

"No, no, no, I didn't say that. I just want to hear it the way you saw it."

"I don't feel comfortable with that."

"Prison, Scully. Your cell mate's nickname is going to be Large Marge. She's going to read a lot of Gertrude Stein. Think of how you'll explain her to our kids when we get out of the clink."

She smiles in spite of herself. "All right."

"All right, start at the beginning."

"The very beginning?" Scully asks as Mulder returns to his desk and takes a micro tape recorder from the drawer and turns it on. "Fine." Yesterday morning I brought Page to preschool because they were having a fieldtrip, which neither of us were roped into chaperoning this time. When I got here, you were, uh...characteristically exuberant."

* * *

Yesterday

X Files Office

February 10th, 1998

Mulder slaps a plane ticket on the desk. "Hope you brought your cowboy boots."

"You want us to go to Dallas?" she asks, looking at the ticket.

"Yee-haw! Actually, a town called Chaney, about 50 miles south of there, population 361...by all accounts, very rustic and charming, but as of late, ground zero the locus for a series of mysterious nocturnal exsanguinations."

"Exsanguinations? Of whom?"

Mulder turns on a slide projector. "How does that grab ya?" He gestures towards the screen, and the slide shows a dead cow on it's right side, left feet in the air.

"Is it a...?"

"Dead cow! Exactly. Specifically, a dead 900-pound Holstein. Its body drained of blood as was this one...this one, this one, this one, and so on. Six, all in all --approximately one a week over the past six weeks."

"Is there any sign of --?"

"Two small puncture wounds on the neck?"

"I wasn't asking that."

"Too bad. We got 'em. Check it out." He clicks to the next slide. It's a close up picture of two puncture marks on the side of a cow's neck.

"Well, these may be syringe marks. Their placement meant to emulate fangs. Such ritualistic blood-letting points towards cultists of some sort, in which case…What?" Scully trails off noticing his amused look.

He laughs. "Yeah, that's probably it, satanic cultists. Come on, Scully."

"You're not gonna tell me you think it's that Mexican goat sucker thing."

"El Chupacabra? No, they got four fangs, not two, and they suck goats, hence the name. Besides, I don't think Coyotes would bring them across the boarder."

"So, instead, this would be..."

"Classic vampirism."

"Of a bunch of cows."

"And one dead human last night - a vacationer from New Jersey. Come on, we got to go."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me that from the beginning?"

"I already called Rachel to tell her we won't be home until tomorrow. Lock the door on your way out."

Scully sighs heavily, and follows Mulder out of the office.

* * *

Peaceful Slumbers Funeral

Chaney, Texas

The sheriff meets them in a room filled with coffins, and one mortician.

"Lucius Hartwell. You the FBI agents?"

"Yes. I'm agent Mulder and this is my wife, agent Dana Scully. What do you say we go take a look at your victim."

"Yeah, by all means. After you."

* * *

Examination Room

They all look at the body. Hartwell gestures down at it. "Here we go."

"Nice threads." The corpse is wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Scully snaps on latex gloves and comes up behind Mulder to look at the victim. "Hey Scully, does this make you want to go to Hawaii our next vacation?"

Assuming the question is rhetorical, she speaks to the sheriff instead. "No exam has been done?"

"No, ma'am. He's just like we found him in the motel room. Once I heard you folks were interested I figured we'd best leave it up to the experts."

"Your satanic cultists have some sharp little teeth," Mulder says, earning a puzzled look from Hartwell.

"What satanic cultists?"

"Go ahead, tell him your, uh," hHe makes quotes with his fingers. "theory."

"Well, my theory has evolved. Basically, I think that we're looking for someone who has seen one too many Bela Lugosi movies. He believes he is a vampire, therefore..."

"They act like one. Yeah. Yeah. That makes a whole lot of sense. I think she's right," Hartwell agrees.

"What about the fang marks?" Mulder asks.

Scully has an answer. "Well, someone so obsessed might well file down their incisors. I think that a moulage casting should help us make an identification."

Hartwell nods. "Moulage casting, that's a good idea. Now...now, isn't there some kind of disease that makes a person think that they're a vampire?"

"Well, there is a psychological fixation called hematodipsia which causes the sufferer to gain erotic satisfaction from consuming human blood."

"Erotic. That's plausible."

"Mmm. There are also genetic afflictions which cause a heightened sensitivity to light, uh, to garlic -- porphyria, xeroderma pigmentosum."

"You really know your stuff, agent Scully."

* * *

X Files Office

February 11th, 1998

"Agent Scully? He never once was that formal, Da-na," he mocks how Hartwell said her name.

"You're gonna interrupt me or what?"

"No. Go ahead … Agent Scully."

"Anyway...that's when you had your big...breakthrough...whatever."

* * *

Examination Room

February 10th, 1998

"Dana, you really know your stuff."

Beside him, Mulder bristles a little. Not that Hartwell notices. "Sheriff, you say this man is exactly as you found him?"

"Yes, sir, to the letter."

"Have you noticed that this man's shoes are untied?"

"Yeah, they sure are."

"Mulder, what's your point?"

"This means something. Sheriff, do you have an old cemetery in town off the beaten path, the creepier the better?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Take me there now." He snaps his fingers at the sheriff.

"Mulder..."

"Scully, we're going to need a complete autopsy on this man, the sooner the better."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What am I even looking for?" She walks to Mulder, who puts his hands on her shoulders and pulls her close.

"I don't know." He kisses her on the cheek. "But I'm sure you'll find it."

* * *

Washington DC

February 11th, 1998

"After I finished my examination, which was made even more unpleasant by my heighten sense of smell-"

"Your what now? You've got spidy powers?" Mulder blinks. "Sammy is going to think you're so cool."

"Ha. Many women have an increased sensitivity to smells while pregnant."

"You never mentioned that before."

"Yeah, well, that's one reason I was reluctant to do that elephant autopsy while pregnant with Sammy."

"I thought you just didn't want elephant guts on you."

"That too. Anyway, I determined that the deceased's last meal had been pizza, I check into our room at the Davey Crockett Motor Court. "

"The name of it was actually the Sam Houston Motor Lodge."

* * *

Sam Houston Motor Lodge

February 10th, 1998

Scully puts money in the "Magic Fingers" box, causing the bed to begin vibrating, she lays back, in heaven. She kicks off her shoes. Mulder opens the door and looks at her.

"Chloral hydrate," she says in a vibrating voice.

"What?"

"What the hell happened to you?" She sits up on the bed. The whole front of his jacket and pants is full of mud.

"Nothing. Chloral hydrate?"

"Yeah. That thing that you didn't know that you were looking for -- chloral hydrate -- more colorfully known as knockout drops. I found it in abundance when I sent the tox screen in on our murder victim. Now, seriously, Mulder. What happened to you?"

"Nothing. Who slipped him the mickey?"

"My..." She makes her fingers into quotation marks. "'theory?' Your vampire. He found it necessary to dope poor Mr. Funt to the gills before he was able to extract his blood...Probably did it to the cows, too."

"What kind of vampire would do that?"

"Exactly."

"We got another dead tourist. You've got to do another autopsy."

"Tonight? I just put money in the magic fingers!"

"I won't let it go to waste."

"Mulder. Don't get mud everywhere." She casts a longing look at the bed.

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay. "

The pizza guy stops her on the way out. "Excuse me, ma'am, did you order a pizza?"

"Yeah. The guy in there'll pay for it." Ronnie nods and goes into the room.

* * *

Washington DC

February 11th, 1998

"Foregoing both dinner and sleep, I was soon back at the funeral home examining one Mr. Paul Lombardo from Naples, Florida. As with the previous victim, it appears that the subject was most likely incapacitated with chloral hydrate, and then exsanguinated. The drug was either injected or ingested. I wasn't sure which. Stomach contents included pizza… it was then I realized that you might be in danger."

* * *

Sam Houston Motor Lodge

February 10th, 1998

The door is locked, so Scully kick it open. She doesn't see Mulder anywhere.

"Mulder?"

The half eaten pizza vibrates off the bed. She sees Mulder's feet on the floor on the other side of the bed. Ronnie comes out from the side of the bed and hisses. Scully fires at him. He leaps over the bed and across the room, nearly knocking her down. He runs outside. She runs to the door and fires into the night.

* * *

X Files Office

February 11th, 1998

Mulder has his head on the desk. "That's it?"

"Well, luckily, I'd gotten there in time. I mean, though you were drugged, you were...more or less unharmed."

* * *

Sam Houston Motor Lodge

February 10th, 1998

Scully walks to the other side of the bed. Mulder's on the floor. "Mulder? Are you okay?" She turns his face to her and softly slaps it to wake him up.

He wakes up and sings. "Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with all the chicks? Shaft! Can you dig it? They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother...Shut your mouth! Talkin' 'bout Shaft."

* * *

X Files Office

February 11th, 1998

Mulder bolts out of his chair. "I did not!"

Scully gives him a hard stare, then goes on. "Long story short. Though my first four shots obviously missed Ronnie Strickland entirely, with my fifth I was able to shoot out a tire on his car, forcing him to escape on foot. I left you behind and I entered the woods in pursuit. I assumed that you were incapacitated. Then I heard screaming. When I arrived in the clearing, I found that you had caught up with him first and had...over reacted. And that his vampire teeth were fake."

"That's what you're going to tell Skinner?"

"Well, I'm going to argue that we caught a killer -- an utterly non-supernatural killer, but a killer nonetheless. And that your zeal to catch up with him was augmented by the chloral hydrate you were given."

"You are afraid to tell the truth." He points his finger at her.

"Excuse me?"

"That's not the way it happened at all. I mean, what are you afraid of? That if you tell it the way it really happened, that you'll look like an idiot, like me?"

"Mulder? Why don't you tell me the way you think it happened? Starting at the beginning."

"You're damn right. Yesterday morning began like any other morning. After dropping off Page, you arrived at the office characteristically less than exuberant. I thought you were going to bite my head off when I told you about our case. Things did not improve when we got to Texas…"

* * *

X-Files Office

February 10th, 1998

"I hope you brought your cowboy boots."

"Why are we going to Dallas?" Scully asks petulantly. "Why are you dragging me away from our kids this time? And I'm pregnant, you know - cowboy boots would be hell on my feet."

"I do know that, of course, Dear. I was just attempting a joke, not demanding that you wear uncomfortable shoes. Actually, we're not going to Dallas. It's a little town just south of there called Chaney, Texas. They've had some incidents down there recently, which I think you'll agree, are pretty unusual. "

"Like what?"

"Well, I-I brought some slides with which to better illustrate. Here we go." He turns to the first slide.

She rolls her eyes. "It's a dead cow."

"It's actually six dead cows. And here's the really interesting thing..."

"Why am I looking at six dead cows? You're trying to make me throw up, aren't you."

"Of course not. We're looking at them because um, well, because of the manner in which they died. All six were mysteriously exsanguinated."

"And?"

"And two little puncture marks right here on the neck. Look, I got a slide of that. And, um, one dead human victim. Last night -- a vacationer from New Jersey. His body completely drained of blood and two little puncture wounds on his neck. Okay, look, Scully I-I don't want to jump to any hasty conclusions, but on the strength of the evidence that we have here, I think that what we *may* be looking at is what *appears* to be a series of vampire or *vampire-like* acts."

"On what do you base that?!"

"Uh...well, on the corpses drained of blood and the fang marks on the neck. But, as always, I'm very eager to hear your opinion."

"Well, it's obviously not a vampire."

"Well, why not?"

It bothers him when his wife openly smirks at him. "Because they don't exist?

"Well...that's...one opinion, and I respect that. Nonetheless, I'm thinking a murder has been committed here and we can go down there and help bring a killer to justice in whatever form -- mortal or...immortal he may take."

"It's not that Mexican goat sucker, either."

* * *

X-Files office

February 11th, 1998

"Then once we got there the sheriff hit on you, which I must say I didn't appreciate, and you both basically ignored my theories-"

"He wasn't hitting on me!"

"Of course he was. He was all 'I'd sure love to watch you do an autopsy, Da-na.' It was obvious he was hot for you."

"Maybe he just wanted to see an autopsy."

"And maybe he called me 'Agent Mulder' and you 'Da-na' because he wasn't at all interested in you."

"Mulder, I think you're over-reacting. He was just being nice."

"I'd rather he been rude. Anyway, while you stayed behind to do the autopsy, the Sheriff drove me to the town cemetery. We ran into Ronnie there, and he suggested that maybe it would be better if you did that night's stakeout with him-"

"He did?"

"Yeah. I suggested that you'd probably want a break after spending hours on your feet playing with bits of dead guy-"

"Oh, God, Mulder, don't put it that way," Scully groans.

"Sorry. He reluctantly agreed to go with me instead. So we staked out the cemetery…"

* * *

Cemetery

February 10th, 1998

Mulder is spreading sunflower seeds around the cemetery before he gets into Sheriff's car. "Sunflower seed?" He accidentally drops some. "Sorry."

"No, thanks. Do you mind..." Hartwell picks up a seed that fell from Mulder's bag and tosses it. "Do you mind me asking you what you were doing?"

"Historically, certain types of seeds were thought to fascinate vampires. Chiefly oats and millet, but you make do with what you have. Remember when I said before that we didn't know what type of vampire we were looking for?"

"Yeah," Hartwell says, surprising Mulder given that he essentially ignored the lecture before to moon over Scully.

"Well, oddly enough, there seems to be one obscure fact which in all the stories told by the different cultures is exactly the same, and that's that vampires are really, really obsessive-compulsive. Yeah, you toss a handful of seeds at one, no matter what he's doing he's got to stop and pick it up. If he sees a knotted rope, he's got to untie it. It's in his nature. In fact, that's why I'm guessing that our victim's shoelaces were untied."

"Yeah, obsessive...Like Rain Man. It's like when that old boy dropped them matchsticks, he had to pick them all up. Same thing, right?"

"Well, he didn't actually pick them up. He counted them."

"Oh, yeah. 247 Right off the top of your head."

"Well, if he had picked them up he would have been a vampire," Mulder jokes.

Hartwell grins. "Yeah. I'll tell you what. I know I'm in law enforcement, but I'd like to take him to Vegas myself. Am I right?"

"Well, that would be illegal, right?" Mulder says. "Anyway, I think vampires are more obsessive in the way my oldest daughter is, she freaks out if her hands get sticky. The vampires freak out if there are seeds on the ground."

"That makes them sound a little kooky," Hartwell comments.

"Three-year-olds and vampires are both a bit kooky," Mulder agrees.

* * *

X Files Office

February 11th, 1998

"Then we investigated a disturbance at an RV park."

"How did you get all muddy, though?" she asks.

"Um…I tripped while trying to shoot out a tire," he says evasively. "Tired, frustrated and lacking a solid lead, I just wanted to get cleaned up. I had the sheriff drop me at the motel, which is where I ran into you."

* * *

Sam Houston Motor Lodge

February 10th, 1998

"What do you mean you want me to do another autopsy?! And why do I have to do it right now?! I just spent hours on my feet doing an autopsy, all for you. I do it all for you, Mulder. Even while carrying your unborn child. You know, I haven't eaten since 6:00 this morning when your kids woke me up, and all that was, was a half a cream cheese bagel, and it wasn't even real cream cheese, it was light cream cheese. And now you want me to run off and do another autopsy?" She notices the mud. "What the hell happened to you?" Scully gets up and walks out the door.

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at her dripping husband. "Don't you touch that bed."

Mulder is still wet from cleaning up the best he can when a voice at the door catches him by surprise. "Hello? Hello? Ah, hey, again. The lady outside, she said that, um, you'd pay for this."

"She ordered a pizza from you? Excellent. How much?"

"$12.98."

"Okay, there's $13."

"Okay, then. Enjoy."

* * *

X Files Office

February 11th, 1998

"So then I ate your dinner, got drugged, got yelled at by the vampire for dropping stuff he had to pick up, then you rescued me and shot Ronnie twice," Mulder explains.

"You're saying that I actually hit him two times?"

"Square in the chest. No effect."

"And then he sort of flew at me like a flying squirrel?" She makes a throwing motion with her half curled fingers.

"Well, I don't think I'll use the phrase 'flying squirrel' when I talk to Skinner, but...yeah, that's what happened."

"You checked on me, then left to pursue Ronnie Strickland into the woods. Once I recovered I knew what I had to do," he says grimly.

Scully sighs deeply. "Mulder, it's not just me. Nobody in their right mind will ever believe that story."

"Well, they'll have to, once they examine Ronnie Strickland's body."

* * *

AD Skinner's Reception Area

Twenty Minutes Later

Kimberly, the secretary is at her desk. Mulder and Scully are sitting on the couch, waiting for the principle. Scully leans over to straighten Mulder's tie. He pushes her hands away.

Scully leans over to whisper to Mulder. "Mulder, please just keep reminding him you were drugged."

"Would you stop that?"

"It wouldn't hurt," she insists.

"Stop it."

Skinner opens his door and sticks his head out. "Scully, Mulder..."

Both stand quickly, and Mulder blurts out, "I was drugged!"

Skinner merely gives him a puzzled frown. "I want you back in Texas. Ronnie Strickland's body has disappeared from the morgue. Apparently in conjunction with this, a coroner's been attacked...his throat was...bitten."

"The coroner's dead?"

"No, his...throat was bitten. It was sort of...gnawed on. Daylight's burning, agents."

After he leaves Scully turns to Mulder with a shocked look. "But...he was dead."

"I noticed that."

"With a stake through his heart."

"I noticed that, too."

* * *

Cemetery

Night

They shine their flashlights as they talk.

"So we should find Ronnie out here because...?" Scully asks.

"Because tradition states that a vampire needs to sleep in his native soil."

"Oh. Like how April won't sleep anywhere but her own crib."

"Yeah."

"But Mulder, he had fake fangs. Why would a real vampire need fake fangs? I mean, for the sake of argument."

"Fangs are very rarely mentioned in the folklore. Real vampires aren't actually thought to have them. It's more an invention of Bram Stoker's. I think maybe you were right before when you said that this is just a guy who's watched too many Dracula movies. He just happens to be a real vampire."

"Well, so where the hell is he?" Scully asks, looking around.

"That's the sheriff." Mulder points to a car.

"Evening, agents. I heard y'all were back in town. Thought I might be of some assistance."

::Hmm, Scully says here with Hartwell, or comes with me. Tough choice, but…:: "Yeah, actually you can. You can stay behind here with Agent Scully and keep an eye on things while I check something out."

"Where are you going?" Scully asks.

"Where might you be living if your mail came general delivery around here?"

"The RV park."

"You're good," Mulder says as he leaves.

* * *

In his car Hartwell pours coffee for Scully.

She declines the mug. "Thanks for the thought, but I can't."

"Why not?" Hartwell's voice is overly upset.

His weird reaction worries her a little, and she thinks about Mulder's insistence that he was hitting on her. It makes her wonder if the drink is drugged with a roofie or something of that nature. "Pregnant women aren't supposed to drink coffee."

"Oh. You're sure you can't have any?" he asks anxiously.

"I'm sure," she says firmly.

"So what do you think about vampires?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I don't believe in them?"

"Yeah, aside from that."

"Well...they're supposed to be extremely charming. Seductive. No, I mean...even if they did really exist, who's to say they'd actually be like that? As my husband says, there are many different kinds of vampires."

Hartwell looks away. "Yup. Sure are. I really need to apologize to you about Ronnie. He makes us all look bad. He's just not who we are anymore. I mean, we pay taxes, we're good neighbors. Old Ronnie, he just...he can't quite seem to grasp the concept of...low profile. But though he may be a moron, he is one of our own. I really wish you'd of had the coffee"

He turns back to her and his eyes are glow-in-the-dark green.

"You're got to be kidding me," Scully says, scooting towards the door.

"What?"

"You tried to drug me with the coffee, and now you're planning to bite me!"

Hartwell shrugs. "Have to, it's what vampires do." He opens his mouth, revealing sharp teeth.

Without missing a beat Scully dumps the hot coffee all over him. Hartwell howls and dives back.

"What did you do that for?"

"I don't feel like being bitten?" Scully asks, as if it's obvious. She reaches down along the door and the seat and comes up with a half-full bag of sunflower seeds - the kind her husband eats - and throws them out the open drivers' side window.

"What did you do that for?" Hartwell complains. "Now I have to go and pick them up!"

Two minutes after he gets out of the car to gather the seeds, he looks up to see Scully driving off in his vehicle.

* * *

Motor Home

Five Minutes Later

Mulder's attempts to arrest Ronnie have come to their predictable end, and he's got arms up to shield his face when a noise startles him into dropping them. It's a car engine.

"Come on, get in!" Scully shouts out the window, seeming unsurprised to see that he's in the middle of a pack of vampires.

"How did you?" Mulder asks numbly as he hops in.

"Hartwell's a vampire. This whole town is full of them," Scully explains, then she shouts out the window again. "If you don't move I'm going to run your vampiric asses over!"

The vampires seem to take her at her word, and shuffle off without giving chase.

* * *

Skinner's Office

February 11th, 1998

Skinner doesn't look amused. "So, that's it? They simply disappeared without a trace. And that's exactly the way it happened from start to finish?"

"Well, I can neither confirm nor deny agent Mulder's version of events which occurred outside my presence."

"And I can neither confirm nor deny agent Scully's version of events, but, um..."

"Anyway...he was drugged."

"That is...essentially, exactly the way it happened," Mulder tells him.

"Essentially," Scully agrees.

Neither of them look their boss in the eye.


	57. Patient X

Massachusetts Institute Visiting Lecturers' Forum  
Feb/March 1998

Mulder is idly doodling in his notepad, almost hoping the conference is over, and at the same time, hoping that it will stretch on for eternity for the same reason. Cassandra Spender. "Before the exploration of space," he writes, "of the moon and the planets, man hailed that the heavens were the home and province of powerful gods who controlled not just the vast firmament, but the earthly fate of man himself and that the pantheon of powerful, warring deities, was the cause and reason for the human condition, for the past and the future, and for which great monuments would be created on earth as in heaven. But in time man replaced these gods with new gods and new religions that provided no more certain or greater answers than those worshipped by his Greek or Roman or Egyptian ancestors. And while we've chosen now our monolithic and benevolent gods and found our certainties in science, believers all, we wait for a sign, a revelation. Our eyes turn skyward ready to accept the truly incredible to find out destiny written in the stars. But how do we best look to see? With new eyes or old?"

Scully is sitting in the audience, watching the boredom quotient in her husband's eyes grow exponentially. Half the time, she's actually paying attention to the discussions, but mostly, she's keeping an eye on her mobile kids, who are playing with little aliens and UFOs, even as she's making sure April stays quiet. But now, as Mulder is putting in his controversial two cents, she sits up and pays attention. What is it about this older woman, her smiling image frozen onscreen, that catches his notice? The redhead frowns slightly, trying to figure out if the woman is anyone she or Mulder knows. Nope, doesn't ring a bell.

Mulder, however, believes even more strongly than he did the last time around, with good reason. And therefore, he doesn't argue against Cassandra Spender's, that is, Patient X's, testimony, but rather, against her naïve ideology. "I believe that not only are there aliens involved in Patient X's case, but also clandestine military and government complicity, men which, while they believe they have earth's best interests at heart, ultimately doom all of humanity, themselves included, by allowing people like Patient X to spread a delusional message of intergalactic goodwill, which is naïve and misguided at best, and downright dangerous at worst."

Scully blinks as the conference erupts. You sure know how to stick to the man, Mulder, she thinks, amused, even if you agree with him 99.9% of the time. But once the Jerry Springer action dies down somewhat, she doesn't feel the need to clutch her children to her side quite so tightly, and they resume making a nuisance of themselves among those she has mentally termed rather delusional. Once the conference actually wraps up, she and Mulder make their way to each other, but their trajectory is intercepted by Dr. Heitz Werber.

"Dr. Werber?" Mulder looks almost startled as he shakes the older man's hand.

The doctor seems similarly startled when he sees the red-haired wife and their three children. "Yes, it's been some time," he says.

"Almost five years." Mulder nods. He looks down at his wife and smiles, and she smiles back.

"I came down expecting to hear how your work had progressed. I'm," the good doctor pauses as Page and Sammy chase each other around his legs, "surprised, to say the least."

You and me both, the tall agent thinks, but aloud, he says, always the master of understatement, "A lot has changed."

Dr. Werber nods. "Actually, I came to talk to you about one of your more interesting theories. On Patient X, that is. I think you should meet her."

Perhaps it's just her imagination, but for a split second there, Scully could almost swear her husband looked panicked. But she can't get a better look just yet because he's grabbing Page and Sammy by their hoods, and when he looks back up, he looks, well, fine. Just my imagination, the song plays in her head, running away with me.

* * *

A small crowd gathers in the sterile hospital room, and for what seems to the kids the hundred-teenth time, they are shushed and told not to touch anything. "I know." Page scowls up at the nurse. "I'm a good girl."

"Of course you are, dear," the woman in the wheelchair smiles, and the blonde little girl smiles back. The nurse purses her lips, but leaves, seeing that there's a doctor in the room. "Hi, I'm Cassandra," she says in a nicotine-hoarsened voice.

Page goggles at the frail woman in the chair, then looks at her mother. "Can I call her by a real name?" she asks.

Scully smiles and nods a little. "If she wants you to." She walks over and proffers her hand, shifting April on her hip. "I'm Dana, but I'm guessing the person you want to talk to is my husband." She meets the other woman's firm handshake with her own, and steps back, somehow trusting this would-be abductee more than, say, her own mother-in-law.

Cassandra's eyes twinkle as her smile widens when the tall man shakes her hand. "You are a very lucky man, Mulder."

"You have no idea," he says, smiling back. How this woman ever had a dour-faced son like Jeffrey is still beyond him, but he knows from personal experience how offspring can differ from their parents.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you," she says, then laughs as the kids clamber over the bed. "You're a hero of mine." The middle-aged woman waves off his stammers, "I read about you in the news, how you helped that man, that, um, Duane Barry. How you were the only one who believed him." Cassandra looks back at Scully and beams. "It's nice to see a man with his priorities straight."

Scully manages to keep a straight face as Mulder joins their kids on the bed, raising up one of the bars so that they won't fall over the edge. "Yes, it is," she smiles indulgently, when her husband tackles his energetic little boy, who squeals, before returning his attention to Mrs. Spender.

Cassandra looks like she's about to squeal as well, practically about to jump out of her wheelchair. "I just wanted to let you know that that story saved my life, Mr. Mulder. For thirty years, I was being abducted, but was too afraid to ask for help. It was only until I read about you that I came to meet Dr. Werber." She turns to Scully, who looks interested. "Dr. Werber told me your husband had gone through hypnotic regression, that that's how he remembered his sister being abducted."

"I see," Scully says faintly. Then the doctor side of her takes over, along with a strange, almost familial sense. "Why exactly did you want to speak with Mulder?"

It's Dr. Werber who answers, startling everyone. "Cassandra is experiencing the sensation that she's about to be called."

"Called?" Scully's left eyebrow goes up. "Who's calling you?"

Cassandra smiles brightly and clasps her hands together. "Now is a time of war and stress among the alien nations. The," she pauses, gathering her thoughts, "the different races, they're in upheaval. I will be summoned to a place, just like Duane Barry."

Even as she looks at her husband, Scully has to fight the shiver of fear crawling up her spine. It was only because she was pregnant with Page that her life was spared from this madman, this man that this poor delusional woman believes her life mirrors. She has to force herself not to transmit any fear to April, who has been an angel so far, and takes a deep breath, covering it with a shift of her baby. "Mr. Barry died because of those beliefs," she says in a deliberately steady voice, "while in custody of men we believe were part of a larger conspiracy, mostly likely military or a clandestine government within a government."

Mulder struggles to keep his eyebrows from rising. You're my hero, Scully, he thinks, never mind me chasing little gray guys and their human conspirators. Then his attention is diverted when Page attempts to clamber over the bed bar. He almost misses hearing Cassandra say, "I'm sure the government's involved. They just don't want us to know about it."

Scully says, in a more quiet voice, "I know." She can remember Barry's desperation, his fear, and most of all, his intense belief that impersonal beings from outer space could be bargained with, a life for a life. She's never really thought about what might've happened if he hadn't changed his mind, if he had taken her and sacrificed her to some insane ideals, if she had lost her family and her life, all because of Duane Barry. This is the closest she's come to dancing on the insane edge of what-ifs and she really, really doesn't like it here, dragging herself from the edge with some effort. "But are you certain about being called?" Even now, she has to force herself not to pause, not to show a shred of skepticism. It's what her husband would do, it's what April needs to feel, and it's what Cassandra needs to see.

The shining faith on the other woman's face is almost painful to behold. It reminds her of her mother, no, of Melissa. "As certain as I'm sitting here," Cassandra says. "I know what I've experienced. I, I've been through the terror and the tests more times than I can count. I have had an unborn fetus taken from me," and she looks at the redheaded boy and blonde girl scrambling over their tall father's frame and smiles sadly. "There are other forces at work. They're going to be calling me." Now she looks directly at Mulder. "And you, of all people, need to know about this because you're the one who can do something." Then she smiles again, and turns back to Scully. "You're a very lucky woman," she says, clasping the redhead's elbow. "Yes, I know you two can do something."

* * *

The next day, Scully is walking down the halls of the FBI HQ when a tall, thin young man stops her. She blinks, and is about to snap at him, when he speaks first. "Agent Scully, my name is Jeffrey Spender. Special Agent Spender," he adds, as if it's a new title for him.

Uh, yeah. "Is there something I can help you with, Agent Spender?" she says, in a tone clearly saying that he needs help of some kind.

"I feel kind of funny approaching you like this. I just haven't been able to reach Agent Mulder."

That's because it's his day to be at home with the kids, she wants to snap at this boy. Honestly, who the hell are they letting into the bureau these days? "About what?" she says politely, regaining her momentum down the hall.

"About," he pauses, finding he actually can walk his normal stride with this short, but fiery woman, "about somebody he's been talking to. Somebody who claims to be an abductee, who I'd really prefer he weren't talking to."

She hits the elevator button and looks at him. "You're going to tell me who this is?" she says in a voice that's less a question than a command.

The thin man looks up and down the hallway nervously. "This is gonna sound weird, but," he pauses again, looking around, "it's my mother."

Scully's eyebrows go up. "Your mother?"

His expression is furtive, even though his voice is terse. "It's a long story," he says, as if regretting even saying that much. "She, she's an exceptional person, but for reasons that are probably obvious I'd rather this didn't get out. Appearances being what they are."

Too late, the redheaded agent thinks, both Mulder and I have talked to her, and yes, she *is* an exceptional woman. "I see," she says, her expression calm as she waits for the damn elevator, not making any promises.

The young agent looks even more nervous, if that's possible. "Look, she just called me and," he lowers his voice as other agents pass by, "she's a very disturbed woman. This is something that caused a lot of pain twenty years ago. I'm just trying to save myself any extra humiliation. I'd like to build a reputation here, not be given one."

Scully nods. "I think I understand," she says, just as the elevator dings open. Thank you, God, she murmurs inwardly as the doors slide shut between herself and the man who seems to mirror her own doubts about being attached to someone crazy, but that you're crazy in love with.

* * *

Scully signs out the last of her reports, rotates her neck, and leans back in Mulder's chair. Odd, how, even after all these years, she still thinks of it as his chair, even though they've pretty much been sharing it for the last how many years. Her head snaps up, however, when the phone rings. "Mulder," she smiles, "I was just thinking about you."

"Dirty thoughts, I hope," he leers, then dodges his son's dough-covered hands. "Speaking of dirty, will you forgive the kids if things aren't quite as spotless as you left it?"

"Mulder," her tone now becomes a warning, "what are you doing there?"

"Nothing," he says, crossing his fingers behind his back, even though she can't see him, "just hangin' with our beloved offspring, the fruit of our loins, the products of our loooove, the--"

"I get it, I get it," Scully rolls her eyes, "speaking of offspring--"

"What, something happened to our baby?" Mulder starts to panic.

"No," Scully says, almost seeing as well as hearing his sigh of relief, "I just met Cassandra Spender's offspring in the hallway earlier. Apparently he's an FBI agent and would like you not to talk about this with anyone."

"Uh-huh," he says, trying to wipe Sammy's hands with the towel while keeping the cordless phone balance between his ear and his shoulder at the same time. I can't wait for hands-free technology to come around, he thinks, God bless the inventors of that stuff. "But he never said anything about you, did he?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder, was that a loophole I just heard? Because you know we never operate according to such things," his wife smirks.

"Loopholes? Us? Never!" he imitates righteous indignation, and is gratified to hear her laugh.

"All right, well, loopholes may not apply to you, but apparently, being photogenic does," she smiles, looking at the newspaper on the desk. "There's a very lovely headline with your face beneath it, something about, hm, government conspiracies from a government man. Very catchy."

"Is it my left side, or my right? Because I think my left side makes me look more like a young Harrison Ford."

Now she sputters into a heartfelt guffaw, and he scowls. She doesn't have to laugh that hard, he pouts. "Hey!" he finally interrupts her.

She's wiping her eyes, still wheezing a little as she attempts to regain her composure. "I'm sorry, you're right," she says in a less-than-sincere voice. "I'll bring the paper home so you can see."

Darn tooting right, he thinks, lifting his chin and inflating his chest in a Tim-the-Tool-Man kind of way. "Was Skinner happy that we actually turned in our reports on time?" he asks.

"Um, I haven't given them to him yet," she says, making a face when he yelps. "Don't worry, I've got time. I was just looking through Cassandra Spender's medical records, that's all. She, she was taken to Skyland Mountain, where you arrested Duane Barry. And she's got an implant at the base of her neck, not unlike other abductees we've met."

"Scully," he tries to sound sexy over the phone, which is a bit difficult when April starts to fuss in her chair, "you're starting to believe in aliens, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Mulder," Scully stands, putting the reports in one neat stack and placing Cassandra's medical records in her purse, "and feed April."

"You're good, Scully," he says, taking the bottle from the pot of boiling water and wiping it free of droplets with a hand towel, "reeeeal good."

"You say that now," Scully smirks, taking her keys out, "wait 'til I get home."

As she hangs up, Mulder shakes his head and hits the off button before unkinking his shoulder and feeding April. Damn, I'm a lucky man, he thinks, not for the first time, and smiles. The smile fades when Page runs into the kitchen, followed by her brother. Both their hands are dirty, but only Page holds them out. "Sticky, Daddy!" ::Here we go again::, he thinks, taking the wet hand towel and wiping off her hands.

* * *

While Cassandra Spender is tracing out a constellation on her hospital room window, Krycek rubs the back of his neck irritably. He's got a vaccine for Emily, a hostage to deal with for the Consortium, and maybe a little free time to spend with the mother of his child as well as his little girl. My little girl, he thinks, looking at the scared and blinded boy in the holding room of the Uroff-Koltoff Star of Russia. I will do anything for her, he thinks, strengthening his resolve. Hell, if I'm able to screw over these global bastards for myself, I should be able to squeeze them out for a good cause, for once.

In Russian, the one-armed man tells the teenager, **"Sit up. Drink. We're going to have a long wait." **

The boy nods, his hands blindly reaching out for the bowl. Once in his hands, the boy's fingers curl around it and he starts slurping unashamedly. Then he pauses, as if lost in thought.

He is unaware that his captor is similarly spellbound, his dark green eyes practically black as they gaze at a series of rust marks similar to the constellation a woman in a wheelchair miles away is making on her window. It is only when a strong wave knocks the steel hulk of the ship against the dock that Krycek returns to himself and stomps out of the cell.

When he gets to "his room," he slams the door shut, his nostrils flared as he strides through this dank, rusty, barren hole. "Those stupid-ass motherfuckers better not be wasting my time, dammit," he growls, grabbing a beer from the cooler and using his fake hand to pop the cap off. He closes his eyes as he drinks, but it won't take away the smell of the sea, nor the slight rocking of the ship, nor the rust and decay that seems to mark his life as much as it does this hulk of a boat. "Lost an arm, lost my health, nearly lost my mind, what the fuck else can go wrong?" he murmurs before emptying the beer bottle down his throat.

He doesn't notice he's spaced out for at least a couple of hours until the bottle drops from his hand, and he curses angrily, kicking the glass shards to the side.

* * *

The next morning, Mulder and Scully are on Skyland Mountain, and from the smell and look of things, they're both glad the kids are with Rachel. They're both grimacing from the charred flesh at their feet, but only Mulder is consumed with as much guilt as the bodies were consumed by an unearthly fire. I could have prevented this, he thinks, over and over as they pass one body bag after another, I could have stopped this.

"It appears they all came by car," Scully's voice cuts through his self-flagellation. "Most of the dead are congregated in a wooded area a short distance from the road."

"Self-immolation?" he asks woodenly.

She gives him a sharp look, but answers in her earlier, professional tone of voice, "There's no evidence of that right now. According to arson, there's no accelerants, no incendiary device."

"Why is this happening?" he asks, just stopping himself from adding "again."

Now Scully stops and looks up at him. "Mulder, what's wrong?"

The answer, "I'm fine," is on his lips, but he realizes he'd be bullshitting the only two people who don't need it. "I could've stopped this," he says quietly.

"How?" Scully asks. "This came out of nowhere, Mulder, a tragedy, yes, but nothing you could've done. There was no way to save them."

There's always a way, he thinks, squatting down next to one of the bodies. "This is Skyland Mountain, Scully," he says, and looks up at her. "There's something about this place that attracts," he pauses, his eyes dropping down to the hideously burned and twisted corpse in front of him, "that attracts aliens, if not outright inhumanity."

"Mulder," Scully puts a hand on his shoulder when his cell phone rings, startling them both.

* * *

"Why is this happening?" Cassandra Spender asks, echoing Mulder's earlier cry, her blue eyes rimmed with tears, when they walk into her hospital room. "I knew these people."

"You knew them?" Scully asks, a frown creasing her forehead as she crosses the room.

"They were friends of mine," the bedridden woman says, waving at the screen with names and horrific imagery.

"Friends from where?" the redhead asks, rubbing Cassandra's shoulder in a reassuring fashion. She's not sure why, but there's a comfortable familiarity about this woman that almost makes her believe in past lives.

"From a long time ago. Please, you've got to stop this," the blonde woman begs them tearfully, clasping Scully's hands in her own.

"How?" Mulder asks, his own face looking almost as tortured as Cassandra's. "Do you know who's doing this?"

Tears are freely falling from the older woman's eyes. "I don't know," she says, and Scully digs out tissue paper from her purse. Her lips form a silent "O" when she sees her son in the doorway, and the two agents make their exit.

The young man looks like he's ready to have a conniption. "Agent Mulder? My name's Jeffrey Spender."

::I really wish we could've met under better circumstances, half-bro,:: Mulder thinks, ::guess it was never meant to be. I wish I could ask you about Samantha, what growing up with her was like, if she was even happy once while she was with you and your mom before your dad practically killed her off. I wish I could ask you if you even cared about your cigarette-smoking, conspiracy-ridden father, or if taking over the X-Files was merely your way of pissing me off.:: Instead, he says a deadpan, "Nice to meet you," and wonders when, if ever, Jeffrey will get that stick out of his ass.

Even before the last syllable is out of his mouth, Spender's already turned to Scully. "I asked you to leave her alone," he says in a voice about as tight as his lips, glaring her down.

Scully, however, has never been one to let tall men's glares scare her, and certainly not a wet-behind-the-ears agent. "Your mother called us about the incident in Virginia," she says, her voice dangerously even. "She said she knew some of the dead."

"Of course she did," the young agent says dismissively, "they were in the same ridiculous cult that she used to be."

Both the redhead's eyebrows go up. Wow, a two-fer. "She was in a cult?"

Spender nods tersely. "A UFO cult believed they were going to be carried to immortality in some kind of flying motherwheel."

Boy, Heaven's Gate never gets old when it comes to true believers, Mulder muses, even though the kid's completely off where his mother's beliefs are concerned, which isn't surprising. "I'm sorry, we won't be bothering you or your mother," he says, steering a surprised Scully out of the hallway, while Spender walks over to the doctor's office. None of them notice, however, the cap-wearing custodian who walks to Cassandra's room with a quiet, almost distracted purpose.

* * *

Back at the office, Mulder and Scully go over the forensic and pathology reports, finding evidence of what and who the victims were, not cult members but MUFON members, and that they all had implants, anxiety, and beliefs that they would be called and abducted again by aliens. "It's gotta be the implants," he says, "they triggered some kind of homing device to lead them to Skyland Mountain, for some kind of mass abduction."

"But why?" Scully frowns, peering at one of the files and flipping through it. "It doesn't make sense, since they were killed, not abducted. Why lead them to their deaths?"

"Who knows what the hell aliens think?" Mulder mutters, looking at the post-autopsy view of one of the victims. The phone rings, startling them both. "Mulder," he answers.

"This is Marita Covarrubias," a familiar voice says, "is this a secure line we're on?"

"Yes," he says as Scully mouths "Who?"

"You were at Skyland Mountain. Are you aware of a UN report on a similar incident in the former Soviet Union?"

I am now, he thinks, answering, "No," while writing on a scratch pad, "Covarrubias."

As Scully nods, the assistant to the SRSG continues, "I was in Kazakhstan, Agent Mulder. There is a connection. I have someone who knows it. I have him with me now."

::,:: he thinks, wondering how he's gonna pull this off. "Did someone follow you?" he asks, hoping to keep her alert.

"No," she says, "I know how to shake off pursuers, Agent Mulder. Meet me at a pay phone on Skodal Road, just off the I-90 -- Oh!"

"Hello? Hello!" Mulder tries, then slams the phone.

"What happened?" Scully asks.

"I think whoever got to those people at Skyland Mountain got to Covarrubias," Mulder says, grabbing the keys and Scully's wrist before slamming the door shut.

* * *

As before, Mulder comes to an empty pay phone booth, with black oil smears inside and out. Although he's glad that Scully's with him this time around, he's careful that she doesn't get too close while investigating even this "dead" version of black oil. There's no way he's gonna let some alien lifeforce goop infect his wife and unborn child, dammit. When his phone rings, they both immediately look at the hanging receiver before he remembers his cell and digs it out of his pocket. "Mulder."

"This is Special Agent Spender," a semi-strangled voice at the other end says. "Do you have her?"

"Have who?" Mulder asks, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"My mother," Spender says, "she had your number, and I thought she'd be with you."

"Well, she's not," Mulder says, stopping Scully from attempting to take a sample of the oil. "Try another number."

As Scully glares at him, Mulder shakes his head, his eyes conveying his fear even as Spender spits back, "There *is* no other number! I've looked everywhere, but she's gone. She's got nowhere to go."

When Mulder hangs up, he sighs, "Ah, shit."

"Mulder?" Scully frowns, concerned.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Cassandra's gone, Agent Spender just called." Then he looks at the phone booth. "And don't even think of touching that black stuff unless you're in a hazmat suit," he adds, "it's the same stuff we found on Dr. Sacks, Gauthier, and the others." His wife leaps back at least ten feet, and to his surprise, he finds himself chuckling.

Meanwhile, on a bridge fronting a gorgeous waterfall, hundreds of people are gathered, milling about. One of them happens to be the Russian boy, his eyes and lips unsewn like a horrific scarecrow. Another happens to be Cassandra Spender, her face lit up like a kid on Christmas. And the man pushing her wheelchair is the custodian, or rather, Krycek in a cap and uniform, with the same air of expectation as the others, if only a little hungrier.

As people look up at the sky, lights from an unknown craft floods the bridge, illuminating their faces, with gasps of wonder and pointed fingers at proof of their membership in a very unique club flying overhead. Then a burning man staggers and runs blindly into their midst, followed by two faceless men holding what appears to be wands. As the crowd screams, Cassandra's look of awe is replaced by fear, and Krycek's is that of resignation, his eyes only on the faceless aliens.


	58. The Red and The Black

March 1998

Krycek wakes up slowly, reluctantly, but the familiar scent more than anything else tells him that it's a welcome face to wake up to. "Hey," he says, cracking open his bleary eyes.

"Alex," Melissa Scully smiles, stroking his real arm, "someone special's here to see you." She's wearing her crystal pendant on a choker, a gypsy-colored peasant blouse and a long black skirt, her makeup as dramatic  
as her deep-red hair.

She turns around, and now the bedridden man sees a round-faced little girl with short blonde hair and a cautious face that's more like his own than Missy's, sitting with a doll. "Emily, your daddy's awake."

Emily slides off the chair and toddles over, her blue eyes large as she looks at her mostly-absent father. "Hello," she says, as if talking to a perfect stranger.

"Hey," he says again, and struggles to sit up. As Melissa hits the button that raises the bed, he coughs a little and looks around him, assessing his situation. "Why am I here?"

"You were airlifted here in vasogenic shock," the tall redhead says, her hand wrapping around her daughter's as Emily seeks reassurance.

Krycek frowns. "Vasogenic shock? You mean there was a fire?" He tries to concentrate, but there's nothing in his recent memory he can recall, certainly no fires.

Melissa nods. "You've got some first-degree burns and scorching on your hand and face," she says, waving her free hand at him.

Tentatively, he touches his face and winces. What the hell? His eyes catch sight of the TV bolted to the ceiling, the volume down and the closed captioning saying something about a second cult suicide in southwestern Pennsylvania. The scene is the same as that of Kazakhstan and Skyland Mountain. The hell??? He's starting to put two and two together as he turns his face back to his lover and their child. "I was there, wasn't I?" he asks, and is somewhat relieved to find Emily's face losing its distrust as she sees he's experiencing what she's familiar with -- disorientation. "What was I doing there?"

Melissa shakes her head. "I got a call from an Agent Spender telling me you  
were here, and if you or I knew anything about his mother."

"Why would I know this Spender's guy's mom?" Krycek frowns. "And how'd he get your number?"

Now the redhead smirks. "Lucky for you, you had my number written on an unburned pocket of your jacket. Maybe some good karma is finally coming your way."

He smiles, but it hurts. "Nope, it must be yours rubbing off on me," he replies, but it's then that a nurse comes in to scold Melissa for bringing Emily. As he sticks his tongue out at the nurse, the little girl giggles, and they share a conspiratorial smile before Melissa and Emily are hustled out.

* * *

"Scully," Scully answers her cell, cradling it between her ear and shoulder as she changes April's diaper.

"This is Agent Spender," a man's semi-strangled voice says at the other end. "A friend of your sister's was at the Ruskin Dam. I was wondering if he had anything to do with my mother's disappearance."

"I doubt it," Scully says, frowning. Well, she doesn't doubt that one of Missy's friends were at the burn site, it's just that she doubts any of Missy's friends would intersect with Mrs. Spender. Then again, it's a small world, but she doesn't think yhat would encourage Agent Spender much.

"Perhaps it was Agent Mulder's doing," Agent Spender goes on doggedly.

"Before you go accusing everyone, why don't you tell me the facts, Agent Spender?" Scully grits her teeth.

"You know my mom's a cripple," he says, "she hasn't driven a car for, I don't know how long. They found her wheelchair a hundred and thirty miles from the hospital, where I'm told your sister's friend checked her out--"

"Agent Spender," Scully starts, but is rudely interrupted.

"Look, she's my mother, not some stupid case file or test subject of you and your husband's crazy department, okay?"

Even April can hear the man shouting on the other end and starts to cry. I hate you, Agent Spender, Scully scowls, scooping up her freshly-changed daughter and attempting to soothe her by gently bouncing her on her shoulder. "Your mother will be found," she tries to reassure the high-strung agent, even as she reassures her daughter.

"All I want from you two is to leave it alone. Is that too much to ask?"

He hangs up before she can formulate a decent retort minus any swear words. "April, Agent Spender is a stinky-poo," she says when Page walks in, followed by Sammy.

"Who's Agent Spender?" Page asks, opening the fridge.

"A stinky-poo," Scully repeats dryly before adding, "And don't you dare think of taking out the soda, that's for dinner tonight."

"We got soda for dinner?" Page obediently takes out a small apple juice carton as her eyes light up.

"No, it's just part of the recipe," the redhead tells her daughter and her cell phone rings. "Who is it now?" Switching the cell to her other shoulder, she says, Scully."

"Dana, it's me," her sister says. "You got a moment?"

"Yeah," Scully lies as she shoos Sammy away from the fridge with her foot.

"Do you know an Agent Spender? He called me this morning and told me my friend, who was found at that Ruskin Dam, was in the hospital. I just wanted to get his number to thank him."

You must be the only one on the planet, Scully thinks. "I know of him, yes," she says, "generally speaking."

Hearing Missy's warm chuckle makes Scully smile involuntarily. "I take it you two aren't on very good terms," she says. "But I also wanted to pass on my best wishes that he finds his mother. Do you think he'd like a Tibetan charm or a spell to Obeah?"

She can't help it, the thought of the uptight Agent Spender getting all voodoo to find his mother gives Scully a giggling fit. Her sister waits patiently until she subsides and says, "I'm sure your heart is in the right place, Missy, but I don't think he's into that stuff."

"Really? That's too bad," her older sister says, unruffled. "Well, if you get his number, let me know."

"Oh, how's your friend?" Scully asks.

"Aside from some minor burns, okay," Melissa answers. "Emily, would you like to say hi to your Aunt Dana?" There's a pause before a soft voice says, "Hi." Another pause, and Melissa asks, "Dana?"

"Yeah," Scully says.

"Do you think Fox knows the name of a good hypnotherapist? It's, it's not just burns, there's something like amnesia that the doctors can't explain."

"Well, if she's been through something traumatic, especially if it was anything like what Mulder and I have been investigating, I'd say it just takes time, not hypnosis," Scully suggests gently.

Melissa doesn't bother to correct her sister. "I don't think time is what we have," she says, "my friend's kinda freaked out."

"I see," Scully says, then reluctantly answers, "Doctor Heitz Werber, he's in Silver Springs."

"Thank you, Dana," Melissa smiles and hangs up.

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Page asks while Sammy shoves an unpeeled banana into his mouth.

As Scully quickly pulls the fruit from her little boy's mouth to peel it, she replies, "I think your daddy would be gloating if he knew what I did."

* * *

On the way to the doctor's office, Krycek's mind is spinning. How the hell did this random agent get involved? Who the hell was Cassandra Spender? And how was it that, despite missing an arm, they still managed to stick more implants into him? Damn the Syndicate, he thinks savagely, they screw with me, I'm gonna screw 'em back double. And as soon as this quack hypnosis guy shakes the memories outta my head, I'll have the ammo I need.

He twists around to see Emily sleeping in the back seat, and his normally sharp eyes soften. Emily, he thinks to himself, Daddy's gonna have to do more bad things before I see you again. But first, let's get this over with. As Melissa parks the car, Krycek thinks cynically that the good doctor must be screwing a lot more people than he is to be holed up in such a nice building. He gets out and carefully carries out his sleeping daughter in his arms, making sure to shut the car doors softly but firmly so as not to wake her.

They sign the paperwork, Krycek putting down false information as usual, and for once, the wait isn't long before they're ushered into Werber's office. Maybe business is slow, for once, the one-armed man thinks. He listens with half an ear as Werber tells him about his "new and improved" hypnotic method. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the traitorous agent groans inwardly, just hurry up and get it over with. You and the Smoking Man would get along great. "I don't think this is working," he says before he's out for the count, and he's sucked back to that bridge in front of the Ruskin Dam.

"Holy shit!" he says, and Melissa belatedly covers her daughter's ears.

"Where are you?" Doctor Werber asks.

"I'm," Krycek's eyes are closed, but his face is transfixed as if he's staring up at a year's worth of fireworks. "I'm with the others."

"On the bridge?" the doctor prods.

"Yeah," Krycek replies, and proceeds to tell them about a UFO that hovered over Cassandra Spender, then flew off. "Oh fuck, there's more."

"More UFOs?" Werber frowns.

"No, you stupid fuck, more aliens," the younger man snaps, which causes the redhead to look at him sharply. Is he really under, or is he faking, as he's been known to b.s. even her sometimes. Then she realizes that the Alex she knows would never knowingly swear in front of their daughter, and she unconsciously tightens her embrace around Emily until the little girl squirms in her arms. "Oh shit, oh shit, they're on fire -- Move, you fuckin' idiots, move!"

"What's happening, who's on fire?" Werber casts a worried glance at Melissa, then at Emily, who's staring at the man sweating and swearing in the chair.

"Come on, you stupid idiots, move! Lemme get a clear shot!" he yells, thrashing around.

"Mister--!" the doctor and the female assistant try to hold him down, until he suddenly slumps in their arms before they can inject a sedative.

"Great, there's more," Krycek mutters morosely, his body projecting as much defeat as his voice.

"More?" Werber says, not sure whether or not to continue the session.

"Aliens, asshole," the hypnotized man replies, "except these scary motherfuckers have no faces! They're surrounding us and all you wanna do is ask stupid questions! Did your mother drop you a lot as a kid or what?"

In spite of his bravado, Melissa can tell he's insecure and scoots over on the couch, grabbing his real hand and squeezing. She gives the doctor a look to continue, and the older man nervously clears his throat.

"No, she didn't," Werber replies, any sarcasm smothered by a genuine sense of fear around this man who still manages to hold onto himself while in a trance.

"Well, shit, there's another ship," Krycek says, but he actually sounds relieved, for once. A lazy smile crosses his face. "Smoke those faceless motherfuckers. Heh, nice to see the pyros get torched."

"The UFO is burning the faceless aliens?" Werber is looking more and more boggled by the second.

"Duh," the one-armed man replies, and Emily giggles. He smiles, and now his voice gets dreamy. "Damn, that's beautiful."

"What is?" the doctor leans forward, as if he could see what the hypnotized man sees.

"Those fuckin' aliens are pulling this old lady out of her wheelchair up into their ship in slow motion with some kinda bright lights or tractor beam," he says, his voice still tinged with an awestruck wonder that Mulder would've been hard-put to believe if he were there, "but that ain't the cool part. The cool part is that the snow isn't falling, it's floating. I've never seen such beautiful snow." His gloved false hand reaches out as if to touch it, and his mouth is slightly open. "It's weird, there's a bunch of smoking bodies lying not too far away, and everyone's eyes are still on the ship that flew off, but all I see is snow floating up."

"We're going to stop now," Werber says in a soothing, but relieved, voice. "I want you to open your eyes."

"Fuck you," Krycek says, his voice still hoarse with awe.

The doctor looks at the redhead, who is inexplicably smiling at him. "Come on," Werber gently cajoles him, "come back to us and open your eyes."

Krycek blinks his eyes rapidly, and sees both Melissa and Emily smiling at him. Guess I didn't spill about the Russian boy, he thinks, somewhat relieved as he returns a shaky smile. "How come you're smiling, honey?" he asks the little blonde girl.

Still smiling, Emily says in a soft voice, "I like snow, too."

* * *

Even though he knows Cassandra Spender is relatively safe for the time being, or at least, there's no earthly way he can retrieve her, Mulder's content to let things sit for a while, thankful that he's not running afoul of Spender more than he has to. To keep himself busy and under a certain Consortium's radar, he gets more info on more victims, and touches base with more survivors, running some serious mileage on the car. It's weird to still be a believer this time around, he thinks, but thank Elsbeth or whoever that I've got no reason to be a skeptic. He's about to call up Scully after his last interview when his cell phone rings, and answers, "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully says.

"I was just thinking of you," he smiles, making a left turn, "must be love."

"Must be fate," Scully retorts, "I was wondering if you were making any progress on the Skyland Mountain-Ruskin Dam case."

"Nobody remembers a thing," Mulder groans, "short of hypnosis, I have no way  
of wrapping up this case before Christmas."

"Well, one of Missy's friends was there," she goes on, "and I sent her to Doctor Werber."

"You did?" Mulder goggles. "I guess I can leave all gyro-pyro, levitating alien abduction cases to you now!"

"Shut up, Mulder," Scully makes a face. "Missy was desperate, so I thought I'd help her out. I'm guessing you didn't talk to her yet."

"No, no, I didn't," Mulder frowns, flipping through various files in his mind. "Do you know her name?"

"I didn't ask," she says, and almost sounds apologetic. "But Missy wanted to thank Agent Spender for alerting her to her friend's state. Apparently he was at the dam looking for his mother and found Missy's friend."

"I see," Mulder says, wishing he didn't have a reason to bump into Spender. He knows it's not the guy's fault, but he also holds a grudge against the kid for taking over his division. Besides, the green agent's still way too emotional now that his mom's out of the picture for reasons he doesn't dare admit, and Mulder even talking to the kid would just set him off. "I'm about to send my findings over to Skinner, but things are still pretty sketchy at this point. Guess I'll hunt down Agent Spender afterwards."

"You want some flame-retardant gear, or will an asbestos apron suffice?" Scully asks.

Mulder grins. "I was thinking more along the lines of a ten-foot pole, but those are good, too," he replies.

"So what are you going to tell Skinner?" Scully asks, curious.

Mulder parks the car in the Hoover building garage before answering. "I'm leaning towards an initial mass alien abduction, interrupted by the appearance of acetylene torch-wielding unfriendlies."

"'Unfriendlies'? Have you been talking to Bill?"

It's a good thing the car's off, or I would've driven through the wall, he thinks. "Does 'God forbid' answer your question?"

She laughs, and says, "Before I forget, Missy offered either a Tibetan charm or Obeah spell to find his mother. I have no idea what that means, but I'm pretty sure Agent Spender would be less inclined to use them than myself."

Mulder grins, thinking of sending Spender through the roof, then tries to chastise himself for wanting to piss off his currently-unacknowledged half-bro. "Obeah, huh? He must've been pretty desperate-sounding, then."

"Probably," Scully agrees, not sounding sorry about that fact. "Oh yeah, and I got a call from him before Missy's. He wants us to stay far away from linking his mother to this case."

"Too late," Mulder says lightly, hanging up. An evil smile crosses his face. What the hell. Being family's never stopped him from pissing people off, why stop now?

* * *

It isn't long before Krycek is back in New York, sneaking onto the Uroff-Koltoff Star of Russia to see if anyone's discovered the vial of vaccine. If the stupid Port Authority got their hands on it, they might send it over to either the cop's lab or CDC, but if the Syndicate managed to get it, the game's over. God knows he wasted enough time looking for the whereabouts of the Russian witness, only to find he was one of the charcoal victims at the dam. So much for extra leverage, he thinks, landing with a dull thud onto the metal floor of what he's privately termed the prisoner's floor.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one here, and comes face to face with a gun. "Wow," he smirks at the gun holder, holding his hands up, "they actually have you do your own dirty work."

"Not necessarily," the Well-Manicured Man says in his clipped British accent. His gaze slides over, and Krycek feels rather than sees two men grab him and shove him against the rusty metal wall, one of them pushing a gun into his back. "Unfortunately for you, one of our associates, Ms. Covarrubias, grabbed your prisoner."

"Why is that unfortunate?" Krycek hisses as a meaty hand presses him firmly into the corroded metal.

"Unfortunate because your prisoner infected her before escaping," the British man answers, his mouth a small wrinkled line. "You were clever enough to infect the boy, but not clever enough to hide the implications."

"What, that you've got people stupid enough to steal what I rightfully stole?" Krycek scoffs, only to be kidney punched by one thug and the gun now unsafetied by the other. Damn, he hisses in pain, wincing against his will.  
"If you wanna make any deals, deal with me, got it?"

The old man chuckles. "You presume to be in a position of power at gunpoint?" he sneers. "We know you have a Russian vaccine," he says, his eyes never leaving the other man's face even as he pockets his gun. "Give it to us."

"Fuck you," the younger man spits.

One of the thugs grabs his head and slams it against the metal wall, making Krycek see brilliant flashes of light. Even as he's blinking against the pain and a threatening wave of unconsciousness, he hears the Well-Manicured Man say in a more strident voice, "Where is the vaccine?"

Emily, he thinks as his fight to stay coherent brings him to the edge of nausea, this is for Emily. "Pay me," he says hoarsely, and his pretty face takes a bone-crushing punch. Spitting blood, he coughs, "Dead men don't talk."

The old man stares dispassionately at the bleeding traitor. "Pity," he says, then nods at the two goons, who loosen their grip only slightly. "If Covarrubias dies, then so do you. If you live, so does she. Is that enough of a reward?"

I hate rhetorical questions, Krycek glares at the wrinkled old man. "Wow, boning blondes does make you young," he smiles, taking the old man's bitch slap in stride. Then he spits blood before smiling again. Yeah, he'll make the old man drag him along, that way he'll find out what the group of old men are up to, and if they've got any clues about the faceless aliens, stupid old farts.

* * *

A red-haired woman is sitting at a wooden table, watching various people step through the sliding doors, her daughter peaceably flipping through a picture book beside her. A tall young man walks through, and even if he hadn't given his description over the phone, she would've pegged him as an FBI agent. She stands and waves him over, watching with some amusement at his stiff-legged gait. "Agent Spender? Thank you for meeting with me," she smiles, holding out her hand. "I'm Melissa Scully."

Spender looks somewhat taken aback, even as he shakes her hand. "You're Agent Scully's sister?" he asks, taking in her dramatic, yet feminine, outfit.

The tall redhead nods, as if accustomed to comparisons with her younger, more straight-laced sister. "And this is my daughter Emily. Emily, say hi to Agent Spender."

The little blonde girl, rather than standing to shake his hand, ducks behind her mother's skirt, one eye peeking out shyly. "It's all right," he says, "I was pretty shy at her age, too."

Probably not for the same reasons, Melissa thinks, sitting down gracefully. "I'm sorry my friend isn't here to answer your questions. But we've just gone through a regression session with Doctor Werber, and I think it would help."

His small dark eyes look like they're about to pop out of his head, making her think it's a good idea he's sitting down, too. "Doctor Werber?" he repeats, sounding a little strangled.

Melissa nods. "Yes, do you know him?"

He nods back slowly. "He's, I mean, he *was*, my mother's doctor."

"Then you know how helpful he is," she says in a friendly tone. "My friend said he saw an old woman in a wheelchair there, being taken aboard a flying saucer." She nods when Spender's transparent face lets her know she's on the right track. "I thought so. Your mother."

He scowls. "I don't think that hypnosis is a valid way of finding the truth, Ms. Scully. Are you certain your friend didn't just bump into her at some UFO cult convention?"

Melissa laughs, and other library patrons shush her. She doesn't look at all repentant as she smiles at them before returning to face the somewhat constipated-looking young agent. Too bad Fox's sister is missing, she muses, if marrying Fox did wonders for Dana, I'm pretty sure this agent would loosen up with a female Mulder. "No, he's not into that sort of thing," she says, "besides, he never met your mother before that night."

"Are you sure about that?" Spender presses.

She nods. "I'm certain your mother, on top of being wheelchair-bound, is a very good woman with a beautiful spirit, which is probably why my friend would never have met her."

Now he narrows his already small eyes at her. "Are you sure *you've* never met her?"

Melissa gives him an indulgent smile, the very opposite of her glaring younger sister. "No, but from your devotion to her, as well as Dana's description, she sounds like a very lovely person I would have liked to have met. I can see your aura is pink with love for your mother, as well as sulfuric because of your worry, but I believe Dana would say I'm a just a really good guesser."

He shakes his head. Earlier, he wondered why Agent Mulder left a message on his phone giving him this woman's number, and now he knows why. Sadistic bastard. He's surprised the man known as Spooky Mulder married Agent Scully  
rather than her sister, but then again, nobody's really sure what goes on in the basement. "Ms. Scully, whatever your personal beliefs are, I would ask that you reexamine other options for your friend's temporary amnesia," he says. "I believe Doctor Werber's methods are not only unsound, but dangerous, and I suggest you both should question whatever came out of that session."

Melissa puts a hand on his, not caring that he stiffens automatically. "Agent Spender, I'm sorry if your mother had a bad experience with Doctor Werber, but-"

"The problem is that she believed she had a great experience," he says sourly, jerking his hand away from her, "but Werber merely indulged and infantilized my mother for his own purposes, touting her as some UFO witness for his traveling freak show masquerading as a lecture circuit." He stands up, his back ramrod straight. "I believe your friend's being set up as the next freak, Ms. Scully. If you truly care about him, don't let him be used."

The redhead also stands, her face solemn. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Agent Spender," she says, holding out her hand. "I'm sorry that you had a regrettable regression," and she isn't surprised that she hit home for the third time, "but I truly and honestly hope you find your mother safe and sound." His hand still in hers, she uses her free hand to put a small charm into it before releasing him.

He doesn't bother looking at it before shoving it into his pocket, his stiff legs taking him through the sliding glass doors.

Melissa Scully sits down, only to face her daughter's questioning eyes. "Yes?"

Emily opens her mouth, but it takes a moment for the words to come. "Why was he mad?"

She shakes her head reassuringly. "His mommy is lost, and he's scared. Sometimes people get mad when they're scared," she says, putting her hand on  
her daughter's shoulder.

"What was the thing?" is the blonde girl's next question.

Thing? Oh, the charm. She smiles, knowing Dana would get a kick out of it. "A St. Jude pendant. He's the saint of lost causes."

* * *

That night, as Mulder's taking out the trash, Krycek pounces on him from behind, knocking the other man down. "Married life's making you soft," he says, one arm wrapped around Mulder's neck, the other pushing a gun into his back, "I could beat you with one hand."

Sonofabitch, Mulder groans inwardly, I was gonna sneak off to Wiekamp anyways when the kids were asleep. Aloud, he says, "Isn't that how you like to beat yourself?" He grins as the gun digs in deeper, "If those are my last words, I can do better."

"Dammit, Mulder, I'm here to help you, not kill you," Krycek hisses, his legs and false arm still pinning the other man down, even as he unlocks the safety.

"Great," Mulder mumbles into the grass, "sure, I believe you. All my friends want to kick my ass before helping me, too."

Krycek backhands him, hating that this asshole knows how to push his buttons, nd fairly sure that if the guy wasn't FBI or stronger than them, his friends *would* kick his ass. When he's reasonably sure he hasn't knocked the idiot out, he continues in his low, terse tone, "Just shut up and listen, dammit. The shit that went down in Kazakhstan, Skyland Mountain, Rustan Dam, they're all lighthouses where the colonization will begin, but now there's a battle being waged. A struggle for heaven and earth. Where there is one law: Fight or die. And one rule: Resist or serve."

Way to keep the dramatic tension, Mulder thinks, even as an old Nine Inch Nails song plays in his head about bowing down to the one you serve. "Alex, you're a lying, self-serving bastard, why the hell should I believe you?? "his muffled voice asks.

Krycek stands up, his gun still pointed down even as Mulder rolls over to face his sort-of brother-in-law. The only thing keeping him from completely killing this idiot and going after the alien rebel himself is the thought that Missy would kill him, not the Syndicate. "I was sent by a man," he says, his gun trained on the prone man, "a man who knows that resistance is in our grasp, and in yours. The mass incinerations were strikes by an alien rebellion to upset plans for occupation. One of those rebels is being held captive. And if he dies, so does the resistance." He tosses a crumpled wad of paper a foot away from Mulder's hand and leaves, his eyes still on the FBI agent as he does so.

When Krycek is out of sight, Mulder rises and picks up the paper and frowns at the block letters spelling out Wiekamp AFB. ::Well, at least that landing-challenged alien ended up at the same place::, he thinks before crumpling it up again and shoving it into his pocket. Dusting himself off, he's relieved that Krycek didn't kiss him this time, although he's always wondered about that. He's guessing it was some kind of Russian custom, although he's fairly sure there was something a little gay there, too.

As he pushes the back door open, he rolls his head from side to side, knowing it's an exercise in futility, but who knows, maybe this time they'll take home a real live alien rebel. Or monkeys could fly from his butt, whichever. "Hey Scully," he says, "call Missy."

His wife walks in, and she frowns when she sees the grass and dirt stains on his face and clothes. "What's wrong?"

"Someone needs to watch the kids while we're on base chasing an alien rebel," he says as her frown deepens, "and it's too late to call Rachel or your mom." A part of him perversely wants to get back at Krycek, but the closest he'll get is depriving his sister-in-law of her sleep. Childish, yes, but he's yet to deeply analyze familial relationships in the midst of alien hunting.

* * *

Nearly three in the morning, after Mulder and Scully return from their fruitless chase after an alien bounty hunter that stole an alien rebel from an Air Force Base, Melissa Scully brings her still-sleeping daughter back home, yawning before she unlocks the door. She still isn't sure what an alien rebel has to do with Alex's amnesia or Spender's mother's disappearance, but her sister said there was some kind of connection. She'd simply nodded, too tired to make sense of anything at this time.

The redhead stiffens when she senses someone else in the house, her fears  
mollified when the person turns on the light. "Alex," she breathes, smiling.

"Hey," he smiles back, taking the dead weight of the sleeping girl out of her arms and kisses her briefly. "Lemme get her to bed, and I'll join you in yours."

Melissa nods, a part of her marveling at how easily this man has become so domesticated. Or perhaps he's like a cat, able to slip into both feral and tame natures when the situation calls for it, and wandering in and out of her life as casually as those four-legged creatures. Wearily, she goes to her room and slips off her coat, then the hair fastener, then her skirt, leaving only Alex's t-shirt and her underwear and socks on before absently brushing her teeth and crawling into bed.

She isn't surprised when he joins her, fully clothed, under the covers. "Mm," she says, not opening her eyes, "I'm sorry, I'm too tired."

"S'okay," Krycek murmurs, brushing her hair from her face in the same gentle way he did their daughter's minutes earlier, "go to sleep." As he watches Melissa slip quickly into unconsciousness, he reaches over and turns off the light, he kisses her on the cheek and closes his own eyes. It's not long before they are joined in peaceful slumber, their two heads touching, red and black, unmindful of any alien conspiracies, rebels, vaccines, hypnosis, incinerations or abductions.


	59. Travelers

"Daddy, what's this?"

Today, Mulder is watching the kids while Scully is off at a doctor's appointment. Of course, he neglected to tell his lovely wife that he took the kids to work, and Sammy discovered the X-Files - literally, by papering the floor with every file he could get his chubby little hands on. It was during this time that Page found a very special X-File, and she held up the worn and tattered file carefully.

His face had brightened, seeing the old file number X-525652 emblazoned on the front. "That's the first X-File I saw, eight years ago," he said reverently. Then his excitement dulled, and he put the file away, locking it with the others. "I'll tell you about it later."

"It's sad, huh?" his blonde daughter guessed, and he nodded. More than she can imagine. "What's this?" and she nearly toppled over the bookshelf to reach the guts floating in a jar on the top shelf.

"Whoa!" he yelled, then steadied the shelf and held back the thousands of items housed on it by a sheer miracle more than ability or strength. "I think I figured out why 'Take Your Kids to Work Day' doesn't really fly in certain jobs," he muttered.

Or maybe the basement office is just ground zero for childish behavior that would cause even an ordinary mortal to lose his job, so Mulder decided to haul his kids off to a somewhat more safer place. That, and answer a few childlike questions of his own, questions the old file had unearthed.

* * *

"Dad, what happened?"

Mulder's sitting with his father at his apartment, April sitting peacefully on the couch, Sammy and Page playing with toys Mulder brought in bags, and the two men sitting in opposing chairs. The elder Mulder looked somewhat at

a loss when the small family began its invasion, and he looks even more so now.

"What do you mean?" Bill Mulder replies. He'd been so good at holding off on the drink, but for some reason, seeing his son, seeing his grandkids, seeing them all together in a friendly fashion, it just makes him want to hit the bottle again.

"June 1952." The younger Mulder's eyes flicker to his kids, then to his father. "File X-525652," he says quietly. "The first X-File I ever laid eyes on. The file that drew me in because Skur said my name. Our name."

The older man's eyes widen slightly at the single-syllable name. "What about it," he says warily.

Mulder sighs. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He just hoped the presence of the kids would keep them both on their best behavior, sort of a precautionary measure against homicide, perhaps. "I ended up talking to Arthur Dales about it when I got wind of it in late November 1990," he says. "We weren't getting along, and I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to asking you about it. Especially since I was just starting out and doing good as a profiler. And then some old guy with a body husk in his bathtub repeats my name over and over as his last words…." He rests his chin in his hands, looking at Sammy and Page, since it seems safer than looking at his father.

"And you've gotta be wondering what the hell is going on," Bill Mulder nods. "Yeah." His baggy eyes, too, are on his grandchildren, and he wonders if they will ever look on him with as much contempt as his son does. Perhaps. Perhaps even more so. They have more than enough reason to. "Those were strange days," he says.

Mulder snorts. "You think? Imagine what I thought when I was watching old tapes of the McCarthy hearings and seeing you sitting with the big shots. That was pretty," he starts to swear, and remembering the kids, thinks better of it, "freaking bizarre."

His father chuckles. "Imagine living it. All this hullabaloo these days, celebrity schlock, that's nothing compared to nationwide hysteria, 'The Red Scare'. FDR's declaration of 'nothing to fear but fear itself' turned on this country, and everyone was pointing fingers, naming names." He sighs. "But you know all about diversionary tactics, don't you?" he says, and would be sarcastic if he wasn't so damn tired of putting up a front.

His son nods. "Got a beer? 'Cause I could use one," he says, and is somewhat saddened to see the surprised, then relieved look on his father's face as the older man gets up to grab a couple of cold ones.

* * *

"Why Dales? And why Skur?"

"Why anything?" Bill Mulder retorts. "They just happened to be the pieces at the time. As you know, I worked for the State Department, the same as Skur." His eyes gaze off to a point that isn't quite here nor there. "The same as Gissing and Oberman, for that matter." He pauses to take a swig from his bottle. "I don't like lotteries. I don't like gambling, period. But it seems that those three men were dealt an unlucky hand, and all three of them made their choices." He doesn't look at his son. "Two of them chose to end their lives rather than continue being homicidal guinea pigs. That's understandable. Some people like to think that, when push comes to shove, that they'll be able to fight, but sometimes, you have to take yourself out of the game in order to win."

Mulder's forearms are propped on his thighs, having leaned forward to hear the man's low conversation. "Is that what you did?"

The older man chuckles, but it's a lifeless parody. "If I had even half the courage of Oberman or Gissing, I would have done it their way," he admits, staring at his bottle. "But I was young. I had a career. I had your mother. I had," he sighs, putting the bottle down, "power. All those things kept me in the game, kept me going, until it wasn't enough. Eventually, pragmatism wins out over youth, reality rules over careers, disillusionment comes to wives, and entropy wins over power." His tired eyes finally look at his son. "You didn't come here to hear excuses or explanations, but that's all I have."

Mulder squints, wondering what really happened to this man, this stranger he thought he knew and could easily categorize as a coward and traitor. "No, it's not," he says. "I want to know," he pauses, feeling an unfamiliar lump in his throat. "I want to know, why Skur said your name. Why not Dales?"

* * *

"Why not?"

The old man's eyes may be baggy and tired, but there's an honesty shining through that's almost painful to see. "I think we were kindred spirits," he says quietly.

"How?" Mulder wonders. It's not like his father was forced into some experimental nightmare, or lived out his days killing people. It was more the opposite, the man chose to condemn his daughter to the aliens, and chose to hide from the world and everything, numbing himself with alcohol and who knows what else.

Bill Mulder shakes his head. "The monster you have become, you cannot uncreate," he says, glancing at his grandchildren, then wincing as if even the sight of them hurt him. "I think you'd better go now."

Mulder nods, then stands and walks over to pick up April, already asleep, in her carrier. "Come on, guys, time to go," he says, calmly scooping their toys into their bags. Understandably, they grumble, but their good-byes are muted when they see how sad and withdrawn their grandfather is, and they leave more quietly than they arrived.

"Why is Bumpa sad?" Sammy asks when they're in the car.

"Stuff that happened a long time ago," Mulder replies, but it's in a tone less sharp than he thought. "Sometimes it makes me sad, too."

"Oh," the redheaded boy says.

Page opens her mouth to ask something, but seeing the expression on her father's face resembling her Bumpa's, she decides to keep quiet for now.

* * *

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

Sitting on the bed, Mulder starts, then puts down the book he's been pretending to read and looks at his wife. "I talked to Dad about an X-File," he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh?"

"It was the first X-File that got my attention," he explains. "Mainly because the guy in the casefile was saying Dad's name over and over as his last words."

"Your father was in an X-File?" his wife's eyebrows nearly reach the crown of her red hair.

"Considering the kind of work he was in, I'm surprised he's not in more," Mulder replies. "But yeah. It was during the McCarthy hearings, and this guy, Skur, was supposedly a communist. It turns out this guy was a World War II vet and they did xenotransplantation via the Nazis to turn him into a superweapon." He nods at his wife's horrified look. "Yeah, well, not only was my father involved in this whole operation, he turns the guy loose. Skur had been living for about 36 years in relative obscurity until he got killed, and according to the file, the agent in charge was Arthur Dales."

"Wasn't he the first agent to work on the X-Files?" Scully frowns.

Mulder nods. "Yeah. The guy's a little cryptic, but maybe that's a side effect on working on the X-Files after a while."

"You have yet to be cryptic," Scully says, pulling the sheet over herself. "Infuriatingly stingy with pertinent details, perhaps, but not cryptic."

"See, I knew there was a reason you loved me," he grins, only to get elbowed. "Ow."

"So what made you decide to talk to your father about it now?" she asks, coming unerringly back to the subject.

Damn. "Well, Page found it, and I thought, what the hell," he answers.

She shakes her head. "How did Page fi -- You brought them to work?"

"Hey, Skinner was cool with it," he says, then wilts a little under her glare. "Hey, when they allow the Gunmen to do weekly sweeps of the daycare center, I'll consider leaving our precious little ones with them," he says.

Scully rolls her eyes, then yawns. "Was your father helpful?"

Mulder actually has to stop and think about this one. This man, who sacrificed his daughter, betrayed his son, sent hundreds into horrifying tests, and did God knows what else, actually tried to warn Dales, in spite of his best interests not to. He recalls Dales, a man still very healthy in a surprising old age considering the mortality rate in the X-Files, in 1990 telling him, "I even thought that maybe... maybe some poor innocent bastard--somebody with a conscience--might have let him go."

He'd asked, "Why would anyone do that? Why let a killer go free?"

"In the hope that by letting him live, the truth of the crimes that were committed against him and the others might someday...be exposed."

"He was," Mulder says, and turns off the light.

* * *

April 1998

"See you tomorrow!" Mulder waves as Rachel leaves. She has a last-minute hot date, and Mulder feels quite generous about having given her the night off. This nanny he likes.

Still whistling cheerfully to himself as he checks on the kids, he feels a buzz at his hip. His cell phone ringer makes April cry, so he's been keeping it on vibrate, even though it makes him feel like he's got a large insect trapped in his pocket.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, you need to come to my doctor's office, right now."

"I just gave Rachel the night off, so I guess I could see if my mom-"

"Just bring them with you. The office closes in 45 minutes, and the doctor needs to speak to you today."

"Is there something wrong?"

"We'll explain when you get here."

"Scu-" The dial tone rings in his ear.

Being nervous doesn't help him quickly get three small children ready to go outside, but they're on their way less than ten minutes later.

Maybe they're picking up on his mood, but the kids are not very cooperative once Mulder manages to get them in the building. He wishes he hand three hands- one for each of the older kids and one to carry April's baby seat. As it is, he has to make do with just the two he was born with.

"Page! I said to hold Sammy's hand," Mulder barks when his oldest daughter seems to be ready to wander off. She pouts, but takes her brother's hand. Whining all the way, they finally reach the floor Scully's doctor is on.

"Hi, my wife Dana Scully called and said that it was important that I come for the rest of her appointment," Mulder says nervously.

Sammy and Page are still acting up, much to Mulder's embarrassment. The receptionist gives him a knowing smile that just makes him feel worse. "I'll let the doctor know that you're here. Why don't you leave these two here? There are some toys in the children's waiting room right over there-" she points to a glass-faced room off of the reception desk. "-that they can play with while you're in with the doctor."

"If you don't mind…"

"It's part of my job. Many of the expectant mothers have older kids."

While he brings Sammy and Page into the waiting room, and tells them to behave, the receptionist has already told the doctor he is there, so it's only a matter of hauling April's carrier to the room that Scully's in.

"Mister Mulder, I'm glad we were able to reach you at the last minute," the doctor tells him with a smile. It doesn't put Mulder at ease, so he tries to distract himself by taking a minute to get his daughter out of the carrier and into his arms. He'd die before he'd admit it, but sometimes holding one of the kids helps calm him in stressful situations.

"Um, yeah. Is there something wrong? With Scully or the baby?"

Mulder can see that there's a tense look on Scully's face, and that doesn't make him hopeful.

"I thought you should see this ultrasound," the doctor tells him, and Mulder finally realizes that Scully has goo all over her bare belly. "This-" The doctor points to a blob on the screen. "Is your son." Before Mulder can ask him what's wrong with him, the doctor moves his hand to another section of the screen. "And this is your son as well."

"He's in two pieces?" Mulder's horrorstricken eyes look at the doctor.

Who laughs at him. "Twins, sir. Two healthy babies, each in one piece."

"Oh. I knew that's what you meant." It's clear that no one believes him.

After an awkward pause, Scully speaks to him. "What are you thinking, Mulder?"

"That I shouldn't have made so many evil twin jokes." He smiles wryly.

"You're…okay with this?"

::It's a little late to have objections now, isn't it?:: "Sure. Just as long as the three of you are healthy."

"Mom and babies are doing great," the doctor reassures.

"Speaking of Moms… I bet yours is going to be even more glad we have a nanny now," Mulder says solemnly.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Sammy and Page pull at Mulder's coat when he goes to get them.

"Is Mommy all done?"

"We go home?"

"Mommy will be out in just a minute. I want to talk to you guys while we wait."

"'k," they agree.

"Remember how Mommy and I told you that you're going to have a new brother or sister?" Both small heads nod. "Well the doctor just told us that there are going to be two new babies."

"Two babies?" Page looks surprised. "How do two babies get in Mommy's tummy?"

"The same way as one," Mulder tells her, patting her on the head. This is not the place for a "where do babies come from?" lecture. Fortunately, Page doesn't seem to notice his evasive answer.

Sammy gives April and Page a glance, then looks up at Mulder. "Brothers?" he asks in a hopeful tone.

"I think so," Mulder replies. The doctor might have said boys, but he knows that it's sometimes hard to tell this early.

As soon as Scully finds them, Sammy throws himself at her legs. "Two babies!"

"They're taking this well," Scully remarks.

"Somehow, I don't think they're as surprised as we are." Mulder grins. "After all, they're small children. Strange things must happen every day in their worlds."

"And they don't in ours?" Scully asks, looking as though she's trying not to laugh.

* * *

The next morning they purposely don't wake the kids up before they go to work. This seems to surprise Rachel a little when she arrives.

"Are the kids sick?" she asks, looking a bit nervous about the prospect of dealing with three cranky little ones.

"They're fine. We didn't want to wake them because we need to talk to you, and it'd be better to do with without them underfoot."

"Oh," Rachel says as she slumps into a chair. "Are you upset with me for some reason?"

"What?" Scully gives her a puzzled look. "No, we're not. We need to talk to you about my doctor's appointment yesterday."

Rachel's eyes widen. "Is something wrong?"

"See, Scully? It's not just me you freak out by saying something like that," Mulder says.

Scully ignores him. "No, nothing's wrong. We found out yesterday that it's going to be a boy. Actually boys. Twins."

"Twins," Rachel repeats, and Mulder is sure he can hear her swallow. "Wow."

"We wanted to tell you as soon as possible, in case you would rather not be a nanny for five kids."

"It'll be fine," Rachel says quickly. But Mulder notices that she looks awfully pale.


	60. All Souls

St. John's Church  
Alexandria, VA  
April 19th, 1998

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been over a month since my last confession," Scully says, once she's ducked into the confessional.

The priest, partially hidden from view, nods slightly. "You have a sin to confess?"

"Father, I'm an FBI agent. I've taken it as my code and purpose to uphold the law...to save lives." It sounds trite, but it's less a truth than an excuse, at least to her.

"And now your work has come in conflict with your faith," the priest comments.

Maybe, maybe not. At this point, Scully's really not sure. "In a way. I was here for Easter services last week and Father McCue approached me for my help."

"Why did he come to you?"

Scully looks down. She started this, might as well finish it. "Because there was a family that he felt needed my help. But it was more than that." Her eyes fill with tears, feeling doubly convicted as a Catholic and as a mother, not to mention being an FBI agent and doctor. All of which were good reasons why her heart is breaking. "Father, I told you that I had a sin to confess...But the sin of which I'm guilty...I'm not sure if you can offer forgiveness."

"What is the sin?" the priest asks gently.

Her tears choke her throat, but she doesn't care. "An innocent girl is dead  
because of me. I could've saved her life, but I let her die."

* * *

Easter Sunday  
One Week Earlier

Scully and the kids were dressed in their Easter Sunday best, looking like  
human versions of pastel Easter goodies. She felt bad that Mulder didn't  
join them, excusing himself by saying, "It would be kinda weird, even if I'm  
not exactly an orthodox Jew."

"Since when has weird ever stopped you?" she'd asked, but she understood the  
sentiment and let him watch sports at home with the godfathers, that is, the  
Lone Gunmen. She was still wondering whether it was a good idea to let them  
be her children's godparents when Father McCue called out to her.

"Dana...Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak with you in private," he  
waved her and her brood over.

Later, in Father McCue's office, the priest beamed, "I must say, Dana, it's been nice seeing you at mass again. I've almost started getting used to it."

"I've been trying to make an effort to come more often," she nodded at her children, who were staring up at the stained glass windows.

"I don't mean to take advantage of your attendance, but I've become involved in a difficult situation with a couple that are also members here. Do you know the Kernofs?"

The redhead shook her head slowly. "No, I'm afraid I don't."

The father sighed. "Recently, they lost their daughter, Dara. You may have heard about the situation?" he raises his eyebrows slightly.

She blinked, trying to remember if there were any prayers brought up on their behalf and came up with nothing. "No, I didn't."

The corners of his mouth turned down. "The circumstances of the girl's death were sudden and I'm afraid the police haven't been able to tell them much."

"Are you asking for my help?" Scully asked.

Father McCue nodded briefly. "The Kernofs are devout but their faith is giving them little comfort. I thought with your background your words might carry a certain weight. Can I tell them you'll be visiting?"

* * *

Scully dropped the kids off at home, and while Mulder and the Gunmen were glad to have more of a crowd to enjoy the game with, she'd tossed Mulder a  
lame excuse about why she couldn't join the party. Mulder bought it, mainly because he knew she wouldn't enjoy herself as much, and partly because he  
remembered that this is the case-that-wasn't-a-case that Scully got involved in around this time.

Since Emily isn't theirs and is still alive, he figured it'll be safe for her to check it out and waved her off with a beer in one hand and Sammy in the other. Relieved, Scully headed over to the Kernof house, only to sit with Mrs. Kernof in the living room while Mr. Kernof stood in another room staring out the window.

Mrs. Kernof showed Scully a picture of her adopted daughter, a young teen with long dark hair staring blankly to a point away from the camera. "That's Dara on her 16th birthday. We couldn't have children of our own. I persuaded Lance six years ago to adopt. At first he was reluctant to accept a special needs child, but he became so attached to her. Then this happens. You make the choice never imagining something like this or how vulnerable you are. Dara had just been baptized. I know in my heart she's gone to a better place, but Lance is angry," she glanced into the other room where her husband stood, silent and alone. "Angry at God. They say time heals," she added, parroting the cliché but obviously not believing it.

Scully also looked over at Mr. Kernof, hating to imagine the kind of pain he and his wife were going through. "Oh, Father McCue said that, uh, that you've been having trouble getting much information about what might have happened to her," she said awkwardly.

Mrs. Kernof nodded, looking at the picture of her daughter. "They say now she may have been struck by lightening but no one seems to know for sure. How she even got out of the house onto the street is a mystery."

"What do you mean?" Scully frowned.

The thin woman looked at the redhead. "Dara suffered from congenital spinal deformities," she said, as if that should've been on the police report. "She's been wheelchair bound her whole life."

Scully felt a chill, a remembrance of something she'd forgotten, but shouldn't have. "Could somebody have taken her out of her room?" she asked, and tried to push the feeling away.

Mrs. Kernof shook her head. "Lance said he saw her walking and that when he found her she was on her knees, praying. I think that's the hardest part for my husband. He'll never understand how God could...forsake the life of an innocent girl. How God, in His mercy could let this happen to our Dara," she said quietly.

In the morgue, Scully got the report firsthand from the coroner herself. "If you want me to stand by my report, I will, but I have to say it's not exactly open and shut on the cause of death," the blonde woman said.

"You think it was lightning?" Scully's eyes were on the report she was flipping through.

"I'm guessing it was lightning," the coroner corrected her. "The way her eyes were burned suggests the bolt may have gone to ground right through the top of her head. Funny thing is there was no other sign of arcing except for the face."

"Her mother said that she was found in a kneeling position," Scully said. Again, she tried to ignore the bad feeling, but no luck.

"Genuflecting," the blonde woman nodded. "Are you a religious person?"

As she was in medical school and the academy, Scully was wary. "Why do you ask?"

The coroner didn't take offense, and walked around the agent. "I haven't been to church since I was a kid, but I went last Sunday. I'm going to show you something." She showed the agent pictures of Dara's body, the young woman staring sightlessly with her hands and face lifted up in a gruesome approximation of prayer. "Her body was rigored such that I had to do my examination in the position she was found. I've never seen anything like it."

One of the close-up pictures show a scar on the outside of Dara's hand and Scully took note of it. "Looks like there was surgery done on her hands."

"She was polydactyl," the coroner nodded again. "Same with her feet. I haven't asked her parents yet. Haven't had the heart to, but I assume they had the extra fingers removed."

"What's the connection?" Scully raised an eyebrow.

The coroner shook her head. "I found no other evidence of any other tissue damage of electrical burns or any other serious trauma. It's as if God Himself struck her down," she said, somewhat baffled.

"Dara Kernof was adopted. I don't suppose that you've requested any information about the birth mother."

The coroner quickly shook her head, then added, "I can do that if you like."

"No, that's okay," the agent said, and shook her head. "I, uh...I have someone I can ask. Somebody I'd like to confer with, actually."

* * *

Scully drove aimlessly through the rain. She felt somehow guilty for being able to go home to a loving husband and family, while the Kernofs grieve for their daughter. She'd never felt this kind of connection to a case before that didn't involve immediate family, but there's something about it that just tore at her. She supposed it's something like what Mulder feels whenever there's an abduction case, although she can't explain any personal connection, aside from being Catholic, that she can think of to dispel this strange pull. Her cell phone rang, and she blinked, and quickly answered it before sliding through a yellow-then-red light. "Hello?"

Mulder's worried, of course, since his wife hasn't been back since midway through the first game, but it translated to impatience. "Hey, Scully, the kids are wondering what happened to you."

Which just happened to be the wrong thing to say in her state of mind. "Hi...uh, something's come up. I was, uh, hoping that you could do me a favor," Scully said, sounding distracted.

"Why?" he frowned, readjusting April on his hip. "What's going on?"

"This isn't official FBI business so I was hoping that we could keep it outside of work," she said tersely.

Oh boy. "Hey, look, I'm, uh..." Mulder's distracted by the crowd starting to surge into the theater doors, "I'm kind of rushed, so, uh..." Through the window of the phone booth, a huge neon mouse winked, and he sighed.

"I need some birth and adoptive records on a Dara Kernof."

"Who?" he asked, and wondered if he looks as suspicious as other parents seem to think he does, what with his black leather jacket, dark t-shirt and jeans with three small children huddled next to him in a phone booth.

"Dara Kernof, D-A-R-A K-E-R-N-O-F. I can't tell you much more than that, Mulder. I'm sorry."

So am I, but not for the reasons you think, Mulder groused inwardly. "You want to give me a hint? Anything?" he wheedled.

Scully smiled a little for the first time since this morning. "Not until you get me those records."

"All right, I'll talk to you later," he said, then hung up.

"Daddy, we're gonna be late," Page whined as he grabbed the baby bag.

"Not if I can help it," Mulder said, and hauled his kids to the ticket booth. The marquee above read "A Decade of Disney Movies" and he couldn't help but wonder what's got his wife so tied up in this that she forgot the family outing for the evening.

* * *

State Psychiatric Hospital  
Mount Lebanon, VA

The next day found Scully watch coroners first cover Paula's dead body on a gurney, then wheel her out of the room. Like her sister, Paula's eyes were  
burned out. The former occupant having left the room, Scully scanned the  
rest of the Spartan room and saw an upside-down cross pendant hung on the wall. It isn't long before her husband walked in and said, "Scully? Aren't you the secret squirrel."

She raised her eyebrows slightly. "What so you mean?"

He shot her a look of disbelief. "Just got a look at that body they wheeled out of here." Then he grinned. "You've been holding out on me."

Scully sighed, not a good sign. "Mulder, it's not what you think. I -- I didn't want to involve you. I got asked to look into this as a favor for a family."

"Dara Kernof's family?" he asked, then started to wander around the room.

"You found Dara's records?" she asked hopefully.

He shook his head, distracted. After he'd called Rachel and got the cats fed, he'd broken the speed limit getting to the hospital. One of the few times he's ever rushed *to* a psych ward, not away from it, but then, nobody in a white coat was waiting for him. "No, those are her birth records. The adoption records have been sealed."

"I think one of my questions has already been answered. Dara was a twin," she said pensively.

Mulder made his way over to the late Paula Koklos' bed, and debated whether he should suss his wife out now or later, deliberately not looking at her so as not to reveal his overwhelming curiosity. "No. Actually she was a quadruplet -- one of four girls. Was this, uh...cross found like this?"

Scully looks over and frowned. "Uh, yes, as far as I know. Why?"

He handled it gently, having knowledge of how far the person who hung it would go to protect innocent girls. "It's inverted, upside down," he said, turning to face her. "That's a protest, a sacrilege against the church."

Her eyebrows went up again. "Put there by whom?"

Like I'm telling, he thought mutinously. "It's your case, remember, Scully? Do you have any suspects?"

She looked dodgy. "Not as of this time," she says, looking away.

Curioser and curioser, he thought, clearly piqued. "Could the, uh, the victim have placed it?" he walked around so he can see her face.

"Uh, it's doubtful," she replied, and avoided the burning curiosity in her husband's eyes. "Paula Koklos was severely impaired -- physically and mentally -- as was Dara Kernof."

Guess we're gonna play cat-and-mouse here, too, he sighed inwardly. "And they both died the same way?" he prompted.

"It appears that their eyes were burnt out, their bodies frozen in a position of prayer."

"Their physical deformities could account for that," he said, taking the rarely traveled oh-so-reasonable side of the road, for once.

"They might," she nodded, still not looking at him.

Argh. What the hell was going through her head? "Look, Scully. I know you don't really want my help on this, but can I offer you my professional opinion?" Scully nodded, and finally faced him head on. "You've got a bona-fide, super-crazy, religious wacko on your hands," he said succinctly, just to see if what made her all touchy was the religious aspect of the case.

Her jaw set, and she looked him squarely in the eye. Okay, looked like religion could be part of the equation. "What makes you so sure?"

"The mote in the eye, the eyes as windows to the soul, an eye for an eye," he rambled, even as he tried to search Scully's eyes for a window into her soul, "he's working from ancient scripture...ancient text...Maybe even the Bible. He may even think he's doing God's work."

A tall, business-like red-headed man entered, and Mulder had to force himself not to shudder or drag his wife from the room. He may not believe exactly everything Scully does, but it doesn't mean he has to like the devil. "Did you find anything?" he asked, and shook both their hands. "My name is Aaron Starkey. I'm the social worker assigned to Paula Koklos. This is so tragic. I just hope you catch whoever did this."

Scully, oblivious to the newcomer's true identity or her husband's creeped-out factor, asked, "Mr. Starkey, do you happen to know if that cross over there belonged to Paula?"

The tall redhead glanced over and frowned. "I don't remember seeing it before. I'm sure it didn't," he said quickly. Mulder thought, Liar, liar, pants on fire. He mentally amended that, And the rest of you on fire, too, you evil bastard.

"Did she have any visitors or anybody who might have left it behind?" his wife continued.

"Well, she had no family. No friends, really," he said tersely. "I don't know if you knew this, but...Paula was about to be adopted."

Scully's eyebrows just about reached her hairline. "By who?"

* * *

On the way over to The Church of St. Peter the Sinner, Mulder and Scully stewed with their thoughts, neither willing to share what they know, but each for entirely different reasons. Just like the cross over Paula's bed, the name of the church is prefaced by an upside down cross. They entered the church, which looked like a dingy old warehouse, with folding chairs set up as pews and large windows being the only illumination for the building.

Mulder picked up a plainly bound book, "The Book of St. Peter the Sinner" with an upside-down cross. He turned the book upside down, looks at the cross, then turned it right-side up. He figured the X-Files looked about as crazy as this homemade bible of non-canonical texts. "Scully, look at this," he said, flipping through it. "The Gnostic Gospels, Book of Enoch...Book of J...Apocrypha...I'm surprised there's nothing here from 'Jesus Christ Superstar'."

"What kind of church is this?" she asked, clearly ignoring his sarcasm and stared around the plain building with a bafflement born of being a middle-class American Christian.

"There's no telling," Mulder replied, not telling.

A short, youthful man in black walked in, his expression of the helpful variety. "Can I help you?"

"Father Gregory?" Scully turned around.

"Yes?" the man answered.

"I'm Dana Scully," she said, and displayed her badge, "We're here about the death of Paula Koklos."

The father looked like someone socked him in the stomach. "Oh..."

Scully frowned, concerned. "Are you all right, Father?"

Father Gregory pulled himself together. "I was trying to adopt Paula. I'm sure you knew that."

"Why adopt her?" Mulder asked belligerently, not because he's as antagonistic as before, but because he knew Scully's not gonna press the guy like she normally would.

The man of the cloth looked mildly horrified. "I - I was trying to protect her. I knew her mother."

"Do you know where she is?" Scully asked.

"Yes," the priest nodded.

"We were looking for her name. It's not listed on the girls' birth records," she said, concerned.

"Why would you want it?" Father Gregory asked, suspicious of them.

"The other two girls may be in danger," Scully replied, and tried to keep the frustration from her voice, but didn't do very well. "We're hoping that she might be able to help is find them."

"Their mother died in childbirth," he said evasively.

Scully looked at Mulder, who said nothing. Thanks a lot, she thought, but I guess I deserve that. "Can you give us a name?" she pleaded.

"When I was a priest in the Roman Church, before I founded my own, I was her  
confessor. Divulging her name would violate the code of my faith," and then the priest saw Scully's cross necklace, "and yours, I see."

He may trump Scully with that, but not me, Mulder thought mulishly. "You said you wanted to protect Paula. From what?"

The father gazed at him with a patient, forgiving look. "Whatever your intentions...your secular prejudices blind you from seeing what's really happening here. Two girls are dead...not by the hand of Man. Unless you accept the truth of God's teachings that there is a struggle between good and evil for All Souls and that we are losing that struggle, you're but fools rushing in. You put your own lives in danger as well as the lives of the Messengers. I have nothing more to say."

* * *

When Mulder and Scully came out of Father Gregory's church, Mulder decided to needle her further, "All that crap about the fight for All Souls, the literature we saw in there, the performance we just witnessed -- it all fits. He thinks he's doing God's laundry."

Her eyebrow quirked up. "I think you're a little extreme in your judgment, don't you, Mulder?" When he mumbled, she added, "Well, he said this wasn't done by the hand of man. Do you think he believes that, too?"

He looked at her. "If he does, he's even more dangerous than he appears. Even if he's not your killer, he is hiding something."

"What?" she asked, looking like her old self.

He decided to prompt her rather than piss her off. "Well, he says he knew the mother, but won't give up her name. Maybe she's still alive. I think you have enough to bring him in for questioning if not make an arrest."

She looked at him, not sure whether or not he's humoring her. "But, basically, you're ruling out any element of the supernatural?"

"What...do...you...mean?" he asked slowly. Did he somehow give away the fact that he knows more than he does? Or did she automatically assume that he'll go chasing after the paranormal on every case? Yeah, maybe that's it....

"Well, Dara Kernof was baptized on the day of her death. She was sanctified by the ritual sacrament...submerged in the spirit," she explained. "Like our children earlier this year."

"Are you worried that some wackos are gonna go after our kids next?" he asked, half-joking. "Look, Scully, some sicko, for some half-baked religious 'reason'," he maked quote marks in the air with his fingers, "is targeting four girls. Whatever his beliefs, they aren't benign. Besides, people have used religion since the dawn of time to justify some of the most horrible acts in history." He added quietly, "I never did like the idea of God allowing bad things to happen to good people."

"I was raised to believe that God has His reasons, however mysterious," Scully said, and wondered briefly if her mother told Mulder about Patience.

"He may well have His reasons, but He seems to use a lot of psychotics to carry out His job orders," but it's less a sarcastic than resigned comment. Mulder gave in, since it's plain to see he'll get nowhere with her. "You want to find out who did this? I suggest you autopsy the body of Paula Koklos before it's interred, before the man who killed her has a chance to find her sisters."

He slid into the driver's side of the car, then popped the lock open on the passenger door for his wife. And they call me driven, he thought, as she stared forward in her seat.

* * *

In the autopsy bay, Scully began her dictation. "The victim is Paula Koklos, age 16, cause of death unknown. I'll begin with the external examination." She pulled back the white sheet to reveal Paula's burned eyes and extra fingers on her hands. "Victim has signs of congenital physical defects including four supernumerary digits. The only indications of external trauma are the burning...by means unknown, of both globes of the eyes." She frowned, then felt a lump on the shoulder.

"I'm noting something on the shoulder -- a bony process of some kind, possibly a tumorous mass. No, no indication of surgical procedure." She looked up at the x-ray sheets and amended her comment. "The mass appears on both the right and left clavicle."

When Scully looked back at the table, she saw a long-gone childhood friend lying on the autopsy table, looking up at her. Scully closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again she saw Paula's eyeless orbs stare back at her. "Oh, God," she said quietly, and turned away. Please, please let it be just pregnancy hallucinations, she prayed, please. Bad enough she's seen enough insanity while not pregnant, but this was just too much.

"Dana?" a small girl's lisping voice interrupted her prayers. Scully turned in shock and saw a little girl with dark hair and painfully deformed arms speak to her. "Dana, please," the girl lisped, her large dark eyes solemn, lying patiently on the table as if waiting for the older woman to tuck her into bed.

When tears threaten to spill over, Scully grabbed at the cassette recorder and shut it off violently before she managed to turn away. When she looked back, the teenaged Paula was on the table as she should be. Her breathing became quick and shallow, and the redheaded woman grabbed the countertop, and stayed upright despite the weakness in her legs.

* * *

While Scully was in the lab looking at autopsy results, her cell phone rang and she answered it absentmindedly.

"Hey, Scully, it's me," Mulder said, his voice fading slightly when he made a turn, "I did a little more digging on those adoption records."

"What do you mean?"

Shades perched on his face, Mulder answered, "I think I got a lead on that third sister."

"Where?"

"She was under county care ten years ago. Apparently, she wandered into a teen crisis center here in DC last week, homeless. That guy over at, uh, social services, Starkey -- he's helping me canvas the area," he said, and stopped the car. He was somewhat disappointed to see that the so-called social services guy caught up, but if he ditched him too early, he might've tipped his hand. Hopefully, he'll be able to shake him like last time.

"Well, Mulder, if she shares anything with her sisters, she wouldn't be walking anywhere far," Scully said over the phone.

"What did you find?" he asked, hoping the creepy redhead won't overhear.

Scully stared at the x-rays, not sure how to phrase it. "There's evidence of a progressive degenerative bone disease and, uh, I know you're going to think that I'm crazy...but I swear I found evidence of something winglike."

Mulder looked into a silver Cutlass Ciera that has an upside down cross hanging from the rearview mirror. Bingo. "Well, then, maybe she flew here, Scully," he remarked.

"Mulder, there's something else..."

"Why don't you hold that thought and tell it to me and Father Gregory when you see us?" he cut her off when Starkey went into a fenced off area.

When he entered the building, he found no sign of Starkey, which could be a good or a bad thing. His handy-dandy flashlight on, Mulder charged into the darkness and saw a figure at the end of a hall. He pulled out his gun and wished he had his bullets blessed or something. "Stop right there! Move into the light. Move into the light. Hands where I can see them!"

To his relief, it was Father Gregory who steps into the shaft of light and held his hands up. "We're too late."

Please, let it be the freaky angel guy and not Starkey, Mulder prayed, but pinned the father to the wall. "Where's the girl?"

"She's dead," Father Gregory said quietly.

"Where is she?" Mulder asked, and he didn't have to fake his concern.

"In there," the shorter man pointed, then slumped to the floor after Mulder released him.

Mulder slowly pushed the door open and walked in, both flashlight and gun ready. The girl sat in a position of prayer. Her eyes were burned out. Thank God, the agent breathed a sigh of relief, which would be inappropriate if anyone saw his face. A bird startled him as it flew up and out through a grate in the roof, and he stared up after it. Maybe we were all touched by an angel and didn't realize it, he thought, feeling sorrow for his ignorant past self and strained his eyes until all he could no longer see the flight of wings.

* * *

As before, Mulder and Scully interrogated Father Gregory at the police station, they got a tip from a cop about Roberta Dyer's whereabouts, and they still left the father alone in the room. Mulder left the door open, since the guard was sitting there, just to make sure nobody sneaked in without being seen. Scully didn't confess to seeing Emily, which was a relief, but she didn't confess to seeing anything else, which was a worry. Still, he decided to play things out and follow the tip, while Scully checked on the father.

Thankfully, Roberta was still missing, since her adoptive father was still the selfish bastard that he was, so Mulder wasn't too surprised to find the ratty, homeless-type setup in the basement that would've been more fitting under a bridge rather than inside a home. He nearly strangled the guy for his neglect of the girl, but it was Starkey, oddly enough, who pulled him off the man. Nice acting job, Mulder thought, when he shook off the man's hands and straightened his black jacket.

Good thing Rachel's into overtime pay, he murmured inwardly, even as he drove Mr. Dyer off to be processed, then hung, by the social services department. Maybe it's fitting that the devil pretends to work here, Mulder thought as he encountered round after endless round of bureaucracy that rivaled even the best of FBI and military red tape. He guessed everything's okay since he hadn't heard from either Scully or Rachel, and hoped it stays okay.

* * *

District Police Station  
9:52 p.m.

Scully tried to unlock her car, but the damn key didn't work. Figured. As she went through her keys, her phone rang and she picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Scully. It's me," her husband's voice came through.

Scully resumed flipping through her keys. "He's dead, Mulder."

"Who?" he asked, then signed off on yet another sheet of paper shifting blame on some other department. Stupid CYA forms, he thought, even as his stomach sank.

"Father Gregory," she replied. "They found him alone in the interrogation room. No one can figure it out. There was a guard sitting right outside the room." She dropped her keys, then groaned. Exhaling, she bent down to pick them up, thankful that she's had previous experience with searching blindly while trying to accommodate her body around her huge stomach.

It still didn't make her feel better, especially since the apocryphal priest was dead, as well as three teenaged girls. Her eyes widen when she spotted, not her keys, but a pair of legs in dark slacks and patent leather shoes. Oh, no.

"We didn't find her," Mulder went on, distracted by even more forms. He gave up trying to partly ignore the secretary and ended up shoving the cell phone between his shoulder and ear to actually read through papers that required more than just a signature. "The fourth girl -- she was at Dyer's place."

Meanwhile, Scully was looking up slowly to see a man's smiling face, backlit by a very bright light that didn't come from the parking lot. She didn't recognize him, which made her fumble around her coat pocket for her gun. What made her really freak out is when the man's head started turning, and different animal faces replaced the man's, in a sort of horrific version of her children's segmented books, which did the same thing, except that was on colorful cardboard and this was real life. Her eyes opened until they felt like they were about to fall out, her mouth opened and closed, but no sound escaped.

"Hey, Scully. Scully, you there? Answer me. Scully?" he asked, now very worried. Never mind the devil, what if some freak got his pregnant wife! "Scully!"

Scully, for her part, dropped the phone and sat down hard on the ground, her eyes never leaving the strange creature. Her mouth was still flapping when the light intensified, and she had to shield her eyes from the incredible glare.

* * *

The next morning, Scully ditched her husband and kids to talk to Father McCue. It's not like I wanted to, she told herself as she walked into the father's office. Mulder wouldn't understand and the little ones couldn't understand. It seemed for the first time, she noticed that the windows bore stained-glass angels, and took that to be a good sign. "Father," she said.

"Come in, Dana," the priest smiled warmly. "I understand you found the man responsible for the death of those girls. I'm sure the Kernofs will be relieved."

"I'm not sure if they should be, Father," she said quietly.

"Why not?" Father McCue frowned slightly.

The redhead paused. "I've seen things," she confessed. "Things that have made me question if there aren't...larger forces at work here."

The priest's tone dropped to a more confidential level. "What have you seen?"

Scully tightened her lips before she spoke. "Visions...of a crippled childhood friend who died when she was young."

Father McCue nodded. "I think that's understandable. I'm sure you identified with the loss."

"I considered that, um...but then I saw something last night, which I...Which I can't explain," she stammered nervously. She's faced mutants, aliens, even guns, and yet she's never been this flustered. Then again, she never expected anything like last night. "I saw a man...in dark clothes...but he had four faces. They weren't human."

Father McCue, instead of answering, went to a bookshelf and retrieved an old book. He opened it before handing it to Scully. Inside was a drawing of a figure with four animal faces and four human figures below it. The priest asked, "Is this what you saw?" When she nodded, he went on. "It's a Seraphim. An angel...with four faces...Those of a man, a lion, an eagle, and a bull." His voice took on a sermonizing tone. "In the story, the angel descends from heaven and fathers four children with a mortal woman. Their offspring are the Nephilim -- meaning, 'The Fallen Ones.' They have the souls of angels but they weren't meant to be. They're deformed, tormented. So the Lord sends the Seraphim to Earth to bring back the souls of the Nephilim to keep the Devil from claiming them as his own."

Her eyes were still on the woodcut illustrations in the book. "How did he bring back their souls?"

"They were smote with the brightness of his countenance. To look upon the Seraphim in all his glory is to give up one's soul to heaven," he recited, as if from a long-lost seminary lecture's notes.

Scully finally looked up from the old book. "Do you think that's what I saw?"

He shook his head, in a kindly, grandfatherly sort of fashion. "No. I think what you saw is a half-remembered story from your childhood that surfaced because of this case." He smiled slightly. "Besides, if it were the case, you wouldn't be sitting here before me, but in the morgue."

She understood his skepticism, God knew she had more than enough. But this, this was completely different. "But I saw it, Father," she argued, vaguely feeling like she was butting heads with her own late father.

Obviously, having a husband like hers has occurred to the man, and he tried to correct her. "Dana, the Nephilim is a story. The text in which it appears isn't even recognized by the Church."

She saw she wouldn't get anywhere with him, but at least she knew what she saw. "Father, do you believe that...God has His reasons?"

Father McCue finally smiled. "Yes, I'm certain of it. It's how He rewards our faith."

* * *

Starkey intercepted Scully outside her church and drove her over to Father Gregory's church. Scully walked in, her eyes slowly readjusting themselves to the dimness. Starkey stood in the doorway, as if he were waiting for the others.

"There's no one here," Scully said, hating to be Captain Obvious.

"They must be on their way," the social services worker says. He didn't notice the horns in his shadow that she did and continued on. "You don't see her in there? She's here. I know it." He squinted to follow the redheaded agent's progress, but didn't step inside the church himself. "Agent Scully? Did you find her? Agent Scully?"

Scully, having seen the face through the steps, walked down and opened door under the stairs. The girl, looking identical to other three girls, cowered in the corner. Scully's heart broke, and said quietly, "My name is Dana. I'm going to get you out of there, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

She held out her hand and was relieved when Roberta tentatively took it and allowed Scully to lead her out. "I'm going to take you someplace safe," Scully continued. The agent began walking Roberta to front of the church, away from Starkey.

Starkey's started to realize the jig is up. "Where are you going? Where are you taking her?"

"Everything's going to be fine," Scully murmurs to the girl, wanting to believe it herself. A bright flash of light from the front of the church startled both Scully and Roberta.

Pissed does not begin to describe the redheaded man, whose voice has started to sound really, well evil. "Bring her to me! Bring her here! Bring me the girl!"

Like hell, Scully thought, even as the girl started moving toward the light. Scully tried to hold her back, holding on to Roberta's shoulder as well as her hand. "No, it's okay," she pleaded, as if to herself as much as to the girl, "it's all right. Stay here. It's okay. Please, stay...Just stay here! It's going to be okay."

"Bring her out to me," Starkey intoned in a forbidding voice. Scully looked back at the man who truly looked demonic, and wondered how she and Mulder could have missed this.

"Dana?" a little girl's lisping voice said. Scully turned around and saw it was the hand of another, younger crippled girl she's holding. "Dana, let me go. Dana, please let me go."

Tears welled up in Scully's eyes, and her throat choked. "Patience," she said, and held on even tighter.

"Agent Scully, get her out of there!" Starkey bellowed, to no avail.

"Dana, please," the little girl begs. Scully slowly released Patience's twisted little hand and watched her walk into the light.

"Patience?" she breathed, and watched in amazement as the little girl who needed respirators and a wheelchair walk away. "Patience! Oh, God," she gasped when the light faded and all that was left was Roberta's dead body kneeling, her hands raised in prayer and eyes burned out. A quick glance  
backward revealed that Starkey was gone. Heavily, Scully sat down on one of chairs, put her face in her hands, and cried.

* * *

April 19th, 1998

Things had become a little strained in the Mulder and Scully household after that strange Easter non-case, so Scully went to the confessional. Talking to the priest made her feel a little better, but his advice to her, rather than reciting a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers, would take more effort. But maybe that's also part of faith, she thinks, driving home, that Mulder would allow me my beliefs as much as I do his. For the most part, she adds silently, when she walks into a quiet house.

"Where's the kids?" she asks, seeing Mulder on the couch with the two cats on his lap and no other discernable noisemakers.

"At your mother's place," he answers, "I thought it would be a good idea for your mom to spoil them rotten."

She nods at the unstated purpose and joins him on the couch. "I'm sorry I've been acting a little," she pauses when he puts an arm around her, "like you."

"Thanks," he makes a face, but doesn't remove his arm. "So what started it?"

Heartened that he's not acting like an ogre just yet, Scully snuggles into his arm. "When I was young, we moved to a neighborhood that had its own monster, so to speak. Missy was called on to baby-sit, and it turned out the 'monster' was a girl named Patience with spinal muscular atrophy. She couldn't move without someone pushing her wheelchair, she could barely talk without a respirator, but she was a lovely girl and she was my best friend."

She stroked Teliko's fur absentmindedly, not looking at him. "One day she got pneumonia, but because of her condition, she wasn't able to fight it off. Her parents, devout Catholics, were expecting another child at the time, but when they found out the baby might develop SMA, they aborted it. Soon after, they got transferred to another base."

"I see," Mulder says, stroking his wife's hair. Even without Emily, this would've set her off, and he resolves not to be such an asshole when it comes to his wife's religion.

"It was because of Patience that I became a doctor," Scully says after a beat. "And it was because of her that I let Roberta Dyer die."

"What do you mean?" he frowns.

She tells him everything she's seen and heard over the past week, the visions and visitation, as well as Father McCue's explanations. Finally, she shakes her head. "I was inclined to believe it was childhood fantasy compounded by my hormones, but I," her voice breaks, "I don't want to believe Roberta died because of those stupid reasons."

Mulder hugs her tightly. "You didn't," he says. "You saved her."

"Did I?" she asks, tears running down her face. "I mean, what if our children develop some kind of disease, or disability? Would I be strong enough to raise them, or give up like Patience's parents?"

Oh, God, he thinks, is that why she gave up William? There were all those kidnappings, but still! "You are the strongest person I know," he tells her truthfully, and stares into her eyes as if trying to imprint them into her mind, "and you are the most loving person I will ever meet. Besides, you're not alone. You're stuck with me, and your mom, and your brothers and sister, and the Gunmen--"

"Oh, brother," she laughs, but it comes out like a cough, and she pulls out a tissue to wipe her face. "I still can't believe they're our children's godparents," she hugs him back.

"Me, neither," Mulder grins, even as the cats yowl in dismay when his comfy lap is disturbed when he readjusts his body to get closer to hers. "So, how does it feel to walk on the wild side and believe in angels and demons and Nephilim?"

Her eyebrow goes up. "I've always believed in those," she says, then closes her eyes, "it's everything else that seems to require more faith."

* * *

A few days later, Mulder is fairly sure he hears giggling when he and Scully arrive home one night around six. By the time he quietly swings the door open, he's completely sure of it. When he and Scully reach the living room it's dark, so he switches on the light.

And hears a horrified gasp.

Blinking, he realizes two things almost at once: Rachel isn't alone in the living room and her shirt is unbuttoned all the way to her navel.

"Oh, um..." the nanny sputters helplessly. "Kids are in bed."

"I see," Scully says, but she's not looking at Rachel. "We didn't expect you, Sean."

"Ah, I guess you wouldn't," Pendrell says, his cheeks a red as Rachel's. "Rach, you're going to have to tell them now."

She looks up from buttoning her shirt to voice a protest. "But I was going to practice what I said first!"

"Little late for that now," he mumbles, and is unable to meet Mulder or Scully's eyes.

Sighing, Rachel gives them a weak smile. "I can't do this any more. Don't worry, I know a great nanny-"

"You're quitting?" Scully asks.

"Yeah. I'm so sorry. But I thought a lot about it, and I'm not the type of person you want looking after newborn twins. I love your kids, but two more of them?" She shakes her head sadly.

"And," Pendrell prompts, giving her a look.

Suddenly smiling, Rachel holds out her hand. "Sean and I are getting married. Soon."

"With all the nannying, Rachel will be a great Mom someday." Sean says happily. "And Hopefully I'll make a good Dad too."

"Some time soon?" Scully asks, giving them a searching glance.

"Not too soon," Rachel mumbles. "We want to wait a year or so before we try."

"How novel," Mulder remarks, earning a smirk from his wife.

"And I really mean it, I know the perfect person for you. I went to college with her. Her name is Michelle, and she's looking for a live-in position."

"Live-in?"

"Well, I figure with five kids, and you not quitting your job, right?" Scully nods. "You're going to want someone who is around 24 hours a day."

"That is a good idea," Mulder says, but then notices Scully's look. "We'll have to discuss it and take it under consideration."

"When I said I was getting married soon, I mean in two weeks," Rachel confesses.

"Wow."

* * *

Later that night, Mulder notices that Scully is moping. "What's the matter?"

"I can't believe we're losing another nanny."

"Yeah...I liked Rachel too."

"It's great that she and Sean are getting married, but..."

"You know, I did think of one good thing about this whole situation," Mulder tells her while rubbing her back.

"What's that?"

"Teliko and Piper both display an extreme disdain for the great outdoors. So whoever our next nanny is, at least she'll never run over one of our pets."

"You really know how to cheer a girl up, don't you," Scully tells him with a reluctant smile.

"If you accompany me up to bed, I can show you another way to get your mind of things..."He leers suggestively. "And like Rachel said, the kids _are_ asleep. Again."

Her laugher trails him up the stairs.


	61. The End

The Following Week

Scully fidgets with a ribbon on her maternity top while they wait for the potential replacement nanny to arrive. Unable to watch any more, Mulder gently takes her hand to stop her.

She stops, giving him a rueful smile. "I hate the fact that they put ribbons, bows and teddy bears on so much of the clothes designed for pregnant women. And it's twice as bad if you need stuff that makes it obvious that you're having twins. It's like the psychotic designers think we're the babies. It's either dignified work stuff or this silly stuff. Why can't they make dignified casual maternity wear?"

"If you're that uncomfortable, why don't you put on a t-shirt?" Having heard this rant before, Mulder had bought her several t-shirts made with fat men in mind. Until now he thought that she liked them.

"Mulder! We're meeting someone for the first time. We need to make a good impression. I can't be dressed like a slob when she gets here."

"But you can afterwards," Mulder tells her, rubbing her shoulder.

"You better believe it," she says fiercely, and Mulder has to kill a smile. There are times to joke, but the moment that you are dealing with an unhappy woman six months pregnant with your twins is not one of them.

He's saved by a knock on the door. "I'll get it." When he does, a friendly looking young woman with short brown hair smiles at him. "Hi, I'm Fox Mulder. You must be Michelle."

"That's right," she says, extending her hand.

"Come in," Mulder invites. "My wife, Dana, is in the living room."

After the women exchange greetings, Michelle becomes business-like. "So, Rachel tells me that you have three kids and twins on the way."

"That's right," Scully agrees. "The twins are due in September, and our 'older' kids are a daughter just turned one, a son almost three and a daughter almost four. Page, the oldest, attends preschool three hours a morning and Sammy will as well in the fall. "

Mulder grins. "Unfortunately April won't be old enough to go with them for a couple more years. She already seems to realize that they can do things she's too small to."

"Sure," Scully says rolling her eyes a little. "You'll have to excuse my husband. He enjoys trying to convince people all our children are geniuses."

"They are!" Mulder protests.

"I know, but we don't have to tell everyone the second you meet them," Scully says fondly. "Speaking of meeting, would you like to meet the kids now?"

"Definitely."

Mulder is on his feet before Scully even looks in his direction. He'll never tell her, but it's quicker to get their brood himself than to help her struggle to rise from the too squishy loveseat she sat on without remembering the trouble the last time she chose that seat.

When he returns he has a just woken up April in his arms, and Sammy toddles ahead of him while Page needs to be reminded not to run. To his relief, the young woman doesn't seem scared off by the kids' enthusiasm for meeting someone new, or April's crankiness over a cut-short nap.

By time Michelle is ready to leave, all parties seem pleased by the prospect of her being the new nanny. A move-in date is scheduled for the day before Rachel plans to leave.

* * *

May 1998

When Mulder enters the office and finds Skinner there, thumbing through folders, he does his best to feign surprise. "Wow, you know you're going places in the Bureau when the Assistant Director tidies up your office for you. What's up?"

"I was just, uh...looking."

"For anything special?"

"I came down to ask you something. I, uh, I guess I was nosing around - wondering about you - your, uh, long-term plans."

"My long term plans? Besides being a good father and husband, you got them right there in your hands." He takes the folders from Skinner and begins to put them back into a filing cabinet when Skinner makes no objections.

"What do you hope to find? I mean, in the end," Skinner asks.

"Whatever I hope to find is in here. And maybe I'll know it when I find it. Is that what you came to ask me?"

"No. There's a case - nothing I'd send you normally - a murder...an assassination of a Russian chess player. The shooter is former National Security Agency...one of ours. It's got a lot of people upset. This kid, Jeffery Spender - Special Agent Spender - he's been given the case. He's running it."

Mulder does his best not to react when he hears his half brother's name. "You give it to him?"

"No. It came as an order from somewhere outside the Bureau. His team's assembled upstairs right now. He was very specific that you be excluded."

Mulder slowly grins mischievously when Skinner pointedly leads the way.

Walking towards the Hoover building, Diana Fowley notices a young woman with three small children, the oldest a blonde, the younger two with bright red hair. They're cute and she likes to think that she's good with kids, so she approaches them with a friendly expression.

"Your children are adorable."

"Oh thank you," the young woman replies. "I can't take credit for it, though, I'm their nanny."

Fowley nods, and looks down at the middle child, a little boy. He's clutching a book in both small hands. "What are you reading?"

He grins at her, revealing baby teeth. "It's a book 'bout spooky pants. It's scary."

"By doctor Seus. I read that when I was a little girl," Fowley tells him.

The oldest child gives her a disbelieving look, confirming her suspicion that kids think adults spring from the Earth fully formed. "He can't really read yet. But I can."

Given that the child looks three or four Fowley has her doubts until the nanny speaks up. "Yes you can. That's why we're to the library once your mommy gets here."

"Is their mother an age-"

"Agent Fowley?" a voice calls impatiently. It's then that she realizes that she's lost track of time.

"Bye, nice meeting you."

Two minutes later Scully hurries out to meet Michelle. "Michelle, thank you so much for bringing April. It saves so much time."

"No problem. I'm going to take Sammy and Page to story-time at the library."

"Mommy, do you gots to have shots when you go to the doctor's?" Page asks, wide-eyed.

"Not me, but your sister does."

"Poor April."

"Don't worry, she's a brave little girl," Scully tells her. "See you tonight."

* * *

Diana Fowley smiles as she approaches Mulder in the hallway, and it takes him effort not to grimace. Apparently his efforts are successful, since she doesn't sound unhappy when she's close enough to speak. "Fox, you haven't changed a bit since I last saw you."

He smirks a little. "Oh, you'd be surprised how different I am."

She seems to think he's joking. "Seven years later and you're still on the X-Files. Are you still married to your work, too?"

"No. Bigamy is against the law in DC."

Her happy expression fades to one of puzzledness until comprehension blooms in her eyes. "You're married?"

"Since Valentines in 1994. My wife is agent Scully, my partner on the X-Files. You might have noticed her leaving the building before the meeting, pretty little redhead?"

"I must have missed her. Do you have children?" she asks, her voice suddenly small.

Mulder can't resist the urge to boast, especially since it'll make her squirm. "Two girls and a boy. Page is three and a half, Sammy two and a half, and April is one."

"Wow," she says faintly. Then an interesting emotion flashes across her face, one he thinks looks a lot like recognition, although he can't imagine why.

"That's what everyone says." Mulder grins. "Especially since we have twins on the way too. What can I say? After such a lonely childhood a big family is wonderful."

"Sammy...did you name your son for your sister?"

"It was my wife's idea, one for which I'm thankful, because I wouldn't have thought of it on my own."

"Have you found her? Your sister."

The search continues," he says with a rueful shake of his head. He hasn't told Scully about what he knows, so he'll be damned if he'll tell Fowley.

Before they have a chance to say anything else Skinner comes out of the men's room and joins them. The three of them enter Spender's meeting without announcing themselves.

Inside the briefing room Spender is showing people a video of the Russian chess player being shot.

"Using a weapon registered to a US intelligence agency, the shooter fired one kill shot at Anatole Klebanow before being captured without incident a short distance from the scene. No motive has been established nor has the shooter offered up a statement or accomplice." His voice trails off when he realizes who has come in.

"Please continue," Mulder invites. He, Skinner, and Fowley take their seats.

The younger agent frowns, but picks up where he left off. "The trajectory of the kill shot suggests the shooter acted alone, but we cannot yet rule out an accomplice or conspiracy. A single bullet was fired from a catwalk at a steep angle striking the target just right of the solar plexus."

"I'm...sorry, can you rewind the tape?" Mulder asks, not sorry to be irritating Spender. "Please. I'll tell you where. Just take it back?"

"Let me get through this. If you have any questions, we can talk later."

"I don't have any questions. No. I just think you're wrong. I don't think the Russian was the target. I think it was his opponent."

"His opponent, Agent Mulder, was a twelve-year-old boy," Spender says icily.

"And a good chess player. Here, let me show you his best move, if you'll just take it back." Mulder waves his hand towards the monitor. Frowning, Spender obliges. "Okay, stop it there. Look what the kid does right here, right before the kill shot. Play. Do you see what he does? He just pushes back. You see that?"

"He just completed a checkmate. He's pushing back because the game's over."

"You described a steep trajectory for the kill shot. If the kid doesn't push back at that precise moment he catches the bullet in the back of the neck, not the Russian."

"May we move on here?" Spender asks irritably.

Fowley speaks up from the back of the room. "I think Agent Mulder is right. Looks like the boy sensed the shooter precognitively. If you rewind the tape you'll see it."

Mulder gives her a surprised look, and wonders if she's only bring up ESP to discredit him.

The tall thin agent shakes his head. "There's no way. It's impossible."

"Just rewind the tape so we can all see for ourselves," Skinner suggests.

Once Spender does, it become clear to them all that Mulder's theory has merit.

"I think we need to speak to the boy," Fowley says when the three of them linger in the hallway after the meeting has concluded.

Mulder looks to Skinner for approval, just in time to see Spender walk out and give them all a dark look. Since Spender passes behind him, Skinner doesn't notice. "If you two, and agent Scully, want to go and interview the boy, it might be useful."

::Oh yeah, I really want my wife and my ex-girlfriend in the same car.:: Mulder thinks irritably. "Um, let me call Scully and see how long she thinks she'll be at her appointment."

Fowley and Skinner don't attempt to make it obvious that they're listening to his end of the conversation, but Mulder tries to concentrate on the call instead of reacting to the eavesdropping. "Hi, Skinner wants us to interview a kid - yeah, really a kid. Twelve. Someone might have tried to shoot him but he seemed to sense it - well, that's why Skinner wants us to talk to him - no, I don't think interviewing him will be dangerous, why? - Really? You wouldn't rather bring her home? - Oh, I guess that would take a while. Okay, see you both in half an hour."

They're giving him expectant looks, even though he knows they heard every word. "Scully will meet us back here in a little bit."

Skinner turns to Fowley. "I'm glad that agent Scully can go with you, you'll like her."

::Guess Skinner doesn't read minds.:: Mulder thinks sourly.

* * *

Mulder's Car

An Hour Later

::Stop me if you've heard this one. A man, his pregnant wife, their youngest daughter and his ex-girlfriend walk into a bar...:: he blinks when he hears Scully ask Fowley a question.

"How long have you been with the Bureau, Agent Fowley?"

"Since '91. I took an assignment in Europe after the wall came down when the director stepped up foreign terrorism concerns," Fowley says from the backseat. She's sitting next to April. It had taken Mulder ten minutes to unhook Sammy's car seat so there was room for an extra adult, and the experience did nothing to brighten his mood.

"And they brought you on this because of a terrorism angle?" Scully asks.

"No. I, uh, I requested a reassignment. There were things at home I decided I wanted to get back to."

"1991." Scully muses, then turns to her husband. "That's about when you started work on the X-Files."

"More or less, yeah."

Inget Murray Psychiatric Hospital

Gaithersburg, Maryland

Mulder leads the group into Gibson's room, with April on his hip. The young boy looks up at them, and flashes the baby a quick smile before looking more dour.

"Hi. My name is Fox. This is Dana and Diana, and my daughter April. How are you doing?"

"I don't mind it here. They get all the good TV shows. Where I live, in the Philippines all we get is Baywatch."

"What's wrong with Baywatch?"

Gibson looks closely at him. "You've got a dirty mind."

Mulder flashes Scully a guilty look, and she suppresses a smile. "Your parents are going to pick you up on Friday, Gibson, to take you back home," she says.

"I don't want to play any chess," Gibson says to Mulder.

"How do you know I want to?"

"'Cause you got that cheapo chess computer in your hand. Or at least you did," Gibson adds when April knocks it out of his hand. Luckily, it lands on the bed instead of the floor.

"It's the best chess board petty cash will buy. Don't you want to see how fast you can beat it?"

"No."

"Maybe because you can't," Mulder says, turning off the TV.

Gibson just looks at him.

"I'm right, aren't I? You know what I'm talking about. You knew the moment I came in. That's how you win, isn't it...how you know what your opponent's going to do? You get inside his head. You read his thoughts. That's how you knew that man was going to shoot you...isn't it?"

"I know what's on your mind," Gibson announces.

"Oh?" Mulder asks, shifting April so she can't reach the board again.

"You're thinking that it's a miracle that your wife and the other one don't hate each other yet. But you're sure they're going to."

"That's not..." Mulder trails off, and looks away from the women. "This kid's going to need round-the-clock protection." He leaves the room quickly, ignoring Scully and Fowley's surprised looks.

Fowley stays in the room to talk to Gibson, but Scully follows Mulder into the hall. "Mulder, what was that all about?"

"The kid's no chess master. Under controlled conditions, I could probably beat him."

"Mulder, he's recognized internationally as a prodigy. He's beaten Grand Masters."

"With the most unfair advantage. What he's doing amounts to a kind of parlor magic trick. "

"Mulder, he was goofing on you. He was playing along. You're positing that this kid can read minds."

"We've seen a number of these cases before, Scully."

"We have seen cases, Mulder, of fakers and lucky guessers but no one that has ever been able to stand up to any kind of rigorous testing."

"He did it just then, Scully," Mulder says quietly as he looks back towards the room. "He read exactly what was on my mind."

"What?"

"We'll talk about that later. But the fact remains he did do it."

She gives him a doubtful look. "Even if he did, no one has gone so far as to claim that they can zero in on the mind of one person in a crowd of thousands."

"Maybe that's why they want him dead," Mulder says as Fowley walks towards them.

"Who? Who are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I'm not the mind reader."

"Say that what you're suggesting were even possible, who would want to kill a kid whose abilities would offer you the ultimate advantage...I mean in business, in war, in anything?"

"Maybe somebody whose business is in keeping secrets," Fowley suggests.

"Well, let's test him. I think the kid will stand up. Let's run a brain scan and a psych evaluation on him. You know what to do, Diana," Mulder says, shifting April in his arms. "April's tired, I'm going to bring her out to the car."

Scully and Fowley watch him walk down the hall, then Scully speaks to the other woman. "So, you two know each other?"

"It was a long time ago," Fowley says. "I'll ask for those evaluations and meet you outside."

April is in fact sleeping when Scully opens the front passenger door. "She'll be a few minutes. So tell me about Gibson reading your mind."

He sighs and leans his head on the headrest. "Diana and I dated years ago, back when I first got out of the academy. Now I wonder what I ever saw in her, but back then...She has a para-science background and was there when I discovered the X-Files. Those things seemed significant."

"It was something in common," Scully agrees calmly.

"But the only things. It didn't work out and she took a position in Berlin of all places. If you want to put some distance between you and an ex-boyfriend, that's a good place to go. Hell, until she walked into that meeting today, I couldn't have even said for sure that she was still alive."

"And Gibson realized that you thought I'd be jealous?" she asks.

"No. He realized that I thought Diana might be jealous." Mulder reaches for her hand and squeezes it. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"I'm the one who has you, what do I have to be jealous about?"

The rear passenger door opens, startling them a bit. "They're going to do the evaluations tomorrow," Fowley announces.

"We're done here, then," Mulder says, shifting the car into drive.

* * *

Inget Murray Psychiatric Hospital

Gibson holds Scully's hand like a much younger child as they walk through a door and down a hall.

"How you doing?" Scully asks.

Gibson looks up at her. "You know you're the only one who asks that? I think it's because you're a mom...Anyway, I didn't like those tests. I didn't like being in the machine."

"Hmm...They're a little scary, aren't they?" Scully asks. "My niece, Emily, thought they were scary too."

"But she's only little," Gibson says confidently, surprising Scully a little. "You're wondering, aren't you?

"About what? About you?"

"About that other girl."

"She's wondering about you, too," Gibson says then smiles. "He's not wondering, though."

While Gibson wows the doctors by reading their minds, Scully and Fowley watch through an observation window in another room.

"It's amazing. It's hard to believe," Scully admits.

"I've witnessed clairvoyants who were over 90% accurate and seen telepathy being demonstrated but I don't know I've ever witnessed anything quite like this."

"Where'd you see that?"

"Agent Mulder and I spent some time in psychiatric hospitals-"

"Funny, Mulder never mentioned that he'd been committed," Scully says with a mischievous grin.

Fowley doesn't look very amused. "There were some patients serving criminal sentences who we felt had been misdiagnosed, so we went to observe them."

"Must be strange, doing things like that all over again," Scully offers.

"You'd be surprised how much has changed. I am, anyway," Fowley says before going to speak to the doctor who's telling them what Gibson just did.

* * *

A couple hours later

"Sorry I'm late. How's little Karnac doing?" Mulder asks Fowley, who is sitting near a two-way mirror watching Gibson.

"Put a TV in front of him and he turns right into a normal kid. He's the real deal, Fox. We tested him with Zener cards, random numbers, a variety of ESP tasking. He's got ability to not just focus on a thought, but a multitude of thoughts at once."

"There's something else. There's something we're missing here."

"That was a good catch on the videotape. I was impressed."

"Oh, you would have caught it eventually," Mulder demurs.

"No. I've been too many years trying to get inside the head of too many Arab terrorists. I'm out of practice with this stuff. But you seem at the top of your game."

"That's all I do. That's all I've been doing for the last five years. This work and my family, that's my whole life."

"Sometimes I hear about you...about the work you're doing. And I think how it might have been if I'd stayed." There's something hungry in her look that makes Mulder look away, uncomfortable.

He tries for a joke. "Ah, we'd all be blown up by some terrorist bomb, no doubt, huh?"

"I sense you could have used an ally, though - someone who thinks like you, with some background," Fowley says rather pointedly.

"Oh, you mean Scully?"

"She's not what I would call an open mind on the subject."

"She's a, uh...she's a scientist. She just makes me work for everything. Sometimes she's even right."

"Yes, but I'm...I'm sure there were times when two like minds on a case would have been advantageous."

"I don't think so," Mulder disagrees. "Thinking alike just means two chances for being wrong."

"Well..."

"I've done okay without you," he adds quietly.

"Hey...I'm on your side." When she reaches for his hand, he pulls away from her.

"That implies that you think Scully isn't. And it's not true. You left seven years ago. She's the one who has been by my side for the past six years. Don't make light of that again."

The look on her face suggests that she's been taken aback by his honest statement. "Message received."

"Good. You and I can work together, and can work together well. But not if you try to put yourself between me and my wife. You're my friend, but she's much more to me than that."

"Mulder."

He spins on his heel, surprised to see that Scully is standing behind them. To his chagrin she's got her poker face on, and he can't how much of their conversation that she heard. "Hey."

"I've got something to show you both and Skinner, and I think you're both going to be surprised. Very surprised. We're going to meet him in his office in half an hour."

* * *

Skinner's Office

Mulder, Scully, Fowley, Spender and a few other agents sit around Skinner's desk.

Skinner sits and gives Scully an expectant look. "You're here to tell me a story."

She looks a little uncomfortable, but speaks. "I've conducted some tests on Gibson Praise and have come up with some rather unexpected conclusions: ones which I myself have difficulty reconciling with what I know."

"These are?" Skinner asks.

"Neurological tests. Mapping of brain functions using a very high resolution EEG."

"What did you find out?"

"The tests revealed something peculiar in an area of the brain that we are only beginning to understand. An area of the temporal lobe that neurophysicists are calling the 'God module.'"

Skinner sighs loudly. "I hope I'm not going to hear that this kid is the next Christ child."

::No, that would be William, at least according to the aliens.:: Mulder thinks, but doesn't say aloud.

"All of the boy's brain processes are showing extraordinary activity in exactly this part of the brain. Which is not just abnormal or anomalous, but from what I know absolutely unheard of."

"There are corollaries, individuals who have been responsible for great leaps forward in understanding in science. Newton, Galileo, Einstein, Stephen Hawking. All these men exhibited modes of thinking that are suggestive of access to special brain centers." Mulder interjects.

"All right. So this kid is a human oddity. Would somebody please tell me why anyone would go to such great lengths as to kill him?" Skinner wants to know.

"This kid may be the key not just to all human potential, but to all spiritual unexplained paranormal phenomena. The key to everything in the X-Files. It's possible he has the answer to every question that has kept people up at night for centuries."

"Let me get this right - We're supposed to believe that this boy was going to be killed because of the X-Files?" Skinner asks.

"No, it's bigger than that."

"Uh-huh," Spender says dubiously. "Explain it to me. To us."

"I can't. But the shooter can. The assassin that you have locked up...in exchange for immunity from prosecution."

"You want to give a murderer a free ride for the secrets to the pyramids? This is crazy. It's nuts." Spender is obviously annoyed.

"You mischaracterize what I've said," Scully says. "This would be quantifiable scientific proof of everything that Agent Mulder and I have investigated over the past six years."

"How do you quantify the spiritual?" Fowley asks. "It can't be done. You ask for immunity for a killer on that basis, the Attorney General's gonna go off. You're allowed to investigate the X-Files as an indulgence. But draw the wrong kind of attention and they'll close you down. Put an end to all your work. Something I happen to have an interest in myself."

"Let's everyone step out in the hall," Skinner announces, and everyone but him stands.

"Agent Mulder, you stay put," Skinner says, and Mulder sighs as everyone leaves.

"Fowley is right, you know. The risk you're taking, the long-term plans that you and I talked about..."

"If what Agent Scully's found is true and I have every reason to believe that it is, then the answers I might have spent a lifetime searching for may fall together like a million puzzle pieces."

"You'd risk the X-Files?" Skinner asks, incredulous.

"If we have found the truth and willfully decide not to investigate it, what's the point of keeping the X-Files open? So yes, I'm willing to risk them. How soon can you call the Attorney General?"

* * *

Federal Prison

Night

The gunmen is sleeping in his cell when Mulder and Spender enter, startling him away.

"The Attorney General's heard my request for immunity," Mulder tells the yawning man.

"Heard it? You...Oh...You said that you could get it."

"She needs something more. Something to convince her that you're not just playing games. Something that I can corroborate. I need answers from you."

"The kid is a missing link," the gunman says dully.

"To what?" Mulder asks, looking the man in the eye. They both ignore Spender. "He's genetic proof, isn't he?"

The gunmen nods slightly.

"Genetic proof of what?" Spender asks. "Tell me what you're talking about."

"The kid's not superhuman. He's just more human than human," Mulder says.

"What? Like that Rob Zombie song?" Spender asks, startling Mulder with his taste in music. They walk out of the cell, leaving the gunman behind.

"Uh, I don't know that song. What I mean is most of us have genes we don't use. They lie there dormant, turned off. Science doesn't know what they're for, why they're there or where they came from."

"Right and you think this has something to do with that?"

"There's a long-held but unpopular theory tied to prehistoric evidence of alien astronauts."

"You're not going to go out there and say the kid's part alien. You won't have any more credibility than my poor mother."

Mulder looks him in the eye, and says nothing as they continue to walk. Spender's not through, though, and continues to needle him. "You think that's what you heard? You led them, Agent Mulder. Now you're letting yourself be led."

Ignoring him, Mulder walks away.

* * *

Centerville, Virginia

As Fowley arrives at the motel, Scully and Gibson sit. The boy is watching King Of The Hill.

"Gibson? I'd like to ask you something." He turns his face from the TV and gives her an expectant look. "How do you do it?"

It doesn't surprise Scully that Gibson doesn't need a definition of "it." "I just hear you thinking...like on a radio. And sometimes there are lots of radios. And I want to shut them off and watch some TV."

"Is that why you like chess? 'Cause it's just one thought that you hear?"

"Yeah, but that's not why I like it all the time."

"Why else do you like it?"

"Because there's no talking. Just thinking. It's nothing like real life where people think one thing but they say something else."

She laughs softly. "Is that what people do?"

"Yeah, except for babies like the one you brought earlier - but I think that's only because they don't talk much. Older folks are worried about what other people are thinking when the people they're worrying about are worried about the same thing. It makes me laugh."

"Why?"

"They make up all this stuff to believe but it's all made up. Some people try to be good people but some people just don't care. Like you."

"You think I don't care?"

"No, you don't care what people think."

Fowley knocks and comes in.

"I'm here to relieve you," she tells Scully.

"Thanks," Scully replies, then puts her hand on Gibson's shoulder. "Well, we'll talk about this later, okay?"

"They want to kill me, you know," Gibson says as she begins to walk away.

"Nobody's going to do anything to you, Gibson. I promise."

"I know you do." His voice is hollow.

* * *

11p.m.

::She's going to kill me. She'll understand why I'm doing this, but she's still going to kill me.:: Mulder thinks as he drives to Centerville.

Even though he realizes that he's courting his wife's wrath, he can't stand by and let them do barbaric brain surgery on Gibson again. He just hopes that nothing goes wrong once he gets his plan in motion.

Mulder parks around the back of the hotel and leaves his flashlight off as he sneaks towards a car in the parking lot. The sniper is too busy staring at Gibson's shadow at the window to realize that Mulder's there until it's much too late. A fist through the open window catches the man at the temple, and he slumps over the steering wheel, unconscious. ::Diana, you owe me.:: After checking his victim's pulse, Mulder hurries towards the hotel.

He doesn't even have to knock, because Gibson eerily knows he's there. Given this, he doesn't bother to hold a finger up to his mouth like he planned to. Without being asked the boy gathers a change of clothes and his shoes, then waits by the door while Mulder tapes a note to the room's one mirror.

Diana is still asleep when Mulder closes the door behind him; and the sniper is still slumped over his steering wheel. Neither Mulder nor Gibson, say a word until after the child has scrambled into the backseat of the car and hastily changes into the clothes he's brought. Gibson looks up from tying his shoes and asks, "Do you really think this is a good idea? You're going to get into trouble."

After Mulder shifts the car into drive, he glances over his shoulder. "There are worse things that can happen than getting into trouble."

"You think someone would get hurt if you didn't move me. Why are you so sure?"

"Call it ESP," Mulder mutters. Sensing that the agent doesn't want to discuss what he knows about that sort of thing, Gibson rolls up his pajamas and uses them as a pillow to cushion his face against the hardness of the glass. He spends the entire ride to the airport looking out the window.

On the plane to Louisiana, they both sleep. Gibson more soundly than Mulder, who wakes every few minutes to glance warily at fellow passengers. Each time he decides that there's no one there who is a threat, and lets his eyes close once again.

* * *

Washington DC

Meanwhile

An insistent knock at the door drags Scully out of sleep, and the twins wake up and kick her insides immediately afterwards. Thrusting an arm out, she intends to poke Mulder until he's awake and get him to answer the door, but all her hand finds is an empty side of the bed where Mulder is. She sits up too suddenly, making the world lurch, and finds a note on the other pillow. All it says is "Got to bring Gibson somewhere safe. Be back tomorrow. Love you."

She'd like to spend more time trying to figure out ways of punishing her husband for going off in the middle of the night, but the knocking at the door hasn't stopped, so she struggles into a robe that barely fits around her waist and goes to deal with whoever it is that's come to bother them at that hour. It's only as she reaches the door that her sleepy mind wonders if there's a connection between the visitor and Mulder's flight, and the thought sends a shiver of fear down her spine.

The figure on the steps looks more pissed than worried, so Scully's fear evaporates. "Diana."

"Is Fox here?" Diana's voice is frosty.

"No. I thought you went with him," she admits to the conclusion she'd immediately drawn.

"Went with him where?" Diana's voice is sharp on the last word." I woke up and Gibson was gone. All there was a note saying that he was taking Gibson-"

"-Somewhere safe," Scully finishes for her, then reluctantly hands over the note she's still holding. "Wherever 'safe' is, it's not here. It looks like he didn't want either of us to know where he was going."

"You seem to be taking this well."

Scully decides to ignore the snippiness of the other woman's tone. "I'm sure he'll have a good explanation for us both when he gets back."

"No doubt." Diana's eyes drop to Scully's waist, and Scully isn't sure how to interpret the woman's expression. Resentment? Envy? Pity? Maybe a mixture of all three. "If you don't know anything more than I do, I suppose I should let you get back to bed. I'm sure you need your rest."

The condescension raises Scully's hackles, but she doesn't let it show. "I'm sure he'll call you when he gets back. Good night, Diana."

Before the other agent can respond, Scully firmly shuts the door.

* * *

New Orleans

5am

It bothers Mulder a little that Gibson doesn't ask many questions. The only thing he's asked since the plane landed a half an hour ago is if they could go one of the airport's restaurants and have breakfast. His own stomach had been growling too, so he immediately agreed. Now, as Gibson drinks his orange juice and finishes off his bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, Mulder glances over at him and wonders if he doesn't need to ask questions because he's reading his mind for the answers, or if he just doesn't want the answers.

Either way, the boy says nothing as Mulder pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and rereads the address he wrote there earlier in the day before returning his attention to the website he's pulled up on one of the café's computers. He worries a little about the reception they'll receive, but at least he knows that the address is current because he'd charmed it out of someone at Human Resources.

The sky is beginning to lighten when they arrive at Monica Reyes' apartment building. It's just then that the foolishness of what he's done strikes Mulder like a blow. If she's agreeable to the plan than things might go well, but if not...if not he has no idea what he's going to do with the little boy in the back of his car. He can't bring him home to DC, because even if Scully would welcome a temporary foster child, **they** would know where to find the child, which would endanger not only the boy himself, but their children as well.

This in mind, it makes it hard to force himself to knock on the door. When a sleep tousled Reyes answers she looks very surprised, and he doesn't blame her. "Agent..." she trails off for a moment, "Mulder, isn't it?"

He nods. "I'm sorry to show up unexpectedly like this, but I have a problem that I'd like to discuss with you."

A minute later she shows him and Gibson into her home. "Why don't you watch some TV?" she suggests to Gibson. This earns her a sleepy smile of gratitude, and it's only a moment before he's happily scanning channels on her TV.

In the kitchen she and Mulder sit and discuss the matter. "The boy looking for cartoons in your living room is Gibson Praise. He's twelve, a chess champion, and has a contract out on him. There has already been one attempt on his life."

"My God." Reyes gives him a horrified look. "Who would want to harm a little boy?"

The smile Mulder gives her is sickly at best. "I decided that you'd be the best agent to come to for assistance not only because you're a good agent and far removed from the men who are against this boy, but because you exhibited an unusual open-mindedness when we met you two years ago-"

"You picked me because I believe in the paranormal?"

"In short, yes. Gibson exhibits a talent for reading minds that has been verified by a body of impartial judges. It's this unique talent that has powerful men wanting to kill him, or to capture him to examine his brain."

"Examine how, like CAT scans?"

"More like exploratory brain surgery."

The agent looks ill, but to her credit doesn't let her upset color her tone. "Then you're hoping to hide him from these people."

"Yes. As much as I'd like to bring him home, I'm sure it would be unwise. Although my wife would probably be willing to take him in, they'd quickly find out where he was. They don't like us much either, so they keep close tabs on our house. That, coupled with the fact that she's pregnant, makes it all the more unlikely that we could fend off an attack if it came at an unexpected time." He smiles ruefully. "She's still a good shot, but slower and more ungainly than usual."

"I'd imagine," Reyes murmurs.

"So it seemed wiser to send the boy away, so it'd be more difficult for them to find him."

"Are you sure they won't know you've come here?"

"I didn't call you so there's no number to trace. I paid cash for our plane tickets and the car rental so there's no paper trail there. I also used my credit card to book a flight for two to Washington State. When I get there I'm going to call one of them and 'accidentally' be on the line long enough for the call to be traced...I'm hoping that will lead them astray."

"The plan to muddy the trail seems foolproof. But what happens here? I don't have room for a child-"

Mulder takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to her. "I went to an internet café in the airport this morning and did some research. This is a good catholic boarding school about three hours from here. I was hoping that you and I could go there today and enroll our orphaned cousin. They'll probably accept him as a charity case, but if not I can get his tuition paid for by going through some murky channels."

"Could you really afford that?" Reyes looks a little surprised.

"I was left a nice inheritance by a relative, and I can't think of a better way to use some of the money. The thing is, though, if they do accept him for enrollment, it might be a few days before he can move in, so that's why I've involved you at all..."

"If he doesn't mind the couch for a few nights, he's welcome to stay. But what about summers?"

"It's a good Catholic boarding school with a year-round residency program."

"Okay. It sounds like a good plan to me, but how with Gibson feel about-"

"I don't mind." The child's voice startles them both, so they turn to see him standing in the doorway. "Those men won't find me, so how could I complain?"

"What about your family?" Reyes asks.

"I won't see them again, no matter what." His voice is emotionless.

"You can't know that."

"But I do."

* * *

Washington DC

11p.m.

Two flights later, Mulder arrives home, dead on his feet. The school readily agreed to take Gibson as a charity case, and he can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the boy's status as a minority. Even so, he's thankful that there will be no tuition bill that has to be paid in a round about way. The boy will be starting at the school in three days, and Mulder has left money with Reyes to buy him the things he needs like uniforms and books. After he left them he flew to Settle, made an outraged call to a member of a syndicate accusing them of attempted murder, then flew home.

Letting himself into the house, he wonders if being confronted by his wife or by Diana will be more painful.

It turns out to be neither, because to his utter shock, Jeffery Spender is sitting on the couch, looking up at him with an accusing stare.

"Spender, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you to get home so you can tell me what the hell you've done." Spender tells him. "Fortunately for you, your wife has cooperated so far, so you're not in as much trouble as you'd be if I'd had to have you arrested to speak to you."

"Arrested? That's a little much," Mulder protests.

"Where is Gibson Praise?" Spender demands to know.

"In a safe house. He called me last night and told me that someone had gotten to his parents." Mulder decides to take a gamble on what he suspects is true. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Spender's grim look confirms his suspicions about why Gibson was never reunited with his family in their past life. "Yes. We only learned of that about six hours ago. You're saying he already knew?"

"He said that he was afraid that he was next."

His brother nods slightly. "That collaborates with what Agent Scully said he told her - that they were coming to kill him."

"There was a sniper," Mulder says quietly. "He was aiming at the hotel room when I was able to incapacitate him."

"Maybe you didn't over-react then," Spender admits. He looks up as Scully comes in and joins him on the couch. "Even so, there's already a plan in motion to shut down the X-Files."

"We knew there were risks going to the Attorney General," Scully says.

"They're calling for your resignation," Spender tells them, and he looks a little smug.

"Whose?" Mulder asks, although he knows the answer.

"Yours and Agent Scully's."

"So they'll really shut us down," Mulder says heavily. He knew it was coming, but he can't help but feel devastated anyway.

"You took the risk, knowing the possible outcome." There's no pity in Spender's voice.

"This was all strategized - every move. I just couldn't see it. It was all of a plan."

Scully looks sad and tired. "Mulder, whatever you may believe, this time they may have won."

The phone attached to Spender's belt begins to ring, and he excuses himself. When he returns he looks even grimmer. "Agent Scully said your nanny isn't here tonight. You need to get someone over here to baby-sit. Now. We have to go."

::Here comes the final blow.:: Mulder thinks as he dials Maggie's phone number.

* * *

Hoover Building

25 Minutes Later

Skinner is talking to someone in the hallway when Mulder and Scully walk in around a fire hose. He gives them a look like he wants to talk, and Scully stops to hear what he has to say.

On the other hand, Mulder ignores him and heads towards the basement office.

The "I Want To Believe" poster is blacked, and the words are nearly impossible to make out, and it's the least damaged thing in the room. Water drips from the walls, and he runs a hand over his melted nameplate. It's still warm.

When Scully comes in, she looks nearly as devastated as he does. She lays her head on his chest, hugging him. "I'm so sorry, Mulder."

"It's okay," he says stoically. When she looks up at him with a confused expression, he gives her a sickly smile. "Good thing I got bored when the kids were sick, huh? Otherwise we would have lost all the files, too."

"Where do we go from here?" she whispers.

"Home. We'll wait for the dust to settle, then regroup."

Arms around each other's waists, it's hard to tell who is supporting who as they walk out of their ruined office.


	62. Fight The Future

Dallas, Texas  
August 1998

Scully isn't sure if it's the heat, the hormones, or the husband that dragged her here that's making her crazy. She's on the rooftop of a building facing the federal building, just across the street from where the actual bomb threat was placed, and now she's got a stupid variant of "Fiddler on the Roof" stuck in her head. Oh well, it's not like anyone can hear her. Mopping her forehead, she sings under her breath and off-key, "If he were a sane man, Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum, All day long been looking for a bomb, But he is an insane man…" Making a face, the heavy redhead pulls out her cell phone and dials. "Mulder, it's me."

His voice crackles slightly, sounding as if he's miles away, rather than in the same godforsaken part of Texas. "Where are you, Scully?"

"I'm on the roof," she replies, her tone just this side of homicidal.

"Did you find anything?" he asks, as if it's normal for a pregnant woman to be climbing stairs in the wrong building.

"No, I haven't," she answers, not bothering to hide her irritation. In a way, she's disappointed, because that means there's nothing to throw at her husband for making her suffer like this.

"What's wrong?" he continues obliviously.

Where shall I start, O idiot partner and husband of mine? "Well, I just climbed up 12 floors, which did wonders for my swollen feet and the twins bouncing in my belly, I'm hot, I'm thirsty, and to be honest, I'm wondering what the fuck I'm doing up here." Clear enough for you? She wants to scream, except that would take too much energy. If the ground wasn't so damn hot and irritating, she'd take her shoes off, but settles for leaning against the wall sheltering the stairwell.

"You're looking for a bomb."

She can feel her jaw working, even as she struggles not to strangle the cell phone as if it were her husband's neck. "Yes, I know that, but the threat was called in to the federal building across the street."

Mulder, the master of obvious, replies, "I think they have that covered."

Scully hits the back of her head against the wall until it actually hurts. "Mulder, when a terrorist bomb threat is called in, the rational purpose of providing that information is to allow us to find the bomb. The rational object of terrorism is to promote terror. If you'd study the statistics, you'd find the model behavioral pattern for virtually every case where a threat has turned up an explosive device; and if we don't act in accordance with that data, if you ignore it as we have done, the chances are great that if there actually is a bomb, we might not find it. Lives could be lost...Mulder. Mulder?"

"Boom," says a voice next to her.

Scully nearly drops her phone as she staggers, "Jesus, Mulder! I almost peed my pants!"

Unrepentant, Mulder chuckles while helping her up, even as she glares at him. "Whatever happened to playing a hunch, Scully? The element of surprise, random acts of unpredictability? If we fail to anticipate the unforeseen or expect the unexpected in a universe of infinite possibilities, we may find ourselves at the mercy of anyone or anything that cannot be programmed, categorized or easily referenced." He squints across the street as he pops a sunflower seed into his mouth. "What are we doing up here, Scully? It's hotter than hell."

"Duh," she says, earning her a grin. Her tone becomes more serious as she adds, "I know you're bored in this assignment, Mulder, but unconventional thinking is only gonna get you in trouble now."

"What makes you think I'm bored?" he asks, seemingly flippant.

She gives him a look borne of years living with him, both on and off the job, and it never fails to brighten his mood. "Don't give me that bullshit," she says, closing her eyes as she stretches and twists to ease her back and belly. When she opens them, she continues, "They've closed the X-files. There's procedure to be followed now...protocol," she stresses the "p" words as if they're foreign to her husband. Maybe they are.

He's grinning, and she figures she might as well throw in the towel on procedure and protocol. "Maybe we should call in a bomb threat to Houston. I think it's free beer night at the Astrodome." Then he grimaces slightly in apology. "Maybe they'll give you free tickets for upcoming games."

Scully shakes her head, then turns to open the door, when she doubles over. "Oof," she mutters, her hand going to her stomach.

His eyes widen, and he immediately regrets making her walk up all those stairs. ::Idiot,:: he chastises himself as he puts his hand to her stomach.

"So much for anticipating the unforeseen," she grunts, closing her eyes. As he reaches into his pants pocket for his phone, Scully smiles. "Gotcha," she says.

He tries to keep a pout off his face and from his voice. "No, you didn't," he says, despite the fact that, yes, she did.

The smile on her face is ear to ear, and if he didn't know better, he'd think she was enjoying her triumph with such a cheap trick. "Oh, yeah. I had you big time."

"You had nothing," he argues as he opens the door to the stairwell. "Come on, I know the kids aren't due for weeks."

She's still got a freakin' huge smirk on her face as they exit, passing by a group of kids on a tour. "I saw your face, Mulder. There was a definite moment of panic."

He brushes her off, hating how easily she got him, both this and last time. "You've never seen me panic. When I panic, I make this face," and proceeds to put on his most blank, emotionless face.

Scully snorts. "That was the face," she says, obviously not buying his non-panic.

"You didn't see that face," he counters.

"You're right, she smiles sweetly, "It was more like this." And makes the hugest "shocked" expression seen outside of a sitcom. When her face snaps back into a smirk, she adds, "You're buyin'."

There's a resigned look on her face as he asks, "What? Coke, Pepsi, saline IV?"

Scully's still smirking when she answers, "The kids seem to have a sweet tooth before they've got teeth."

"Guess I'll be adding digitalis to that," he smirks when his wife's disappears into a glower.

* * *

Maybe it won't be here, Mulder thinks as he walks into the vending machine room, but if that's true, our asses are fragged. He checked this place earlier while Scully went to the roof, but no dice. Maybe the nutcase put it in later. He puts his change into the machine, pushes a button, then another, then all of them, but nothing comes out. "Oh, crap," he murmurs under his breath, then whacks the side of it before shaking the machine.

Crouching down, he looks beside it and notices that the machine is unplugged. "Oh, fuck," he revises his comment, then tries to open the door. Same as before, it's locked. "Sonufabitch," he mutters, calling Scully on her cell phone. "She's gonna love this."

"Scully," she answers, pulling on the other sleeve of her dark FBI jacket now that her body finally registers the air conditioning.

"Scully, I found the bomb," he says, knowing she's not gonna believe him right off the bat, especially since he fell for her fake contractions.

"You're funny," she smiles. "Where are you, Mulder?"

"I'm in the vending room."

It continues to play out the same as it did last time, even though Mulder wanted Michaud to prove him wrong, to defuse the bomb. He and Michaud end up in a shouting match, but that only makes the older man irritated enough to physically haul his ass out of the building. It was the one time Mulder actually wanted to follow protocol, and should have, except that would've meant staying in the building, which would mean Scully would want to stay with him, and he honestly couldn't risk her or their babies, so he stays out.

He hesitates before getting in the police car, though, and Scully practically bites his head off as she orders him in, practically wrestling him while doing so, and he decides to avoid the complete indignity of being manhandled by a pregnant woman in front of a cop and allows himself to be shut in. They both twist around to look at the building as the car drives off, the cop not bothering to hide his "oh, brother" expression at the two troublesome FBI agents. "Please," Mulder prays under his breath, hoping for the best.

The bomb explodes, and Mulder gets another glimpse of hell as the building is destroyed, the bottom of the edifice expelling a huge ball of fire like spew from the mouth of a mad demon eating itself alive. They both scream as cars are sent flying and their car windows explode while it rocks from the blast.

Holding his wife, he knows he's mirroring her horrified expression, and it doesn't fade when they turn around to find the police officer slumped over in the driver's seat bleeding from a concussion. Scully checks the man's pulse, then calls for an ambulance before applying a mere band-aid to his wound.

They get out of the car slowly and look at the damage. Scully stiffens a little when his arms surround her, but as she looks up, she realizes it's a partly reflexive gesture when she sees his eyes unfocus slightly, watching papers flying like so much confetti out of the suddenly-exposed offices, the ragged edges of the building burning like a gruesome parody of a lopsided birthday cake. "Mulder?" she asks, putting her hands on his.

He starts when she touches him, then relaxes, but chills still run up and down his skin. He can't, won't tell her what's on his mind, about the other buildings that burn, that this isn't the last of the madness, but just the beginning. "Yeah?" he says in a shaky voice.

Her hold on him tightens, and she says quietly, "You're making that face again."

Mulder nods, then hugs her fiercely, wondering not for the first time how in the hell he got to be so lucky. And if his luck will hold, now that she's pregnant.

* * *

Office of Professional Review

FBI Headquarters  
Washington, D.C

Try as he might, he couldn't get to the meeting on time, since he promised Scully he'd make sure to check on the kids before heading to the Office of Professional Review. He had, unfortunately, underestimated the evility of side-street traffic, and arrived much later than his wife, who was sitting in the office before the review board by the time he got there.

At least one of us got here on time, he thinks, doubting they'd cut him any slack this time around because of their kids, and it turns out he's right. Again, he's scolded out of the room, and he morosely chews sunflower seeds, shells and all, while waiting for the Skin Man, that is, his boss, to make an appearance. Like clockwork, he shows up and gives him the oh-so-good news. Joy. Almost makes him want to burst out in song, except Skinner might want to shoot him for the good of humanity.

When Scully comes out, her expression is deliberately blank, her eyes flickering slightly as both men stand. She tells Skinner they're expecting him, and he leaves, and she slowly turns to face Mulder.

He puts his hands on her shoulders. "Whatever you told them in there, Scully, you don't have to protect me," he says, feeling oddly more vulnerable, even though she's the obviously pregnant one.

She shakes her head slightly. "All I told them was the truth."

"They're trying to divide us on this and we can't let them," he says, although less desperately than the first time he's said this. This time around, if there's any division, it would only be at work, rather than home. He hopes. There's no way the FBI would be evil enough to split a family, would they? Hm, maybe he'd better not take any chances.

"Mulder," she smiles a little, "I'll be seeing you at home, remember?" Her words mirror his thoughts, reassuring him somewhat, but it doesn't make it any easier.

He frowns. "You won't be with the X-Files any more, will you."

She holds his hands, shrugging a little. "I have a meeting with OPR day after tomorrow for remediation and reassignment."

"But they're the ones who put us together," he argues, but not surprised.

"Because they wanted me to invalidate your investigations into the paranormal," she nods. "But I think this goes deeper than that now."

"This is not about you, Scully," he wants to make her believe, "it's  
something bigger than us."

"But I don't know if it's bigger than this," she says, patting her stomach, "pun intended." Scully pauses, the thoughts gathering in her head since the building blew up making themselves heard now. "Mulder, I left behind a career in medicine because I thought that I could make a difference at the FBI. But it hasn't turned out that way."

She smiles down at her stomach and holds her husband's left hand. "It's become something more. And I don't know if I could if I could go back to work as usual, not just because of what I've seen and done, but because of our family." She inhales before going on. "There may be something bigger, Mulder, global conspiracies or what-have-you, but I'm not going to jeopardize our family the next time a building blows up and we're not out in time."

"You're quitting," he says quietly. There'd always been a part of him afraid of this, a part that was insecure and curled up in his heart, a part that never wanted her to leave him, for either personal or professional reasons. And this time, it was both, and neither, which, for some reason, makes sense to him, and he doesn't blame her, but he still doesn't like it.

"Maybe you should ask yourself if your heart's still in it, too," she says, still not looking at him.

At that point, when Mulder feels like he's been sucker-punched, Skinner walks out and tells them, "Agent Mulder, you're up." And so is the X-Files, Mulder thinks morosely, turning slowly away from his partner.

"Mulder," she hands him his jacket, "see you at home."

He doesn't answer her, and her lower lip droops a little as he walks away. Then the redhead takes a deep breath before heading for the elevator. She'd like to think once she gets home and sees her children, everything will be all right, but she knows it's not the case. "Home," she murmurs, and for some reason, the simple word has a note of finality about it.

* * *

The Mulder/Scully Residence

"Mom, it's okay, you don't have to stay," Scully tells her mother after a quick hug.

"I'm just glad the two of you are all right," Maggie Scully tells her daughter, not wanting to tell her how her grandchildren clung to their father's legs that morning, unwilling to let go. She knows Sammy and Page are bright, it's just that, after watching the explosion in Dallas on the news and her own scream of "Dana!" , the little ones put two and two together. When Dana called her to tell her they were fine, she stayed up all night reassuring them before their parents came home. Even now, she's not sure what to tell her daughter, or how soon the little ones will voice their fears.

"We're fine, Mom," Scully reiterates, hugging her again. She looks tired, but whether it's jetlag, the pregnancy, getting called up before a board, or maybe all of the above, she really doesn't care. "Is Sammy behaving himself?"

Maggie smiles indulgently. "He's an angel," she says, deciding not to bring up how he tried to "help" her in the kitchen earlier. "Did the review go well?"

The redhead groans and sinks onto the couch. Her eyes closed, she grumbles, "What Dad said about administrators is true, it seems all they do is kill time by killing other people's careers to get ahead in their own."

"That's not nice, Dana," her mother says reproachfully, smiling anyways. "By the way, I've noticed that Page and Sammy can be little chatterboxes at times, but April hasn't said a word. I don't think it's because she's shy…"

Scully groans again, but opens her eyes. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice," she says guiltily.

"Not notice? These are my grandchildren, of course I'd notice," Maggie retorts. Then her expression softens to that of worry. "She's, she's not slow, is she?"

Scully smiles a tired smile. "No, Mom, she's not. She understands spoken words and sign language, it's just that it seems she's taking her time actually talking back." Then she shakes her head. "Or so Mulder says. He's leaning toward the Einstein theory."

"Einstein had a theory about children, too?" Maggie sits next to her daughter, thankful the kids are napping so she could have some time with Dana.

"No, Mulder has a theory about Einstein as a child," Scully replies. "Apparently, good ol' Albert Einstein didn't speak for many years, and even then, his classmates called him stupid." Her tired smile widens into a genuine one. "Guess he showed them."

Maggie hugs her daughter. "He certainly did." Stroking her daughter's reddish hair, she muses, "Aren't children a wonder? Einstein surprised his parents, as well as the rest of the world, going far beyond their expectations. And you certainly go beyond mine."

"Mom," Scully's voice catches in her throat.

"Shhhhh," her mother continues to stroke her daughter's hair, then inhales and stands. "I'd better make you some tea, that'll help you rest easier."

"It's okay, Mom," Scully rises slowly to her feet and yawns. "I'm so tired, I could sleep standing up."

Maggie nods. "Get some rest, I'll be up until Fox gets home."

Scully smiles sleepily at the casual use of her husband's first name, nods back, and trudges up the stairs. Maybe we should install an elevator, she thinks, not for the first time, and makes her way to the bedroom. Numbly, she takes off her clothes and tosses them onto a chair, then absently pulls the large nightgown over her head before crawling under the sheet. Just before the oblivion of sleep takes her, however, the thought that her children will change the future in ways Einstein could never dream of comes to mind, and she goes to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Casey's Bar  
Southeast Washington, DC

Later that night, Mulder's hanging out at the bar, because it's close enough to home, but far away enough so that he doesn't have to face his family right now as he's getting stinking drunk. Considering how assholic both he and the OPR have been to each other, he'd say they could just call it even, or they could call him fired, whichever came first.

In a way, he almost welcomes being fired, that way he could stay home with the kids, do the X-Files and maybe write freelance, and Scully could do her super-scientist thing at the FBI without his presence besmirching her rep. And that way, he won't have to face another day of leaving home with his children crying and clinging to him because they're afraid they won't see him again. Maybe Scully's right, if his heart's not in it, he should just walk away.

But that would mean the Smoking Man and all those other evil bastards win, the aliens take over without a fight, and everyone, including his family, dies. Dammit, it's a no-win situation, he groans inwardly, reaching for a full shot.

"I'd say this just about exceeds your minimum daily requirement," the bartender remarks dryly, filling a glass.

Hell, no, Mulder thinks as he empties the glass. Setting it down, he knocks over some of the many other glasses on the bar.

"Whoa, you've gotta train for that kind of heavy lifting. Poopy day?" she asks.

In a fuzzy way, she reminds Mulder of his seventh grade teacher who seemed like the only decent grownup when Samantha was taken. Nope, better than his fifth grade teacher, since he doubts Mrs. Kinghorn would serve him alcohol, even if he's now very legal. He points his two index fingers at the bartender, then points one finger on the bar as a sign that he wants another. The bartender clears away all the empty glasses and places one on the bar to be filled. While he waits, Mulder looks over his shoulder and notices a man at the bar watching him. Damn, Kurtzweil, he groans inwardly, can it get any better?

"So, whaddya do?" the bartender asks innocently.

"What do I do?" he repeats. When she nods, he launches into his spiel, guaranteed to win the hearts and minds of children the world over. Or something like that. "I'm the key figure in an on-going government charade, the plot to conceal the truth about the existence of extraterrestrials. It's a global conspiracy, actually, with key players in the highest levels of power, that reaches down into the lives of every man, woman, and child on this planet." Mulder laughs, thinking of his own wife and kids. Damn straight. "So, of course, no one believes me. I'm an annoyance to my superiors, a joke to my peers, and a burden on my wife. They call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder, whose sister was abducted by aliens when he was just a kid and who now chases after little green men with a badge and a gun, shouting to the heavens or to anyone who will listen that the fix is in, that the sky is falling and when it hits, it's gonna be the shit-storm of all time."

She seems to take it well, no screaming, no fainting, and best of all, no eye rolling. "Well. I would say that about does it, Spooky", and takes the drink away from him. Dammit. "Looks like eighty-six is your lucky number."

He takes some bills out of his wallet and declares, "You know, one is the loneliest number."

Mulder looks over his shoulder again and sees the man is no longer at the bar. Oh well, time to drain the lizard and meet up with another. He forgoes the fruitless enterprise of trying the bathrooms, and heads out into the alley. While he's trying to aim at the UFO on the poster, Dr. Alvin Kurtzweil accosts him.

They go through the same song and dance as before, although this time, Mulder knows the crazy old guy isn't just yanking his chain, but is just grazing the tip of the iceberg. And now that I'm mixing my internal metaphors, I know it's time to go home, the laconic man thinks, sliding behind the wheel of his car. It's a bad idea to drive, he knows, but since Scully left the car for him to use after the OPR, he decides he might as well make the most of it, and leaves Kurtzweil behind.

* * *

The Mulder/Scully Residence

As he drives, he debates whether or not to bring Scully along. After all, she's way pregnant, and coming into contact with even dead alien goop might hurt her and the babies. Or he could do the thing solo, like he'll have to do the X-Files for the rest of his life, and Scully would have to bail his sorry ass out of a military jail for trying to transport a messy body.

Neither of the options sound good, but he finds himself driving home rather than towards the base, and he guesses the steering wheel made his mind up for him. Unfortunately, he crashes the damn thing in the driveway just as he's parking it. "Thank God for insurance," he mumbles, stumbling out of the car and fumbling for the house keys.

The door flies open and his lovely, pregnant wife stands before him like a Titian goddess in a pink bathrobe. "Mulder, what," Scully's worries die on her lips as she smells him. Then she looks at the car, or what's left of it, then drags him inside. "You're drunk!" she hisses, not sure whether to shake him, slap him, or sober him up by less violent means.

"Awww, I woke you," he stumbles before landing on the couch, "did I wake you?"

"No, but you're going to wake Mom and the kids if you don't lower your voice," she scolds him, starting to take his shoes off.

"No, get dressed," he tells her, pulling his feet back.

"What are you doing?" she frowns when his eyes light up with an unholy fervor. She really, really doesn't trust that look, drunk or sober. It usually precedes some kind of insanity, like chasing mutants or other ooginess in the dead of night.

"Just get dressed, I'll explain on the way," he says, propelling her toward the bedroom with a sudden alertness and coordination belying his inebriated condition, "good thing your mom's here."

* * *

Montgomery County, Maryland

At the Bethesda Naval Hospital, Mulder bluffs the clerk as quickly and efficiently as he did the last time. He and Scully walk down the hallway, both looking very professional, although she doesn't appear pregnant but rather heavyweight. She'd argued with him about this particular trenchcoat, but he'd said he'd rather have the military think she's a heavy redhead than deny her into the morgue because of her pregnancy. Sullenly, she accepted it, but he knows it's only a temporary victory, especially since he's the one who smashed a headlight and did God knows what else to their car.

They arrive in a room full of bodies on gurneys, wrapped up with sheets and tied with ropes. Mulder stops at one of them and looks at its toe tag.

"This is one of the firemen who died in Dallas?" she asks, joining him next to the body.

"According to the toe tag," he replies, carefully untying it because this time, he actually knows what's under the sheet, and it's definitely not a hot chick.

"And you're looking for...?" Scully prompts, not stopping him because a perverse part of her is just as curious.

"Cause of death," Mulder says simply, still undoing knots. He wonders if Sammy has been working part-time here, the knots are just as bad and unfortunately he doesn't have a pair of scissors on hand.

Scully smirks. "I can tell you that without even looking at him," she says, picking up a paper near the body's head and reads aloud. "'Concussive organ failure due to proximal exposure to source and flying debris.' Mulder, this man's already been autopsied, you can tell by the way he's been wrapped and dressed."

Mulder pulls back the covering sheet, thinking, Ewwwwwwwww, I can see why Page thinks 'sticky' is gross. "Does this fit the description you just read me?" he asks, the slimy sheet almost keeping its open shape, and he suppresses a shudder. Damn, I'm sober now, he sighs inwardly.

Scully walks around to join Mulder on the other side of the gurney, looks down and she's very, very thankful she's over her morning sickness part of the pregnancy. However, it doesn't mean her sense of smell is dead, and she covers her nose and mouth as she comments, "Oh my God. This man's tissue, Mulder..."

"It's like jelly," he says, and immediately regrets it. Aw man, it's gonna take months to enjoy pb&j again.

"There's been some kind of cellular breakdown," she says, still staring at the body, oblivious to his uncharacteristic squeamishness. She snaps on a pair of latex gloves, slides and pushes her fingers gently along the body, professional curiosity overwhelming her own queasiness. "It's completely edematous. There's been no autopsy performed here, no Y-incision, no internal exam," she frowns, realizing something is seriously wrong here, and not just the way this man died.

"You're telling me the cause of death on that report is false?" Mulder asks, grateful to drop the sheet. "That this man didn't die from an explosion or from flying debris?"

Scully's frown disappears as she looks up at him. "Mulder, I can't tell you what killed this man. I'm not sure anybody else could claim to either," she says, an echo of Harrison Ford's "I've got a very bad feeling about this" going through her mind.

It isn't long before they wheel the body into the lab, and Scully voices her suspicions about her husband's knowledge as well as her concerns over getting discovered autopsying the body. Mulder understands, but figures if she didn't get caught last time, this time there's no worry, but aloud tells her they should figure out what's really to blame for the fireman's death and clear their own names. With that, he leaves his pregnant wife in the company of a gelatinous corpse and heads off to the dubious company of Dr. Kurtzweil.

* * *

Dupont Circle  
Washington, DC  
4:50 a.m.

Not that the Dupont Circle is the nicest of places in the daytime, but at night, it's positively seedy, and Dr. Kurtzweil's residence, surrounding by cop cars with flashing lights, is no different. He pops into the apartment, which is swarming with cops, and picks up a couple of staid-looking ob-gyn mags before the New York-accented detective notices him and tells him about the kiddie porn charges. Even though he knows it's a false accusation, there's something in Mulder's gut that just roils at the thought. The FBI agent glances at the two Kurtzweil apocalyptic books, then back at the detective and hands him the odd comment about a pelvic exam appointment.

He really didn't need to step inside, but he knows Kurtzweil is watching and would be suspicious if he didn't show some curiosity. Then he walks out, sees Kurtzweil, and has a lovely chat about false accusations, the Hanta virus, and FEMA's real purpose.

"When we were young men in the military, your father and I were recruited for a project. They told us it was biological warfare, a virus," the passionate doctor says, his large eyes getting bigger with intensity.

"What killed those men?" Mulder asks impatiently, already itching to call his wife and check on her safety.

"What killed them I won't even write about!" Kurtzweil becomes the embodiment of all the paranoia Mulder's sources have been known for, but with good reason. "We have no context for what killed those men, or any appreciation of the scale at which it will be unleashed in the future."

"A plague?"

"The plague to end all plagues, Agent Mulder," the old man declares. "A silent weapon for a quiet war. The systematic release of an indiscriminant organism for which the men who will bring it on still have no cure! They've been working on this for fifty years! While the rest of the world have been fighting gooks and commies, these men have been secretly negotiating a  
planned Armageddon!"

The FBI agent feels a deep sorrow for the man he hardly knows, who seems to have had his finger in as many dubious pies as the Smoking Man. His father. "Negotiating with whom?"

"I think you know," Kurtzweil hedges, his eyes shining with a knowing glint. "The timetable has been set. It will happen on a holiday, when people are away from their homes. The president will declare a state of emergency, at which time all government, all federal agencies, will come under the power of the Federal Emergency Management Agency. FEMA, the secret government."

"And they call me paranoid," Mulder murmurs.

Kurtzweil doesn't care if the agent seems to be laughing at him, he knows what's at stake, or at least has a very disturbing glimpse of it. "Go back to Dallas, Agent Mulder, and dig. Or we're gonna find out along with the rest of the country, when it's too late."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the morgue, Scully is conducting the autopsy. She cuts out a piece of the ribcage and holds it up to look at it. This is definitely not normal, she thinks, as she stares at a chunk which should, by all rights, by opaque and off-white, not clear like ice.

The thing that really gets her heart pumping, however, is when she hears footsteps and sees three men silhouetted in the frosted window of the autopsy room. She may be pregnant with twins, but it's amazing how fast she can hustle if her life depends on it, and pulls the sheet over the body before rushing into the refrigeration room, closing the door behind her.

Breathing quickly and shallowly, she removes her mask and gloves. Her cell phone rings, and either because of the room construction or her perilous situation, the damn thing sounds twice as loud as it should and she hits the answer button as quickly as she can.

"Hey, Scully, it's me," Mulder says, calling from a payphone, as Kurtzweil's paranoia catches up to him.

Perfect timing, honey, the redhead thinks. "Yeah?" she whispers.

"Why are you whispering?" he frowns.

"Mulder, I can't really talk right now," she hisses. He wonders why, then remembers the last time, she was hiding in the meat locker section of the morgue. Oops. Crash the car, and now this. Scully's really gonna kill me now.

"What did you find?" he asks, hoping to make it a fast conversation for her sake.

"Evidence of a massive infection."

"What kind of infection?"

"I don't know," she says, both frustrated and yet exhilarated by this new discovery that has yet to be fully comprehended.

"All right, listen to me. I'm going home and then I'm booking myself on a flight to Dallas. I'm going to get you a ticket too."

"Mulder..," she whines.

"I need you there with me," he whines back. "I need your expertise."

"Mulder, I have a hearing tomorrow..." she tries to be a voice of reason, albeit quietly. Damn, if he didn't get her stuck here in a fridge full of bodies, he's off dragging her all the way back to Dallas when she's over eight months pregnant! Bad enough the first time was for official duty, but then the building blows up anyway and the FBI is pointing fingers at them! What the hell is he thinking?

"I can get you back in time for that hearing, maybe with evidence that will blow it away," he urges her.

"Mulder, I can't!" she hunches over, as if to muffle the sound and her husband's insanity over the phone. "I'm way past the point of common sense here."

"This has nothing to do with common sense," he tells her, and she thinks, Amen to that, and hangs up on him, hearing approaching footsteps.

Mulder, however, thinks that payphone connections are overrated when he pushes the metal thingamajigger impatiently to restore communication. "Scully? Are you there? Scully?"

By this time, she's hiding on the floor under one of the gurneys, doing her damndest to make her large body small without hurting her babies. A substance drips down from above, and she grimaces in disgust. I am going to kick your ass but good, Mulder, she thinks, praying to the good Lord and all the saints that those soldiers hustle their asses out of their ASAP so she can get home and wring her husband's neck.

* * *

FBI Field Office  
Dallas, Texas  
11:21 a.m.

"I'm afraid what you're looking for amounts to a needle in a haystack," the field agent drawls. "This explosion was so devastating there hasn't been much that we've been able to put together just yet." The agent's winding his way around tables covered in specimen and men in white lab coats working on them, not looking behind him to see if the out-of-town agent is following.

Mulder's really working his light blue shirt, dark-striped tie and black suit ensemble, mainly because he hasn't changed since, what, yesterday. "Well, I'm looking for anything out of the ordinary really," he says, sounding and appearing at the top of his game, despite being drunk off his ass less than a few hours ago and not having any sleep since yesterday morning. Was it that long ago? Thank goodness for deodorant and forgiving taxi drivers. "Maybe something from the FEMA offices where those bodies where found?"

"Well, we weren't expecting to find those remains, of course, and we sent 'em off to Washington," the agent replies.

Mulder sounds both optimistic and a touch desperate, since, well, both his and Scully's jobs are still on the line. Besides, he hasn't seen or heard from his wife since the morgue, and it's quite possible that she's back home, changing the locks and maybe getting a good deal of rest, for once. "Well, anything from those offices that you haven't send off to DC yet?"

Now the field agent stops and turns to Mulder. "Some bone fragments turned up in the sift this morning. We thought we had another fatality but we found out FEMA recovered them from an archeological site out of town."

"Have you examined them?" Mulder asks, trying to keep his attention on this man rather than stop and call his wife.

The agent with the helmet hair shakes his head briefly. "No, they're just fossils, as far as we know."

And, like a ray of sunshine, Mulder sees Scully standing by the doorway. He wishes they had some kind of telepathy to tell her how happy and relieved and astounded he is, but instead points at her and says to the field agent, "I'd like you to let this person take a look at them, if you don't mind."

The field agent turns around, sees Scully and turns back to Mulder, then sighs, as if wishing he didn't have to deal with odd requests from DC "Just let me see if I can lay my hands on what you're looking for," and walks off.

When Scully walks over to join him, Mulder says quietly, "I thought you said you weren't coming." And he honestly wasn't expecting her this time around, especially with the twosome in her tummy to give her more than a good enough reason to stay home.

"I wasn't planning on it," Scully's mouth quirks up slightly as if reading his mind. "Particularly not after spending a half an hour in cold storage this morning. But I got a better look at the blood and tissue samples I took from the fireman."

You can take the scientist out of the X-Files, but you can't take the X-Files out of the scientist, he thinks, knowing if he says this aloud, she'll kill him. "And what did you find?"

"Something I couldn't show to anybody else. Not without causing the kind of attention I'd just as soon avoid right now," she ducks her head and lowers her voice, her eyes scanning the area for any unwanted eavesdroppers. Then she checks on the field agent's whereabouts before continuing. "But what those men were infected with contains a protein code that I've never seen before. What it did to them, it did extremely fast." Her eyes bore into him, and again he's reminded of how sharp her mind is, that even the usually infamous pregnancy hormones that would distract other women don't stand a chance with Scully's will and wit.

"How was it contracted?" he bends down slightly, his voice also lowered.

Her sharp blue eyes dull slightly when she admits, "That I don't know. But, unless it can respond to conventional treatment, it could be a serious health threat."

The field agent returns with the fossils with a less-than-optimistic look on his face. "Like I said, these are just fossils, but they weren't near the blast center so they're not going to tell you much."

Mulder nods briskly, handing Scully a vial containing some bone fragments. "Right, okay, why don't you check this out." Without a word, Scully looks through the microscope, then looks up at Mulder, her eyes wide in disbelief. What the hell is going on? she wants to yell, but it's best to show a united front with others, dammit. As if her look confirms his suspicions, Mulder turns to the field agent. "You said you knew the location where these were found?"

"Show you right on the map," the field agent does his version of a business smile before walking away to get the map for them.

* * *

Blackwood, Texas

They're in the middle of a small, dusty Texas town, with neat houses surrounding them. "If this is an archeological or dig site," Scully brushes off the hair blowing in her face, "then I'm Indiana Jones." She's feeling somewhat better since she took a nap on the ride over, added to the nap on the flight from DC to Dallas. Not to mention the horrible sound of Mulder singing to their kids over the phone and mangling Elvis' "The Yellow Rose of Texas" waking her up as they arrived in Blackwood. Her mother laughing hard in the background, however, that was just priceless.

Mulder grins at her, just waiting until he can deliver the punchline. "This is where he marked on the map. Where he said those fossils were unearthed." He squints at her when the dusty wind blows grit into his face. "You're sure those fossils were infected with the same virus you saw at the morgue?"

She nods, "Both sets of bones were porous, as if the virus or the causative microbe were decomposing it."

"And you've never seen that virus before," he probes.

"No."

His squint drops down, then to the side, and he brightens up. "Look at that." They walk over to what appears to be an anomaly in the desert, a brand new playground. He glances back at his wife, who is already comparing the size of the area to parks back home and grins. "That look like new grass to you?"

"Looks pretty green for this climate," she agrees, half-wishing she could kick off her shoes and walk barefoot in this somewhat surreal oasis.

When they reach the playground, Mulder bends down and picks up a piece of the sod. "Ground's dry about an inch down," he says before dropping the new turf. "This was laid recently."

"The equipment looks brand new, too," Scully says longingly.

Mulder shakes his head, hoping the Syndicate will never figure out the way to buy off his wife would be a new playground set. "No irrigation system. Somebody's covering their tracks."

Turning around slowly to look for any clues to maybe fall from the sky, Mulder mentally counts to five and sees three kids riding towards them on bikes. "Hey! Hey!" he calls out as he and Scully walk towards the kids. Fortunately, the three boys stop their bikes.

"Do you boys live around here?" Scully asks, thankful she doesn't sound as out of breath as she feels. It's rare that she feels shorter than her husband, but when his long legs stretch unencumbered by a large belly, that's when she starts resenting, even briefly, Mulder's height.

"Yeah," the middle boy drawls in a somewhat deep voice.

Mulder nods towards the playground. "You see anybody diggin' over there?"

"We're not supposed to talk about it," the boy says, and it appears he's their leader.

Scully looks somewhat amused. "You're not supposed to talk about it? Who told you that?"

"Nobody," the shorter boy replies quickly.

Yeah, like I'll buy it this time, Mulder smirks. "Nobody? The same nobody that built that playground? Nobody buy you those new bikes, too?"

"I think you better tell us," Scully says in a motherly but gently scolding voice.

"We don't even know you," the first boy says defiantly.

Ooh, way to score points, kid, Scully thinks. "Well, we're FBI Agents."

"You're not FBI Agents," he scoffs.

Mulder grins, he can't help it. "How do you know?"

"Cause ya'll look like them Mormons," he laughs, and Scully ducks her head briefly to hide her own smile.

If we brought the kids along, we'd have no comeback, Mulder thinks as he pulls out his badge. "Hey, you wanna buy a badge?"

The boys stare at his badge and then spill. "They left about an hour ago, going that way," the tall boy points, then the other two kids point in the same direction.

"Looks like we're off that way, Indiana," he grins at his wife, who rolls her eyes even as the boys give him a mystified glance before biking in the opposite direction.


	63. Flight The Future II

Texas

en route

There's no traffic around, so Mulder stops at an intersection so they can decide which way to go. Or pretend to decide, anyway.

"Unmarked tanker trucks. What are archeologists hauling out in tanker trucks?"

"I don't know, Mulder."

"And where are they going with it?"

"That's the first question to answer if we're ever going to find them."

"What are my choices?" he asks, peering over her shoulder at the map.

"About a hundred miles of nothing in each direction. We've got two choices. One of them is wrong."

"I think they went left."

"I don't know why, but I think they went right."

Mulder shrugs, then goes straight. "Six years together, Scully. How many times I been wrong? Never. About driving anyway."

It starts to get dark, and Mulder gives her a sheepish look since he knows that she should expect one. "I was right about the bomb, wasn't I?"

"This is great, this is fitting."

"What is?"

"I have to be in Washington in eleven hours for a hearing that may affect one of the greatest decisions in my life-"

"Your life? I'd say it affects both our lives."

"Fine, our lives. And I'm in the middle of nowhere Texas chasing phantom tanker trucks!"

"We're not chasing trucks. We're chasing evidence. Only Scooby Doo would be chasing phantom trucks anyway."

She chooses to ignore the last comment. "Evidence of what exactly?"

"That bomb in Dallas was allowed to go off, to hide bodies infected with a virus. A virus you yourself detected."

"They haul gas in tanker trucks, they haul oil in tanker trucks, they don't haul viruses in tanker trucks."

"Well, maybe they do in these tanker trucks."

"What aren't you telling me here? Mulder?"

"The virus may be extraterrestrial."

"I don't believe this...I don't..." she sputters, then Mulder points. There is a train, with the bodies of tanker trucks strapped to it.

They get out of the car and chase after it, as fast as they can given Scully's ungainliness. Eventually they reach a set of cornfields, surrounded by desert.

"This is weird," Scully remarks.

"Very weird."

"Any thoughts on why anybody'd be growing corn in the middle of the desert?"

"Not unless those are giant Jiffy Pop Poppers." He points at the rounded structures in the distance.

"They remind me more of nursing bras," Scully says with a shrug.

After ten or fifteen minutes of walking, they reach the doors and find that they are not being guarded, so they go in.

"Cool in here. Temperature's being regulated," Scully remarks.

"For the purpose of what?"

"I think we're on top of a larger structure here..."

"Hey Scully, why don't you wait here near the doors, in case we need to make a quick exit."

"Mulder…"

"Please?" He turns puppy dog eyes on her, so she sighs and steps back towards the doorway.

"You hear that?" Mulder calls.

"I hear a humming...Like electricity, high voltage maybe..." He bends down to listen. "Maybe...Maybe not."

The sound of the vents opening makes him look up.

"Scully?"

"Yeah?"

"Get out! Get out!"

Scully quickly does as she's told, and looks back through to see him running from bees. He pauses long enough to let the blowers remove the bees.

"Did you get stung?" he asks quickly. "I didn't."

"The bees didn't make it to me," she tells him. "Hold still," ahe demands, then reaches into her jacket pulling out a small container. Just as he's about to ask her why, she plucks something off his coat. "You had a hitch-hiker."

"Hold onto that, Scully. It might be evidence."

A light grows over the corn, and they both know it's not dawn, so they run into the corn only moments before a pair of Black Helicopters appears above them.

To his dismay he loses track of Scully. "Scully! Talk to me, Scully! Dammit! Scully!"

"Over here, Mulder!" Her voice is almost lost over the sounds of the copters, but he does find her crouched down amongst the corn stalks. Then they begin to run towards their car, and the copters fly off.

"Where'd they go?" Scully asks.

Mulder shakes his head. "I don't know, I'm just glad that they're gone.

* * *

OPR Hearing

Washington, DC

August 27th, 1998

Scully slips into the room two minutes after the review was scheduled to begin. "I apologize for making you wait. I have new evidence. These are bone fragments recovered from the bomb site."

A. gives her a disproving look. "You went back to Dallas?"

"Yes."

Casey's Bar

Meanwhile

"Did you find anything?" Kurtzweil asks eagerly.

"Yeah."

"What did it look like?"

"Bees, corn crops."

OPR Hearing

"And you have conclusive evidence of this?" A.D. Cassidy asks.

"Well, not exactly conclusive. We're working on gathering conclusive evidence."

"Working with who?" The AD's voice is sharp.

Scully hesitates. "With Agent Mulder."

Casey's Bar

"What do you think they're for?" Mulder asks.

"What do you think?"

"A transportation system. The crops polygenically altered, to carry a virus."

"That would be my guess."

"Your guess? I thought you said you had answers?"

"Yeah, well. I don't have them all."

Mulder gives him a disgusted look. "You didn't know my father."

"Look, like I said, your father and I were old friends."

"You've been using me to get information for your god-damned books!"

"Lower your voice!" Kurtzweil admonishes, leaves through the back exit.

Mulder follows him. "Kurtzweil? Kurtzweil!"

"Listen, you'd be shit out of luck if it wasn't for me. I'm putting my ass on the line."

"Your ass? I just got chased through Texas by two unmarked helicopters! And so did my pregnant wife!"

"And why do you think you're here talking to me today? These people don't make mistakes! They could have killed you, your wife, and your unborn offspring last night if they wanted to. Don't you get it?"

* * *

Washington, DC

Late Afternoon

Mulder is sitting in his office a family picture album open as he stares at a young version of Kurtzweil at a family picnic. His family's picnic. Scully comes in, looking quite morose.

"What's wrong?" he asks her. "What did they say?"

"Quantico, teaching autopsy technique. Transfer effective immediately. I already gave Skinner my letter of resignation."

"You can't quit now, Scully," Mulder insists.

"I can, Mulder. I already have. The only reason I'm working at all is because I thought what we were doing was necessary and worthwhile. If not for that, why would I leave my children if we can afford it if I didn't? I told you that I can't teach, not now..."

"I mean the X-Files, that's what you can't quit. We are close to something here! We are on the verge!"

"You're on the verge, Mulder. Please don't make this harder on me."

"After what you saw last night, after all you've seen, you can just walk away?"

"I have, I did, it's done."

"I need you on this, Scully."

"You don't need _me_, Mulder. You never have. I've just held you back. I have to go to my appointment, we'll talk when I get back."

Scully goes out into the hall and Mulder follows her.

"You wanna tell yourself that so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you're wrong."

"Why did they assign me to you in the first place, Mulder? To debunk your work, to rein you in, to shut you down."

"But you saved me. As difficult and as frustrating as it's been sometimes, your goddamned strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over. You've kept me honest...made me a whole person. I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing...I don't know if I want to do this alone...I don't even know if I can...and if I quit now, they win."

"I know." She reaches up and kisses him. "When I get home we'll work on trying to think of a way of convincing them that they need the X-Files to stay open."

After he lets her go, she looks out the window. "My cab's here," she tells him and he winces a bit, obviously feeling guilty that her car is in the shop. It's occurred to him several times that a slightly banged up car is a blessing compared to what could have happened.

"Love you," Mulder tells her.

He walks to the doorway and watches her get in the waiting cab.

* * *

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Scully tells the driver as she shuts the door. "I need to go to Waldon's Medical building. It's on Eighth Street."

The driver nods a little, but says nothing.

Scully looks around frantically for a few seconds. "Dammit, I forgot my purse. I'll be right back." To her surprise, the door won't open. "I need to get out-"

The man ignores her, and starts to pull away from the curb. "No, I need-"

To her relief the window does roll down. "Mulder!" she shouts to her husband who is still standing in the doorway. "Mulder, I need help!"

He's running towards her, but the driver hits the gas and heads in a direction that will not take her to Eight Street.

"Scully?" Mulder shouts and nearly catches up to the cab for a fleeting moment. Just as he's about to the driver sticks a gun out the window, and fires.

Scully screams as she watches her husband fall to the ground.

His prone figure fades away quickly as the driver guns the engine. "Where are you taking me? You bastard! Where the hell are you taking me?"

* * *

An Apartment Just Outside of DC

When the driver tries to get Scully out of the car, she does the best to fight him. Eventually, however, he's able to overpower her and drag her up the stairs. When they reach a door, he knocks.

An annoyed looking woman gives them a look of disbelief. "This is who they wanted? You've got to be kidding me. Well, go on, bring her in."

The driver swears when Scully drags her feet, not wanting to go into the apartment. Although she's not completely shocked, Scully is horrified to discover that she's being left in the care of Agent Fowley. She's roughly pushed onto a couch, and the snarling driver leaves the two women alone.

"What's going on?" Scully demands to know.

Agent Fowley shrugs. "All I know is that I was asked to baby-sit someone that was going to take part in an experiment. I had no idea it was going to be you."

"Do you care?" Scully asks bleakly.

Fowley frowns a little. "I don't think that this was thought through very well. Even if they think this is going to teach Fox a lesson, using you in an experiment that is sure to kill your babies is only going to evoke his wrath."

"What do you mean, kill our babies?" Scully asks, before the truth dawns on her. "Those things! They're going to infect me with one of those things that eats people from the inside out!"

"That's the general idea. The 'thing' is a virus, though."

Scully wraps her arms around her belly, and moans, "no no no no…"

"It is a shame to kill three people when I'm fairly sure that they only really want to eliminate you. Too bad they decided to act now, instead of after your children are born."

To her surprise, Scully thinks she detects a genuine note of regret in the woman's voice and seizes on it. "You can't let them do this." she pleads. "Even if I've done something to deserve this, my babies haven't."

"I know, but I can't just let you go. They'd kill me for defying them."

"But-"

Fowley gives her belly a calculated look. "Dana, how far along are you?"

Scully forces herself not to react to the familiar use of her first name. "Almost thirty-six weeks."

The brunette nods, then bends to rummage through a bag. "That's good. We can work with that." When Scully looks up, she's holding a small glass bottle and a syringe in her hands. "I'm supposed to give the old bastard this stuff for his ulcers, but I've heard that it will do the job we want it to as well."

Before Scully can say anything to protest, the plunger depresses and the liquid races into her vein.

"What did you do to me?" she hisses as the other woman calmly places the syringe on the bedside table.

"The only thing I could to keep them from taking all three of you." Fowley smiles a little. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"What do you- Ohhh!" Scully curls up when the first contraction hits her.

"I realize this isn't a perfect solution, but it's the only thing I can come up with," Diana tells her as she pulls on latex gloves. "I'm sure that Fox will be able to gain custody of the babies later today."

"But they'll be early," she gasps.

"I know. With luck I'll be able to get them to a hospital before they come for you."

* * *

Some Time Later

Thanks to the drug, Scully's labor is hard and fast. She scarcely has time to wonder if Fowley is capable of delivering a baby before the dark-haired woman has delivered two.

"They look good, Dana. On the small side, but they're breathing well." Fowley's voice is surprisingly reassuring.

"I want to hold them." She reaches out with trembling hands.

Fowley shakes her head. "You're really weak-" Scully gets ready to scream at her that they're her babies, give them to her, but Fowley's next words calm her. "I'll tuck them up against you while I clean up." She bends and places one infant on either side of her.

"Thank you," Scully mumbles, already intent on examining the babies. Fowley is right, they're perfect.

"I'll have to take them soon," Fowley warns. "Or there might not be time to get them to Fox."

Scully wants to protest when Fowley reaches out and takes the babies from her, but she doesn't. Better that they be with Mulder than along for whatever horrifying adventure she's in for.

After her babies are carried out of the room, Scully finds that she can barely keep her eyes open. Tired of fighting for the moment, she lets them close.

* * *

"What the hell is going on here?" an angry voice shouts, waking Scully up. Someone pokes her. "What happened?"

"Don't remember…" she lies in a sleepy voice.

"Where's Diana?"

"Isn't she here?"

The man continues to swear, and tells someone else that "they're not going to like this at all."

"Pick her up and put her in the car."

"We're still taking her?" a second voice wants to know.

"I don't see what choice we have."

* * *

Fowley jumps out of the car and pulls the basket off the backseat, praying that neither baby will start crying. The doors near the emergency room are blissfully deserted, which makes her sigh with relief as she pushes a note under the blanket covering the sleeping babies.

"Someone will find you in a minute or two," she whispers as she sets the basket on the ground in front of the doors.

She glances around and sees no one as she drives off, but ten minutes later she realizes that she's being followed. It's on her mind to keep driving, but a gun out the window makes her change her mind.

Before she quite realizes it, she's being forced into the back of a van where Scully and the smoking man are already sitting. "What did you do?" the smoking man asks her, sounding almost casual.

"Me? I didn't do anything."

"The fact that Agent Scully is no longer pregnant, nor are there any babies anywhere we can find suggests that you're lying."

"Oh. She went into labor. I didn't think you wanted the babies for anything, so I dropped them off at the hospital where agent Mulder is."

"You didn't think we wanted them…" he mutters, giving her an incredulous look. "We know she didn't just go into labor. What did you give her?"

"Nothing."

"What did you give her?" he thunders.

"Your ulcer medicine, Cytotec," Fowley admits.

"You didn't think it would interfere with the gestation of the virus?"

"I didn't think about that."

"You should have," The smoking man says grimly. "You're going to wish you had."

Scully and Fowley exchange worried looks, wondering what these men have planned for them.

* * *

That Night

A fog swirls around Mulder's head, but he thinks that he hears something, voices.

"What are you looking at?"

"His charts."

"Put it down."

"I'll put it down when I'm ready to put it down."

Mulder cracks an eye and thinks he sees blond hair before closing it again.

"He's waking up!"

"Mulder?"

The three gunmen are standing around his bed, looking down at him. "Oh god. Scarecrow, Cowardly lion. Toto. What happened?" Mulder asks thickly. His mouth feels like a desert.

"Some guys from a cab company found you lying on the road. Someone shot at you and grazed your temple."

"A few centimeters to the left and we'd all be playing harps right now," Frohike remarks.

It all comes back to him like a dash of cold water, and he struggles to sit up. "Someone took Scully! Where is she?"

"Your boss, Skinner, he's got people looking for her right now," Byers tells him.

Mulder swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "I've go get her. Gotta get her and our babies back."

To his surprise, Skinner comes in and tries to keep him in bed. "Easy now, Mulder. Easy. Tell me where she is, I'll go get her."

"I don't know where she is. But I know someone who might," Mulder insists.

"Mulder…" Byers speaks up hesitantly. "You don't need to look for the babies."

"What are you talking about?" He feels his heart in his throat when he swallows.

Byers throws him a frightened look, and Skinner sighs deeply, then gives him the news. "Three hours ago a pair of newborns were abandoned here at the hospital. The note with them instructed doctors to contact their father - Fox Mulder."

"What? The babies aren't due for a month," Mulder says feeling stupid. How could his sons be here and not Scully?

"They're both okay," Skinner tells him. "A little small, but they're breathing on their own. Their doctor said you could see them as soon as you woke up."

"I'll let a nurse know you're awake, so they can bring them down." Frohike hurries out of the room towards the nurses' station.

"How do you know they're who the note said they are?" To Mulder's embarrassment, he wobbles a bit as he gets to his feet.

"Maggie Scully brought Page in, and they did a preliminary blood test to see if they're related. It's no where near as conclusive as a DNA full test, but it does seem to indicate that in all probability they are your boys."

Mulder winces, thinking of how much Page hates needles. "All the more reason for me to go find their mother for them."

"How far do you think you can make it out there? How far do you think they'll let you make it, because they'll know the second you walk out that door," Skinner reminds him.

Venting a frustrated sigh, Mulder sits back down on the bed.

A cheerful looking nurse pushing a cart comes into the room. "Oh good, Dad's awake! Your little boys have been waiting to meet you."

"Oh." As Mulder peers down at the two infants he feels a sense of awe. These babies are the smallest of all the newborns that have ever been in his family, and they're the only ones who have had his hair. It's light and sparse, but definitely brown. They have Scully's ears, though, and her nose…

"You're looking a little pale, Dad," The nurse says, sounding concerned. "I think we should make this a short visit. You can see them again whenever you like."

"Thank you." As soon as she's gone he looks up at his friends with heavy grief in his eyes. "They need their mother, not just me. Can't you understand that?"

"What can we do to help?" Langly asks.

"You can strip Byers naked."

"What?" squeaks Byers.

"I need your clothes."

"I…" Byers looks miserable. "At least all of you look away."

"Oh, for God's sake," Frohike says what they're all thinking, but they all turn around while Byers and Mulder change clothes.

As soon as he escapes with Frohike and Langly, Mulder pulls out his cell phone. "Kurtzweil? It's Mulder. I need to meet you in the usual place."

* * *

Casey's Bar

Southeast Washington, DC

The Alley

I doesn't surprise Mulder to see the Well Dressed Man staring at him instead of Kurtzweil, but it does make him a bit sad.

"Mr. Mulder."

"What happened to Kurtzweil?"

"He's come and gone."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I want to know where Scully is."

"The location of Agent Scully and the means to save her life. Please…" The Well Dressed Man motions Mulder into his car, and they both trade wary glances as they take their seats.

A minute later Mulder finds himself looking down at a familiar vial of liquid and a piece of paper with coordinates.

"A weak vaccine against the virus Agent Scully has by now been infected with. It must be administered within 96 hours. That leaves you little time to get to those coordinates."

"You're lying."

"No. But I have no means of proving otherwise. They've taken your wife to give her the virus, and I assume that they've done so...it's rather fortunate that your infant sons are free from the possibility of infection, since it'd surely kill them both. As for the virus is extraterrestrial. We know very little about it except that it was the original inhabitant of this planet."

"A virus..."

"What is a virus, but a colonizing force that cannot be defeated? Living in a cave, underground, until it mutates-and attacks."

"This is what you've been conspiring to conceal? A disease?"

"No. For God's sake, you've got it all backwards! AIDS, the Ebola virus, on the evolutionary scale they are newborns. This virus walked the planet long before the dinosaurs."

"What do you mean walked?"

"Your aliens, Agent Mulder. Your little green men who arrived here millions of years ago. Those that remained have been lying dormant, underground since the last ice age in the form of an evolved pathogen, waiting to be reconstituted by the alien race when it comes to colonize our planet - using us as hosts. Against this we have no defense, nothing but a weak vaccine. Do you see why it was kept secret? Why even the best men, men like your father, could not let the truth be known. Until Dallas we believed that the virus would simply control us, that mass infection would make us a slave race. Imagine our surprise when they began to gestate."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"For the sake of my children. Once it's learned what I have told you, my life will be over." The Well Dressed Man looks at his driver. "If I can't save them, I must give someone else the means to save their lives, as well as the lives of countless others." He pauses. "Such as the lives of your children."

"Where's Kurtzweil?" The other man says nothing. "I'd like to get out of the car now. Stop the car!"

"Driver." The driver pulls over. "The men I work with will stop at nothing to clear the way for what they believe is their stake in the inevitable. I was ordered to kill Dr. Kurtzweil, as I was ordered to kill you." Without missing a beat the Well Manicured Man shoots the Limo Driver in the back of the head.

"Trust no one, Mr. Mulder. Get out of the car."

"Why? The upholstery is already ruined."

"Get out of the car!" Mulder does so. "You have precious little time, Mr. Mulder. What I've given you the alien colonists don't yet know exists. The vaccine you hold is the only defense against the virus. Its introduction into an alien environment may have the power to destroy the delicate plans we have so assiduously protected for the last 50 years. "

"What do you mean, may have?"

"Find Agent Scully. Only then will you realize the scope and grandeur of the project. Go. Go now!" The Well Dressed Man walks back to his car. "Good luck." He adds softly.

Flames shoot up merrily, as soon as the car door slams. Mulder walks away, his shoulders hunched with determination.

* * *

Late That Night

Hospital

"Daddy!" Emily shrieks when she sees Krycek walking towards her. He holds a finger up to his lips, and looks around. Fortunately the girl seems to be the only one in the hallway. She holds up her arms, and he obligingly picks her up.

"Hey," he whispers into her ears. "You're not supposed to call me that when your auntie, uncle, or Grandma are around," he reminds her. As part of a "game" he and Missy have taught her not to talk about him when disapproving relatives can hear. Krycek supposes they'll slip up sometime and he'll be around his lover and their daughter when one of them is around at some point, but so far it's worked.

"I know. I'm sorry," she says contritely, then smiles. "They're not here, though. Grammy is wit my cusins and I don't know where Auntie Dana or Uncle Fox is."

"Are," he corrects absent-mindedly. "I know they're not. You and Mommy are going to go to Grandma's so you can make your cousins feel better though, right?"

"Yup. Hey, I gots new cousins too!" Emily informs him.

"Boys or girls?" Krycek asks, playing along.

Emily wrinkles her nose. "Boys. They don't have names yet."

"Alex." a voice calls.

He grins when Missy comes out of a nearby ladies' room. "Hi Babe."

Missy glares down at their daughter. "I thought you promised me if I let you use a different stall you wouldn't come out of the bathroom before me."

"I forgot," Emily says cheerfully.

Krycek sets her on her feet. "Where are they babies?"

"They're keeping them in the nursery for now, since they're not exactly sick, and my sister isn't here…" Missy trails off, her eyes suddenly shiny with tears. "We don't even know where they took her."

"If anyone can find her, it'll be Mulder. I've never met a more tenacious ba-" He looks down at Emily. "Badge holder."

Missy tries to smile, but doesn't quite pull it of. "I'm supposed to go to my Mom's, so…"

"I'll be here." When she looks surprised, he goes on. "These little boys are your nephews, Emily's cousins… nothing is going to happen to them. At least, nothing worse than already has happened," he amends. "Not to mention I sort of owe him one - and no I won't explain why. I just do."

"God I love you," Missy says fiercely, hugging him quickly.

He kisses her…until a little voice says, "eeeww."

Later, after they leave, he goes over to the nursery window. Many hospitals no longer have old-fashion nurseries, but this one does. It reminds Krycek of the polar bear exhibit at the zoo. Except instead of holding bears that will eat him if given half a chance, his two almost-nephews are behind the glass. He stares at the small brown-haired newborns and decides that not _all _Mulders are bad.

* * *

Wilkes Land Antarctica

48 Hours Later

Mulder is driving a Sno-Cat and the gas gauge keeps flipping down to indicate the tank is empty. Unfortunately, he's had no more luck finding gas for the thing this time around than last. He taps it with his finger a few times, hoping that it's just frozen, but each time the gauge returns to empty.

"Oh shit!" He forces the Sno-Cat to go a little farther, and finally crests a hill that allows him to see the group of pretend igloos.

As soon as he gets out of the vehicle, he grabs the coat he brought for Scully and races to the station through the heavy snow. Just before he reaches the domes, he falls through the ice as it collapses beneath his feet and he drops into a deep crevice. He lands on a metallic surface or structure covered in the snow with a vent blowing out hot air and forming a pocket in the ice.

There's a cylindrical tunnel there, and he pushes on, skidding along at some points, almost running at others. He passes a corridor and comes face to face with a prehistoric man encased in ice.

Eventually he finds the place he's had nightmares about for years - the room filled with frozen dead people who served as incubators for the alien virus. His hands are shaking when he finds the right pod, and brushes the frost from its surface.

Diana Fowley's face stares up at him with a look of horror. Surprise makes him stumble back a couple of steps.

"Mulder!" a hissed whisper catches his attention, and he spins to see Scully. Although she looks exhausted, she's in much better shape than he ever expected.

"Oh my God, Scully. Are you okay? What am I saying, of course you're not, but you're not infected with the virus." He passes her the coat since she's shivering.

"No. Something in the stuff she gave me to induce labor interferes with the…virus. They infected her instead." Scully suddenly shudders. "They said those…things are going to be hungry when they're born, so it's good that I'm here."

"Jesus, Scully. Nothing like implying to a person that they're here for monster food."

Scully nods a little, but stares at Fowley's face behind the thick green glass, or whatever it is covering the front of the case. "We've got to get her out of there, Mulder."

"You've become friends?" he asks, bemused.

"Not really. But she's here because she defied them by delivering the babies and getting them to safety. They're okay, aren't they?" she asks anxiously.

"Both fine. They're being guarded by law and family."

"Good." She looks at Fowley and shivers. "This is what they do to punish people who are on their side."

Mulder finds a canister on a pod that isn't too tightly held and rips it off. Using it as a hammer, he smashes at the glass until it cracks, releasing a flood of greenish liquid, that flows out revealing Fowley's nude body.

"Mulder, is she…"

He shakes his head, and pulls out the vaccine vial and syringe and hurriedly injects the vaccine into his former friend. Fowley begins to gag when he pulls the shriveling tube out of her mouth.

"You've got to breathe, Fowley," Mulder tells her, and she begins to gasp in air. "Scully? Any advice?"

"We've got to wrap her up, and get the hell out of here before someone comes back."

"My coat will do," he says, shucking it off, and thinking if he had to do this all a third time, he'd being half a dozen coats so he'd be sure not to get hypothermia. Not that he wants to ever do it again.

"You'll freeze, Mulder."

"I'll live," he says grimly, as he wraps Fowley up. Then he notices that she's not making much of an effort to move air. "Breathe! Can you breathe?" He rolls her on her side and pounds on her back until she coughs up green slime.

"I'm so cold," Fowley says in a whisper.

"It's okay, we're going to get you out of here." Mulder gives Scully a worried glance. "Are you going to be okay? It's only been a few days since you delivered…"

"I can hold my own if you can hold her," Scully tells him as she watches him hoist Fowley into a fireman's hold.

The two of them make their way out as quickly as they can, but pain slows Scully down, and Mulder's burdened by carrying the unconscious woman. Ice begins to dissolve in the other pods, and they see movement now and then, wishing they didn't.

"We've got to keep moving," Mulder pants.

They finally reach the vent. "Fowley reach up and-"

"Mulder! She's not breathing!"

::Same damn spot. Must be something hinky here about the air pressure.:: Mulder thinks drearily as he lowers Fowley to the ground.

Fortunately, Scully knows CPR much better than he does, and has Fowley breathing again quickly.

"You first, Scully," he tells her. She begins to pull at the vent, and gets herself up it.

As Mulder is pushing Fowley's limp body up to Scully something fights its way through the ice and begins to swat at his feet.

"Mulder!" Scully looks down at him anxiously, still holding onto Fowley.

"Pull her away from the vent so I can come up!"

Mulder kicks the seeking claws away and pulls himself up. It doesn't take very long for them to get out of the tunnel, but once they get onto snow, Mulder runs into trouble. He keeps stumbling as he tries not to drop Fowley.

Fowley is waking up a bit, so Scully shouts. "Let me help you!"

He hesitates until he realizes that Fowley is strong enough to put her arms around their necks and help herself a little. They don't get very far before the ice is cracking behind them, and they soon are overtaken by the hole that forms under them.

A moment later the three of them fall back to the ground in a rain of snow that falls off the spaceship they've just escaped from.

Even though he's seen it before, Mulder is still in awe. "Scully, you must see this!"

"I see it, Mulder. I don't know what it is, but I see it."

She expects him to argue, but she realizes that he's even more unconscious than Fowley is. All she can do is huddle by the two prone figures and watch the ship shoot off into the horizon.

* * *

Early Morning

While doctors fuss over Fowley, and another doctor examines Scully, Mulder runs up to check on his newborn sons. They're sleeping peacefully, and fortunately a doctor is looking at them so he doesn't have to hunt for one.

"Mister Mulder." The doctor smiles at him. "I heard that you found your wife."

"News travels fast," Mulder replies in surprise.

"They called me as soon as word came in that she was here. I expect she'll want to come and see them soon."

"Very soon," he agrees, thinking about the argument his wife had minutes before with the doctor trying to examine her before she ran off. "How soon before we can bring them home?"

"Given that they're three days old and both weigh more than five pounds, I'd say they can be discharged as soon as possible. Will your wife be staying over night?"

"I really don't think so. She's letting them examine her, but she's in far better shape than the other agent who was taken too. We never would have gotten away if she wasn't okay."

"In that case-"

"Mulder!" Before he can even turn his head, Scully is by his side, looking down at their sons. "Oh my God, they're so beautiful."

"You're looking well, considering what I've heard of your ordeal," the doctor tells her. "I was just telling your husband that you can discharge the babies as soon as you'd like, since they're doing very well."

"Tonight, Mulder?" she asks him anxiously.

"Unless you'd rather get a good night's sleep first-"

"No, tonight."

"Sure."

"There is one thing before you take them home-" They look up at the doctor. "It's easier on you if you fill out their birth certificates before you leave the hospital. Less paperwork than it would be to file them later."

"Oh…" Mulder says, "We weren't really expecting to have to make a final decision until next month." He fails to mention that they've never pre-named one of their children yet.

"I understand, a lot of parents of early babies haven't picked names. If you decide on them, let a nurse know. I'll be back later."

Mulder drags a chair over and gets Scully to sit. She picks up one of her sons, and cradles the infant in her arms. "I was thinking about the woman who called herself Invisigoth-"

"Invisigoth Mulder, I like it."

She swats him, but smiles. "- and how much she loved David. Did you know that the name even means 'beloved'?"

"David Mulder isn't as cool as Invisigoth, but it's pretty good." He peers at the infant in her arms. "What do you say, kid, would you like to be David?" The baby flails an arm. "I think he volunteered."

"You know it's just a reflex."

"I don't think so. Our babies have a history of being brilliant, so I'm sure he was responding to the question." She doesn't argue with him, so he reaches down and picks up the other newborn. "How about you, what do we call you?"

"We're not calling him Invisigoth either," Scully warns.

"I was actually thinking of Jared. It goes well with David."

"It does. Do you know anyone named Jared?"

He doesn't want to admit that he got the idea from the show The Pretender. "No, I just like the name."

"Me too," Scully says. "David and Jared, are you ready to go home?"

"Are we ready?" Mulder asks, trying not to laugh.

"We've got to be."

* * *

Melissa Scully's

Washington, DC

Two Days Later

Melissa watches as Alex carries their sleeping daughter into her bedroom. After a couple of minutes he comes back, looking pleased with himself.

"She wants to see her cousins tomorrow," Missy tells him. "I told her that it depends on how her auntie is feeling."

"A lot better than they intended her to feel," Krycek says as he sits on the couch and pulls her near him.

"This Fowley woman, why did she do it?" Missy kisses his neck. "It's not that I'm not grateful, but nothing Dana or Fox ever said about her leads me to believe that she's their friend."

"That's because she isn't. My theory is that she never expected Scully to live through the experience, and was shocked to find out she'd be given the virus instead because of her role in getting your nephews to safety."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Anyone can see the looks she gives Mulder. It would have suited her just find to swoop in and take Scully's place if he was suddenly left a grieving widower and father."

"That's awful," Missy comments before burying her face in his neck. He uses his good hand to rub her back.

"It didn't happen that way, so don't worry about it. Your sister's fine, your nephews are fine-"

"That's something we need to talk about," Missy says after pulling away. "We've got to tell them about us, sooner or later."

"Can't it be later?" Alex asks plaintively. "After we've gotten married and had a couple more kids so your brother-in-law won't shoot me. Not that I'm afraid of him." He adds. "I just don't think you or Scully want us dueling."

"Oh Alex." Missy shakes her head but lets the conversation drop. For now.

* * *

Washington, DC OPR

A Week Later

AD Cassidy's voice is crisp. "In light report on these findings and in light of the narrative I am now hearing, my official report is incomplete-pending these new facts I'm being asked to reconcile. Agent Scully, though there is now direct evidence that a federal agent MAY have been involved in the bombing, the other events you've laid down here are too incredible on their own, and quite frankly implausible in their connections."

"What is it you find incredible?" Scully asks impatiently.

"Well, where would you like me to start? So many of the events described in your report defy belief. Antarctica is a LONG way from Dallas, Texas, Agent Scully. I- I can't very well submit a report to the Attorney General that alleges the links you've made here. Bees and corn crops do not quite fit under the rubric of domestic terrorism."

"No, they don't."

"Most of what I find in here is lacking a coherent picture of ANY organization with an attributable motive. What happened to you, your sons and Agent Fowley is regrettable, but there is no clear culprit. I realize that the ordeal you've endured has clearly affected you, and Agent Fowley has yet to be able to give us her own account. But the holes in your account leave this panel no choice but to delete these references to our final report to the Justice Department-until which time hard evidence becomes available that would give us cause to pursue such an investigation."

Instead of seething at the lumping of hers and Fowley's experiences, Scully walks over to her and hands her the vial containing the bee she took off of Mulder. "I don't believe the FBI currently has an investigative unit qualified to pursue the evidence in hand."

* * *

The Capital Mall

Once she walks outside, she finds Mulder sitting on a bench by the reflecting pool reading a newspaper.

He points at an article. "There's an interesting work of fiction on page 24. Mysteriously, our names have been omitted. They're burying this thing, Scully. They're just going to dig a new hole and cover it up."

"I told OPR everything I know. What I experienced, the virus, how it's spread by the bees from pollen in transgenic crops."

"You're wasting your time, Scully. They'll never believe you, not unless your story can be programmed, categorized, or easily referenced."

"Then we'll go over their heads."

"No. No. How many times have we been here before, Scully? Right here. So close to the truth and now with what we've seen and what we know to be right back at the beginning with nothing."

"This is different, Mulder."

"No it isn't. You were right to want to quit. Stay home with the kids, and don't keep sacrificing yourself for a hollow personal cause of mine. I thought we lost you, I can't keep letting that happen to you, or to them. Just look after them full time like you want to."

"I don't think I can, Mulder. Not anymore. The kids need us both, but so does the rest of the world. That virus that Fowley was exposed to, whatever it is, it has a cure. You held it in your hand. How many other lives can we save? Look. If I quit now, they win."

He stands slowly, taking her hand, and they walk away.


	64. Hollywood AD: flashback portion

September 1st, 1998

Sitting in a rocking chair, Mulder studies Jared as he feeds him a bottle. ::You know, Kid, having both Mommy and Daddy being on leave while we wait for the red tape to be cut so our office is reopened. The two of you are a lot of work! That's one of the reasons Daddy is not going to encourage Mommy to want another baby for a couple of years. You're going to run us ragged, and I promised your little brother that he'd still be born. Six kids sounds great to your old man.::

When he hears Scully come in, he doesn't look up before speaking to her. "Have you given any thought yet to that zygosity test? They look identical to me, but they say that the Olsen twins aren't even though they look just-" He trails off when he notices that Scully looks teary. "What's wrong?"

"You're feeding my baby."

"Oh, did you want to?" he asks, offering her the bottle.

"No."

"Ah." It's that again. She didn't mention it until they got home, but before the consortium abandoned her to be eaten by the developing virus after it gestated, they'd given her a few injections in hopes of riding her body of the drug faster. Apparently they'd still had hopes for infecting her too, not just Fowley. One of the things they'd tried had dried up her milk. Although he tries to be sympathetic, he can't help but think that it might be for the best. Trying to feed two newborns all by herself might have done her in, particularly since she'd be returning to work when he does.

"You think I'm being silly," she says as she picks up David, who'd been sleeping up until then.

"I don't think you're being silly. But I don't think you should feel guilty. You don't love them any less than their sisters and brother, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then they'll be fine, They might get another cold or two, but that won't matter much in the long run."

"You have to be so damn reasonable, don't you?" she accuses, but she looks a lot less sad.

"I can try harder to make this a dysfunctional family, if you'd like," Mulder invites with a grin. "But I'm not sure the kids will cooperate. They don't seem to get upset by new babies the way they're supposed to."

Scully finally smiles. "It just might be that they've accepted the fact that parents periodically bring home new siblings as the natural order of things."

"Good for them," Mulder says with a sigh, then moves to burp his son. "Let's hope that the sibling rivalry fairy skips over this house all together."

"Like you say everyday, Mulder, anything is possible."

"I don't say that every day."

"Almost every day."

"No more than once a month."

By the time the mock argument wraps up, the twins are sleeping, and the other kids call from downstairs, wanting their dinners too.

::Does life get any better than this?:: Mulder wonders, even sparing a smile for a shadow that seems to wave at him in the dark hallway. ::Great kids, a haunted house...::

* * *

Second week of September 1998

::This is easy. I can do this, no problem.:: Mulder thinks as he stirs spaghetti sauce with his right hand. David is draped over his left arm, sleeping soundly, undisturbed by his father's movement.

::It's fine that he won't sleep when he's not being held. Sure, it's fine.:: He wishes that he had a free hand to rub his eyes with, but all he can do is to turn his head when he yawns so he doesn't drool into dinner. ::This is probably temporary. He slept in his crib fine up until last night.::

Mulder stops stirring the pot and stares out into space – at least until his newborn son whimpers and scrunches his face, looking like he's going to wake up all the way. "You know, kid, I should have known. As soon as I got kids who took after me in coloring, I'd get ones who'd take after me in sleeplessness too." Although that's not strictly true. Jared has Mulder's dark hair too, and sleeps in a crib like a normal baby. So far. As it is, Mulder's rediscovering moves he hasn't used since slow dancing at the senior prom.

A moment later, a small figure darts into the kitchen. Completely ignoring his father at the stove, Sammy laboriously pushes a chair up against the counter and climbs up onto it.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Mulder asks his older son while swaying in place.

"Getting cookies," Sammy tells him brightly.

"No you're not. Haven't you noticed that I'm cooking?"

"Yup."

His father makes a swatting motion with the wooden spoon he's still holding. Luckily, he doesn't get sauce everywhere. "Get down, You. First dinner, then cookies."

"O-kay." Sammy slides off the chair and without being asked pushes it back to the table.

Before the little boy can wander off, Mulder tells him, "Sit in a chair and tell your old Dad about your first day of school." He and Scully can scarcely believe that they now have two children old enough for preschool, but the calendar marches on. "Did you like it?"

"Yup."

Mulder nods. "Were Page and Emily nice to you?" It's been his fear that the girls would gang up on Sammy and not let him play with anyone else, or else completely ignore him.

"Uh huh, but I played with different kids at playtime. That's okay, right?"

"Of course it is. You can have different friends than your sister or cousin do."

"Good." Tilting his head, Sammy stares at Mulder's arm. "How come you holding David?"

To everyone's surprise, Sammy is able to tell his brothers apart at a glance, even better than Mulder, Scully or Maggie can. They have no idea why. Scully still hasn't made up her mind about testing their DNA yet, but Mulder is pretty sure they're identical. Scully once remarked that she wished that she'd gotten to see if there were one or two placentas, but the idea just made Mulder's stomach wobbily.

"He won't sleep in his crib."

"Oh. His crib got sheep sheets?"

Mulder blinks. "Yes he does, why do you ask?"

"Them sheets smell funny. I don't like it."

Mulder is about to ask him why he knows that when he remembers that the cribs and Sammy's toddler bed use the same size sheets. "What do they smell like?"

The little boy just wrinkles his nose. "Yucky soap."

"Good to know. Will you tell everyone that dinner's ready, please?"

"Yup!"

For the hell of it, after dinner Mulder strips the sheet off the baby's crib mattress. He holds it to his nose and sniffs, but it just smells like a sheet to him. Shrugging, he balls it up and tosses it in the hamper before grabbing another sheet.

Pausing, he calls down the hallway. "Sammy, do the duck sheets smell yucky too?"

"No Daddy."

He doesn't hold much hope that it will help, but as soon as he puts the new sheet on he lifts David out of the baby carrier he's been fussing in since Mulder put him down.

The moment the baby is in the crib, he yawns and falls asleep.

"I'll be damned," Mulder whispers, shutting off the light.

* * *

October 1998

As Skinner briefs them, Mulder is barely able to object when he notices a familiar figure sitting in the office, listening with rapt attention to Skinner's every word. To be honest, he's paying more attention than either Mulder or Scully.

"Yesterday, a small pipe bomb ripped through the crypt of Christ's Church here in DC. There were no casualties, no thefts, no note making any demand," Skinner says.

Trying not to yawn, Scully asks, "Who's taking credit for it?"

"Nobody."

Right on cue, the man speaks into a tape recorder. "She's Jodie Foster's foster child on a Payless budget. He's like A...Jehovah's Witness meets Harrison Ford's 'Witness'."

Scully shoots Mulder a look, and he shrugs. "Uh, Christ's Church. Isn't that, uh, Cardinal O'Fallon's church?" she asks.

"Yes. O'Fallon's residence is adjacent to the crypt," Skinner replies.

"Who's Cardinal O'Fallon?" Mulder pretends to have no idea, since no one would expect him to know.

"Cardinal "Oh-fallen," perhaps." Is recorded just before a cell phone rings.

"Um...He's one of the most powerful men in the church today. His name often comes up as a possibility for the first American pope."

"Oh. I-I don't want to be myopic here, sir, but this looks like a straight up terrorist act for the A.T.F."

"Myopic." The man records, still ignoring his phone.

"Yes, it does." Skinner agrees

The ringing is driving Mulder batty. "Are you going to answer your phone?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't want to be rude." He goes for his phone, missing Scully's look of disbelief.

"Sir, who the hell is this guy?" Mulder asks while the man natters on his phone.

"This is Wayne Federman. He's an old buddy of mine from college. He's a writer out in Hollywood now and he's working on an FBI-based movie. He's asked me to give him access."

"A screenwriter?" Scully asks in a tone of careful disdain.

"It's actually...writer/producer," Wayne says, then continues his phone conversation.

"Well, that's actually just a hindrance-slash-pain in the neck."

"Yo, yo, yo. Agent Mulder, I don't want to eat your lunch. I'm just here for some procedural flavor - just a taste."

"Why do I get the sense that the song 'me and my shadow' is going to be in my head all day?" Mulder mutters.

Wayne gives him an ingratiating smile. "The Skinman's said that you come at things maybe a little fahkatke, a little Star Trekky, which is the exact vibe I'm looking for... for this thing I'm doing. It's a Silence of the Lambs meets Greatest Story Ever Told type thing. It's...Beautiful, and I will not be in your way. I'll be strictly Heisenbergian - like a hologram."

Giving Scully a pained look, he reminds himself that Wayne is a temporary annoyance.

"Agent Mulder, Mr. Federman will accompany you today to Christ's Church where he will act as an observer on this case. You will extend to him every courtesy and protection you would a friend of mine and a friend of the Bureau's. Agent Scully, I require your services here for the morning."

Ignoring Wayne's suggestive murmur, Mulder asks, "Sir, have I pissed you off in a way that's more than normal?"

* * *

Christ's Church

Washington, DC

After what seems like an endless drive, Mulder and Wayne pull up in front of a cathedral.

"Just curious if she's more than your partner," Wayne says, continuing the interrogation he started when they got in the car.

Mulder holds up his right hand so sun glints off his wedding ring.

"Oh, so that's why she puts up with you."

He shrugs. "That and she doesn't want to raise five kids on her own."

"Married for a while, then, huh?"

"Almost five years." When he sees Wayne's knowing look he adds defensively, "The new babies are twins."

"Un huh."

They get out and quickly locate the cardinal. Wayne makes a show of being quiet.

"Cardinal O'Fallon can you think of anyone who might make an attempt on your life?"

"The church always has enemies, Agent Mulder."

"The size of the bomb would have limited its destruction to just the crypt itself. Is there anything down there worth targeting?"

"Not really. Just some old bones, artifacts, relics...documents that we store down there in the cold. We like to think of it as God's Refrigerator."

"That's a great line," Wayne says, recording it as soon as the cardinal thanks him.

"Wayne, shut up," Mulder orders. "You were saying, Cardinal?"

"No treasures to the outside world. Things of negligible monetary value...but great spiritual value to the church - ancient devotional texts...and medieval relics."

Wayne and the cardinal banter as they go down the stairs, saving Mulder from having to make small talk. After a while they find themselves in a spidery cavern.

"Who comes down to the crypt here?" Mulder asks.

"Only myself. There are a half a mile of catacombs here." O'Fallon turns on a light. "I like to walk here during lunch." He leads them to an area of rubble. "That's where the bomb went off."

Mulder looks around. "Well, my instinct, Cardinal is to see this desecration of the dead less as a murder attempt and more as a terrorist act - a message..." He breaks off when a phone begins to ring.

After a couple of minutes they discover the phone and the body it's with.

"Would that be St. Jude's cell phone, Cardinal?" Wayne asks nervously.

"No. That's Micah Hoffman," Mulder tells him and then shows him the phone which spells out the dead man's name.

* * *

Adams Morgan District

Washington, DC

With Wayne in tow, they arrive at the door of a low rent apartment. "This should be it here."

Scully objects when he jimmies the lock with his kit. "Mulder, we should have a warrant."

"Hey, it's only the Constitution. No big deal," Wayne says sarcastically.

"And give it to who?" Mulder asks. "Dead men don't seem too impressed by warrants."

The inside of the apartment is decorated with art and bomb making equipment.

"Dis-feng shui," Wayne remarks, earning an odd look from Mulder.

"Mulder, sorry to denigrate a third of your Trinity, but, uh, looks like Hoffman was killed by one of his own bombs."

"Well, from Dharma bum to Dharma bomb."

Giving Wayne a look Mulder says, "I knew, uh, Hoffman was a master potter..."

"Yeah, well, it appears he was a master calligrapher as well. Look, Mulder, they've got gum arabic and sodium hydroxide here." They smell unpleasant. "Whoo, these would be used to, uh, to age the ink and the paper prematurely. It's a...it's a forger's trick. "

"Well, from counterculture to counterfeiter."

"All right, one more pun and I pull out my gun," Mulder says, staring hard in Wayne's direction. "I don't care if you are Skinner's friend."

"You are fearless, I guess," Wayne says. "Most people fear the Skinman."

Mulder ignores him. "Scully, look at that." He picks up a piece of parchment with writing he can't read covering it. "Christos. Looks like a religious text. Can you read Greek at all?"

"Well, it's pretty rusty but it looks like some kind of lost Gospel. A gospel of Mary Magdalene, and, uh, an account of Christ's life on Earth after the Resurrection."

"After?"

"Yeah. It's a heretical text, Mulder - mythical, I should say, but long rumored to be in existence."

"Like the book of Mormon," Wayne suggests.

"I don't think he sent for this in the mail, Wayne," Scully says.

"Well, what would Micah Hoffman be doing with heretical religious texts?" Mulder asks.

"I think the question is: What would Hoffman be doing forging them?" Scully asks.

"We all have to have hobbies, Scully."

Wayne clears his throat. "I think the real question, Agents, is: What might O'Fallon be doing with Hoffman's forgeries?" They both look up at him in grudging respect. "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows."

When Mulder glares at him, Wayne holds up his hands. "Don't shoot!"

* * *

Wayne trots along behind Mulder as they go through the crypt, trying to keep up on shorter legs. It shouldn't be as hard for him as it is for Scully, but it seems to take him more effort to keep up so he's not left in the dark behind the beam from Mulder's flashlight.

"I like the way you guys work - no warrants, no permission, no research. You're like studio executives with guns," Wayne says when they finally slow down a little. Should I call you Agent Mulder or Mr. Mulder, or, like do you have a nickname or something like that?" They hear a faint clicking, and Wayne laughs nervously. "That wasn't you cocking your gun, right?"

"Shh, shh, shh, shh."

"I bet you say that a lot around your house, what with having a million kids and all."

Ignoring him, Mulder shines the light around the crypt, looking for the source of the noise.

"Just ignore me."

"What's that?" Mulder asks, then approaches a table. There's parchment on it. "Looks like the same gospel of Mary Scully ID'd over at Hoffman's place."

"So, is this a forgery, or is this the real thing?"

"Well, there is no 'real' Gospel of Mary, Federman. The, uh, original would be a fake. "

"All right, so is this a real fake or a fake fake or...?" Wayne wants to know. They both jump when a cell phone rings and echoes loudly. "Sorry, that's me."

Wayne wanders off talking into his phone while Mulder examines the parchment. When he returns he looks like he's just seen a ghost. ::Or something creepier than that, since no one reacts this badly to the ghosts in our house.:: Mulder decides. ::Maybe it's because they're just little kids.::

"You okay, Wayne? You're looking a bit peaked."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Wayne answers distractedly. He jumps when Mulder accidentally bumps his flashlight against the wall.

* * *

Diner

Wayne's hand shakes minutely as he tries to drink his juice after explaining that he'd seen dancing bones had preformed for him just an hour earlier.

"I didn't see anything," Mulder protests when Scully turns to look at him. "It's all Wayne's idea."

"Now, Wayne, I'm sure that it was dark in there and that your eyes were playing tricks on you and you've been influenced by ghost stories and horror movies that take place in crypts and graveyards and you hallucinated this vision of these dancing bones trying to reconstruct this bowl," Scully says soothingly.

"I bet your kids even believe that calm tone," Wayne says sourly. "No, I didn't hallucinate. That was mechanical or C.G.I."

"Federman, that wasn't a movie." Mulder chuckles. "That was real life."

"The difference being?" Wayne asks. Neither knows how to answer.

"Well, I have got my flavor here, so I appreciate all your help. I've got a movie to write."

Mulder gives him an amazed look. "You're leaving? You don't want to get to the bottom of this?"

"Not especially. This just isn't going to work out for a movie script. There's nothing sexy or exciting about a bunch of fake manuscripts done up by someone with a steady hand and too much free time."

"Wayne, you know, sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction," Mulder says defensively.

"Well, fiction is quicker than truth and cheaper. You want my advice? You're both crazy."

"Well, why do you say that?" Mulder asks.

"Well, you're crazy for believing what you believe." He turns to Scully. "And you're crazy for not believing what he believes. I'll leave you with that. Thank you." Then Wayne drops his tip money on the counter and leaves.

"I miss him already," Mulder deadpans.

"You know, Mulder, I...I know that Federman's bs-ing you, so I'm really hesitant to mention this, but, um...his story reminds me of the Lazarus Bowl," Scully tells him.

"The Lazarus bowl?"

"We had this wacky nun in Catholic school - Sister Callahan - we used to call her 'Sister Spooky' 'cause she would tell us scary stories all the time."

"Twisted sisters, my kind of nun, you know?"

"Well, she would hold up an old piece of wood with a rusty nail in it, and she would say 'this is an actual piece of the cross that Christ's wrist was nailed to.' Or she'd show us a vial of red liquid and say that it was John the Baptist's blood, or something. "

"She'd be in prison today. You realize that."

"Well, she would tell this story of when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and she said that there was this old woman who was Lazarus's aunt or something..."

"Lazarus's aunt? Sounds like a rock group."

"...who was spinning a clay bowl on a wheel nearby and that Christ's words - the actual incantation to raise the dead-were recorded in the clay grooves of the pottery just like the way music is recorded into vinyl."

"You see? It's just not true that you can't get good science at Catholic school. It's a lie."

Scully laughs. "Uh huh, you keep that in mind next year when my Mom wants us to seen Page to a Catholic kindergarten."

"Yeah but mine has her heart set on some snob factory. You don't think our mothers would have a cage brawl over the issue, do you?"

"God forbid. Anyway, Sister Spooky says that, uh...that these words in the clay still have the power to raise the dead just like Jesus raised Lazarus."

"That is a very cool story coming from you, Scully. I'll have Chuck Burks meet you over at my office see if this clay has Christ's Greatest Hits on it and I'm going...I'm going to go have another audience with Cardinal O'Fallon."

* * *

The case continues in a disappointingly mundane fashion now that the bright, if weird, spark, is out of their hair. Mulder is nearly eager when he answers the phone after discussing the case with Scully one rainy afternoon.

The other man's voice sounds far away. "Agent Mulder? It's Wayne Slash Federman out in L.A."

"I can't really talk about the case, you know."

"That's all right. Skinman's keeping me in the loop. Listen, who do you see playing you in the movie?"

"I'm in the movie?"

"Well, it's a character loosely based on you. It's more of an amalgamation."

"How about Richard Gere?"

Wayne laughs. "Ho! Yeah, okay. Uh, seriously. What if I said to you the name 'Garry Shandling'?"

"Wayne, you're breaking up. It sounded like you said 'Garry Shandling.'"

"Garry Shandling signed on to play the amalgamation loosely based on you and Tea Leoni's playing the amalgamation loosely based on your partner, you stud. The movie's called the Lazarus bowl."

"How do you know about the Lazarus bowl?"

"The Skinman. Listen, Shandling and Leoni want to meet you guys...get your flavor - it's an actor type thing. Come on out to the studio on our dime. We'll make it nice."

"Hey, who's...who's going to play Skinner in the movie?"

"Richard Gere."

"Ri ... Ri ..." Mulder sputters.

"Yeah, and you'll love the boy who's going to play the oldest of your twelve kids. His name is Frankie Muniz, he's almost thirteen, and he's going to be taping a movie about a dog next year, but we snagged him first. Real funny kid, you'll like him."

"Wait a minute. My oldest is four and a daughter. And we don't have twelve kids, we have five-"

"Think of it as being futuristic, then. At the rate you're going you'll end up with twelve kids."

"Hey!"

"And like I said, this is only loosely based on you and your wife. The producers liked the idea of combining Kolchek the Night Stalker with Cheaper by the Dozen. The oldest kid is going to help solve the case."

"FBI agents don't let their children solve cases!" ::Even if they do get dragged alone on some of them.::

"This is Hollywood, Baby. Kids can do anything in movies."

* * *

Late the Next Night

Mulder is sitting in the den, watching his favorite movie while everyone else in the house sleeps.

"Well, as long as they can think we'll have our problems. But those whom we are using cannot think they are the dead brought to assimilated life by our electrode..." he repeats along with the tape.

Until Scully comes in and cuddles up against him. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" Mulder asks.

"Plan 9 From Outer Space?"

"Yeah. It's the Ed Wood investigative method. This movie is so profoundly bad in such a childlike way that it hypnotizes my conscious critical mind and frees up my right brain to make associo-poetic leaps and I started flashing on Hoffman and O'Fallon. How there's this archetypal relationship like Hoffman's Jesus to O'Fallon's Judas or Hoffman's Jesus to O'Fallon's Dostoyevsky's Grand Inquisitor, or Hoffman's Jesus to O'Fallon's St. Paul."

"How about Hoffman's Roadrunner to O'Fallon's Wile E. Coyote?"

He laughs. "Don't suggest that to Wayne, or it might turn into an animated movie."

"Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think it's at all possible that Hoffman is really Jesus Christ?"

He gives her a suspicious look. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. "

"Well, no, I don't. But crazy people can be very persuasive."

"Well, yes, I know that." He smiles good-naturedly at the jib. "Maybe true faith is really a form of insanity."

"Are you directing that at me?" Mulder asks.

"No. I'm directing it at myself and at Ed Wood."

"Well, you know, even a broken clock is right 730 times a year. As long as it's not digital."

They watch the movie for a bit, but then she stares at him. "How...?

"42."

"You've seen this movie 42 times?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that make you sad? It makes me sad." She gives him a look of mock concern.

"You know, Scully, we've got four weeks probation vacation, a wonderful live-in nanny, nothing to do and Wayne Federman's invited us out to L.A. to watch his movie being filmed and God knows I could use a little sunshine. "

"California, here we come," Scully says resignedly. "But just for a day or two, okay?"

"Sure."

"And we're bringing David and Jared with us," she adds.

"Don't you worry about the older kids getting jealous?"

"They won't remember this for long."

He nods, and bets that she and he will, though.

* * *

Stage 8 20th Century Fox Studios

Hollywood, California

Wayne practically runs to them once he spots an assistant directing them. "Agents! I'm so glad you could hang." He looks down at the baby carriers in Mulder's hands. "And I see you've brought the youngest of the Mulderlings."

Scully looks at Mulder and mouths 'Mulderlings' with a smirk.

The writer doesn't notice, though, since he's still looking at the boys. "They're awfully cute. Have you considered putting them in movies? You've got a matched set, so that sort of thing makes it easier."

"Wayne, they're only two months old!" Mulder protests.

"Yeah, you're right," Wayne says regretfully. "The youngest of your movie kids are almost two."

"Okay..." Scully says warily. Mulder winces, and remembers he never told her about Wayne's Cheaper by the Dozen approach.

"Come on, I want you to meet the people that are going to play you. Garry Shandling, Tea Leoni, this is Agents Mulder and Scully."

Gary and Tea come over to meet them. Both are wearing severe black suits, and a full size crucifix hangs from Tea's neck, which startles Scully.

"Nice to meet you," Mulder greets them, and they begin to exchange pleasantries.

Tea smiles at Scully, and invites her to step aside to talk privately. "Well, you know, while I've got you here maybe, uh, maybe you could show me how run after bad guys while trying not to drop babies."

"Um, what?"

"I mean, you've got a couple here..." She trails off when she notices Scully's look of horror. "Or we could get someone to get a couple of dolls for us from the prop department." Tea waves over a young gopher and orders him to find a couple of dolls.

"I'm afraid I'm going to drop one of the little buggers on its soft little head and get sued by it's parents." Tea tells her with a laugh. "You must have some tips."

"I guess..."

* * *

Mulder and Gary stand aside, and are sort of watching Scully and Tea run around the set with dolls for reasons they can't quite fathom.

"Seriously, listen could I ask you something?" Gary asks Mulder.

Knowing what's coming, Mulder tries not to wince, "Sure."

"Tell me about your underwear."

In the distance Tea can be heard shouting something when she drops a doll and its leg falls off.

"My what?"

"Underwear. Are you a boxers guy or a briefs guy?" Gary says seriously. "This is my first film role as a father of fifteen, so I feel the need to know more to get into character."

"And underwear has what to do with that?" Mulder asks, bewildered.

"I was reading something in a men's health magazine, or maybe playboy about how underwear affects fertility. Tight undies kill the little swimmers, if you know what I mean. You obviously don't have a problem with that, so..."

"Did you say fifteen earlier?"

"Yeah, Wayne says you've got fifteen kids. Some are adopted, right? Your wife doesn't look like she's had fifteen kids."

"We have five kids."

Gary steers the conversation back. "So about the underwear."

"Uh, boxers mostly."

"Mostly?" Gary gives him a puzzled look. "If you mean you make your own Frankenunderwear by sewing things together, this isn't going to be easy for me. I don't sew very well."

"What? No, I mean I usually wear boxers," Mulder tells him. "100 percent cotton."

"Yeah, okay," Gary agrees, before turning and shouting. "Wardrobe!"

Mulder stars after him, and catches something out of the corner of his eye. Tea runs to Scully and shoots her a triumphant look. Then she drops the dolls she's been holding.

"Dammit!" rings across the studio.

* * *

A bit later on Mulder and Scully, with David and Jared on their respective laps, watch as a high strung little man who calls himself Sugar Bear directs a scene in the movie.

"And rollando! Come on, now, kick it in the ass and action, zombies!" Sugar Bear shouts.

"Mom, watch out! There's one right behind you!" the kid Wayne told Mulder about, Frankie Muniz, shouts.

Scully leans into Mulder and whispers. "Does Wayne know our oldest kid is only four?"

"I told him that," he whispers back. "He didn't care."

"Billy, stay back!" Tea shouts at the kid. "This is FBI business, young man!"

"Aww, Mom!" A zombie knocks young Frankie off his feet, and charges at Tea. She screams on cue as it bites her shoulder.

Looking outraged, the zombie looks at the director. "What is this?"

"Cut! Go ahead, ruin my career," Sugar Bear says petulantly.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Zombie, sir?" asks a production assistant.

"What the hell is this? What the hell's in my mouth? What's Tea Leoni's shoulder made out of?" the zombie says with a full mouth.

"Uh, craft service, what is Tea Leoni's shoulder made of?"

"Turkey, just like you asked for," a girl in the distance calls.

"Turkey. Ms. Leoni's shoulder's made of turkey."

The zombie looks like he'll pass out from outrage. "Tofurkey! I asked for tofurkey! I'm a vegetarian! Half the zombies are vegetarian! Oh, my God!"

The zombie spits out the meet and runs off yelling. "The people are made out of turkey!"

Watching all hell break loose on the set, Mulder turns to Scully. "Are you glad that we've only got one picky eater?"

Scully gives their infant sons a suspicious look. "So far."

* * *

The Beverly Ernesto Hotel

Hollywood, California

Although he'd love to take advantage of the fact that the twins are more then six weeks old, and they've been given a lovely room, Mulder reminds himself of his promise to be less fertile between now and when William is conceived.

A nice bath paying attention to his wife is as far as he dares to go.

::Oh god, it's going to be a long two years.:: He thinks, as he fills the tub. ::Maybe I should look into that tight underwear Gary mentioned.::

"Packing's about done," Scully tells him as she comes into the bathroom. "And the babies are asleep."

"You know, Scully, I was just thinking about Lazarus, Ed Wood, and those tofurkey-eating zombies. How come when people come back from the dead they always want to hurt the living?"

"Well, that's because people can't really come back from the dead, Mulder. I mean, ghosts and zombies are just projections of our own repressed cannibalistic and sexual fears and desires. They are who we fear that we are at heart - just mindless automatons who can only kill and eat." She drops her robe and climbs in.

"Party pooper. Well, I got a new theory. I say that when zombies try to eat people, that's just the first stage. You see, they've just come back from being dead so they're going to do all the things they miss from when they were alive. So, first, they're going to eat, then they're going to drink, then they're going to dance and make love."

"Oh, I see. So it's just that we never get to stay with them long enough to see the gentler side of the undead."

"Exactly." The water splashes as he climbs in facing her.

The phone near the tub rings. "Hello?"

"Agent Mulder, it's Assistant Director Skinner. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."

"No, sir, I'm just at the, uh, computer."

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize for coming down so hard on you during the Hoffman - O'Fallon case."

"Oh. I appreciate that, Skinman."

"Don't call me that."

"Yes, sir. Um...Uh, where are you now?"

"I'm right underneath you. I'm in L.A., At the same hotel as you. Right below you and Agent Scully."

"Federman got me an Associate Producer credit on the movie."

"A.P. Skinner, huh?" He chuckles, then stops when Skinner doesn't laugh.

"Uh...So what are you up to right now, sir?"

"I'm taking a bubble bath."

"Uh, hold on just one second, sir." Mulder clicks the button to put the phone on hold, then turns to Scully with a wide grin. "Hey, Scully, Skinman is calling me from a bubble bath."

"You didn't put me on hold, Mulder."

"Uh, sir, well, hold on one second, sir." He tries again. "Sir?" When there's no answer, he looks at his wife. "Can you believe he's calling us from a bath?"

"He's really gone Hollywood."

"Totally."

"You know, Mulder, speaking of Hollywood, I think that Tea Leoni has a little crush on you."

"Oh, yeah, right. Like Tea Leoni's ever going to have a crush on me."

"I think that Shandling likes you a bit, too," she adds with a smirk.

"Really? How does it make you feel that your husband is such a sex object, and adored by many?"

"I'm not worried," she tells him with a smile. "Did you have any plans for this nice, warm soapy bath, Mister Sex Object?"

"You forgot adored by many," he teases and pushes some bubbles at her. "Actually yes. I've been thinking that this is a perfect time to do something that I haven't done for you for a while."

"What's that?" Scully asks, giving him a coy look.

"I was thinking of a deep, penetrating... scalp massage."

"Oh, that does sound good," she agrees happily.

Mulder drops the phone, and Scully teasingly cries out, "Harder Mulder, harder!"

Muffled by a towel on the floor, neither of them can really hear the phone say, "Um, Mulder? Did you mean to take me off hold? Yeah...I'll let you do whatever it is you're doing and get back to you later."


	65. Triangle

November 16, 1998 & September 3, 1939

Scully's gonna kill me, is the first thought that goes through Mulder's head when he revives, soaking wet, only to find himself on the SS Queen Anne and British sailors shaking him and questioning him roughly in their weird accents. I'm so glad I speak American, he thinks, even as he tries to answer their questions without throwing up. His next thoughts are that if his wife and partner doesn't kill him, it's probably because she'll think he went off the deep end because they got kicked off the X-Files and other people (Smokey Jr. and Diana the Middle-Aged Bitch) are working there, not to mention having to sneak around Kersh, what ho, what joy. Not that that's ever stopped him from chasing the weird shit, or vice versa. Man, I hope she doesn't kill me, he thinks again, even as the sailors drag him to the captain's quarters.

However, this time he's got a better idea of what's going on, even though he still gets locked up for his troubles. "Why don't they ever believe me?" Mulder grimaces, seeing that his story of being a traveler from the future didn't quite sit well with the war-besieged Brits. Oh well.

Once the door closes on him, he leaves the radio on but turns the lights out, a more sizable paperweight in hand for his encounter with 1939 Spender. Heck, if he's in an alternate universe or have traveled in time, it's not really the Spender he knows, but still, he wants to make sure the sucker stays down for a while longer. That, and it's fun just to beat the crap out of the guy, who sucks up to the smoking man as much in this incarnation as in the present. Wait, if this is the present, then I mean the future, he amends mentally, but all grammatical tense problems go out the window once the guy actually shows up.

This time, he decides not to take his cue from Indiana Jones and stays in his sodden 1998 clothes. Still, he gets out of the German soldiers' way by heading immediately to the ballroom and finding Scully. The blonde woman onstage kinda looks like Kersh's secretary, and, remembering her tattling, tries to stay out of her sight as she sings "Jeepers Creepers." To his chagrin, there's no hot redhead in a hot red dress, no matter how hard he looks. What if Scully isn't on board this time around? Could it be that this second time around is jinxed because he shouldn't necessarily be traveling back in time in the first place? Dammit!

Before he can ruminate further Einsteinian and Hawkings-like musings, he beats a hasty retreat to the lower decks, where at least some of the normal people, that is, non-Nazis are. He hopes.

* * *

Mulder runs into Scully as she steps out of a berth, calling, "I'm just going to get some milk, I'll be right back!" She's dressed in a more matronly red outfit, but she still looks pretty hot to him. When she sees him, however, her mouth hangs open as she goes white, and she sways unsteadily on her feet.

Okay, not an improvement over wanting to hit me, Mulder thinks as he rushes to catch her. "Scully," he murmurs, patting her face lightly, but there's no response. He doesn't want to get caught with the Nazis still on his tail, so he carries her back inside.

When everyone inside the room stares up at him, he stammers nervously, "I-I didn't do anything, she just fainted." His kids are there, and so is an older man, playing with them as if he's their relative.

The elderly man, whom he recognizes as Thor's Hammer, merely looks at him before leading them to a bed. "Put her down," he orders Mulder, and the taller man does so. "Who are you?"

"Fox Mulder," Mulder says, pulling out his soaked badge.

The older man nods, then attends to the still-out-of-it woman. Checking her pulse and then her forehead, he sighs, "It appears you've given her quite a shock." He stares around the taller man to see the two older children with saucers for eyes. "And it appears she's not the only one who knows you."

"Daddy," the little blonde girl whispers as her brother hides behind her.

Mulder turns around, ready to embrace his little girl with a smile, when the elder man's voice stops him. "That can't be," he says to the girl, "your father died in a boating accident off the coast of Virginia."

And again, the man twice out of time feels adrift from his moorings as the girl screams and the little redheaded boy cries, to be joined by his two baby brothers and little sister.

* * *

Scully is sitting at her desk in the FBI bullpen, none too happy with the situation. For one thing, it appears that, despite Skinner's best efforts, they're out of the X-Files. Again. For another, it appears that her ne'er-do-well husband has gone off hunting down an X-File in spite of their official dismissal from said division. And for yet another reason, the nanny's sick and her sister and mother are visiting Charlie, so she's watching the kids. "The day just keeps getting better and better," she mutters darkly when she sees The Lone Gunmen. "What?" she asks, trying to keep Sammy from exploring someone else's desk.

"Mulder's in trouble." The short balding man wastes no time with pleasantries, seeing his favorite agent is in a most unpleasant mood.

The blonde man nods, "Big trouble."

"Uh-oh," Sammy says, now looking up at his unofficial uncles. "Daddy's in big trouble."

"Let's take a walk," Byers says nervously, seeing the curious stares of agents he doesn't know or trust. He picks up the twins' baby carrier and nods at his compatriots. Frohike hefts up April and the baby bag, while Langly holds Sammy and Page's hands, and they all start walking, looking for all the world like an ad for not going to family reunions.

"The walls have ears," Frohike mutters in an undertone as they continue walking as nonchalantly as three unauthorized visitors carrying an FBI agents' kids can.

Scully snaps impatiently, "I have ears. Will you tell me what's going on?"

The conservatively-dressed man whispers, "Mulder's disappeared."

She blinks. "Disappeared from where?"

Langly replies, "From the national reconnaissance office's lacrosse mid-latitude imaging radar satellite." Temporarily freeing his hands from the rugrats, he digs a much-folded photo from his pocket and hands it to the redhead.

"I don't understand. What am I looking at?" Scully frowns.

"A whole lot of nothing," Frohike makes a face, then smiles half-heartedly at a passing agent.

"We pulled that down 45 minutes ago off the NRO satellite," Byers hastily explains, "which early this morning sent a picture of a ship which inexplicably appeared in the middle of the Atlantic."

Langly nods. "The SS Queen Anne, which by all accounts vanished without a  
trace over sixty years ago."

"The Queen Anne?" Scully stops, forcing the others to stop for her. "The British luxury liner?"

"The lovely lady gets a star," Frohike beams, then wilts under her glare.

"It was torpedoed by a German U-boat," Scully tells them, in a tone reserved for repeating basic truths, like gravity and the earth spinning around the sun.

The blonde man smirks. "That's one story."

Scully lifts an eyebrow. "There's another?"

Byers nods, then starts walking, and the others join him. "Though her exact position was kept secret for fear spies might give her up to the Axis," he says in an undertone, "it's been reasonably determined that the Queen Anne was just south of the Plantagenet bank when she went missing."

"Less than sixty feet of water yet she's never been found," the short man adds.

Scully looks at them squarely in the eye, to ascertain their sanity. With these three, she's never quite sure. "So you're saying the Queen Anne just disappeared."

"Into the Bermuda triangle," Langly agrees.

"And reappeared this morning at 6:49 a.m. Eastern Standard Time," Frohike chimes in.

"That's impossible," Scully hisses.

Byers looks mildly offended. "Satellite doesn't lie."

Scully waves her hand at the photo paper in her hand. "There's nothing on here."

The mustached man looks apologetic. "We gave the original images to Mulder so he could use them as navigational aids."

"He was in a hurry," Langly adds.

She really, really doesn't want to know, but asks anyway. "To get where?"

"Out to the Queen Anne before anyone else got there first," Frohike replies.

As Scully's face turns something close to murderous, Byers adds hastily, "He went to Bermuda and chartered a powerboat out of Hamilton Harbor. We tracked him on the satellite for an hour and a half."

"Until a storm blew in and obscured all transmissions," Langly says helpfully.

Frohike nods at the black and white photo. "That's what you're holding."

"What's happened to him?" she says urgently, and even Page and Sammy can pick up her worry.

'We can't know that," Byers says helplessly. "Not without alternative tracking data. Which is why we're here."

Even the blonde hacker looks resigned. "Without good data, all we can do is wait and hope for the best."

"Yeah, but expect the worst," Frohike adds glumly.

"Well, we have to get help," Scully says, pulling out a pen and notepad from her pocket.

"Without a position he's a needle in a haystack," Byers shakes his head.

"What do you need?" she stares at him.

"Navy AWACS SLAR or SAR 100 K swath imaging," he replies tersely. "You're going to have to find somebody at the Pentagon to get it."

As she writes down the information, she prays a swift prayer under her breath. "Take the kids and wait for me downstairs," she tells the Gunmen. Then she bends down to kiss her babies, all five of them, on the forehead. "Mommy will be right with you," she says, "and then we're gonna go rescue your crazy daddy."

As she races around the corner, Sammy notes, "Daddy's in big, big trouble."

Everyone agrees as they make their way to the faded VW van in the parking lot.

* * *

Tearing the paper from her notepad, Scully walks purposefully down the hall and into Skinner's office. "I need to speak with him," she tells the secretary.

The other redheaded woman thinks, Here comes trouble, even as she says as pleasantly as she can, "Could you please take a seat?"

"Is he in?" Scully asks.

The secretary nods, "Yes, he's on his phone."

"Sorry, this can't wait," Scully says, walking into Skinner's office. He's on the phone, but she behaves as recklessly as her son as she interrupts him, "Sir?"

Skinner inwardly sighs, wondering when even his ex-agents developed such impeccable timing. All day he's been waiting for this call, and ever since, he's been interrupted left and right. "Could you hold on a minute?" he tells his caller. Impatiently, with his hand over the receiver, he says, What is it, Agent Scully?"

"I just received some very disturbing information, sir. I need your help," she says, not bothering with an 'excuse me' or even 'please.'

Great, the bald man thinks, this is guaranteed to get the smoking man back on my back. "I'll call you back in five," he says briskly, and hangs up the phone. Plainly irritated, he tells his former agent, "You can't come rushing in here."

"Sir, I couldn't waste time explaining myself to your assistant," Scully says quietly.

Dammit, Skinner thinks, even as he crosses the line, for the umpteenth time, for Mulder and Scully. He knows it involves both of them, because it always does. "Tell me what is so urgent."

"It's about Agent Mulder," Scully says, "he's done something incredibly rash."

"What else is new?" the bald man sighs.

Scully stares at him. Is he serious? "He may be lost at sea," she tells him.

"I can't help you," he tells her. "There's nothing I can do." Come on, take the hint, he thinks.

"This isn't for me; it's for Agent Mulder."

When is it not? He thinks, even as he says, "My hands are tied. I'm not your direct superior any longer."

"Don't you want to know what this is about?" she asks, while he steers her to the door.

"No, I don't," he says, and for the benefit of his secretary, as well as the hidden mics he's sure are in his office, he adds in a louder voice, "I'm not allowed to have contact with you - any contact with either you or Mulder."

His secretary looks apologetic. "She walked right past me, sir."

He nods, but that only allows Scully to slam the door between the offices. He glares down at her. "You're out of line, Scully."

True to form, she glares right back. "No, sir, you're out of line. I'm sorry, but I'm coming to you for help and I've got nowhere else to go. I would hope that after everything that we have been through that you would at least have the courtesy and the decency and not to mention the respect to listen to what I have to say. Now, all I need is information," she hands over the paper with the numbers and letters in block print. "You don't have to do anything else. Look, sir, if you know anybody at the Office of Naval Intelligence it would be of great help."

He glances down at the note as if dismissively, then hands it back, having already committed it to memory. "I could lose my job, my pension, I could even be subject to legal action," he argues. She sighs in exasperation and starts to open the door, but he slams it back shut and keeps his hand on it. "Use your head, Scully," he tries to warn her, wondering what happened to the usually more level-headed side of the pair. "It'll save your ass."

There is no reasoning with her, however, since she's in protective partner, wife and mother mode. "Save your own ass, sir. You'll save your head along with it," she retorts crisply before she can stop herself. She pauses for a moment, wondering if she should apologize, but figures there's no time to waste, and heads back out into the hallway to find someone else to help.

She heads to the elevator, and barely checks her impulse to take out her frustrations on her fellow passengers, but manages, nonetheless. She hates to do it, but winds up in AD Kersh's office, to find the secretary isn't there. One less person to bulldoze, Scully thinks as she's about to open Kersh's door, but the secretary, a brisk blonde, nearly runs over her.

The blonde tries to run interference, too, but Scully's having none of it and barges in, only to find the Smoking Man in there, too. Who the hell *is* this guy? Scully fumes, even as she unsuccessfully tries to backtrack, but Kersh takes the paper from her anyways. Dammit, she thinks, about ready to kick her own ass if nobody does it for her.

Then something occurs to her. "What am I thinking? What am I thinking?" She pulls out her cell phone, hits speed dial, and heads back for the elevator running into someone on the way. "Sorry," she says belatedly, catching the elevator just before the doors close. Alone at last. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on," she mutters, smooshing the phone to her ear as she pushes the button for the basement. "Answer the phone, Mulder. Answer the phone, answer the phone, idiot!"

Instead of her husband, a bland woman's voice dully answers, "The cellular customer you are trying to reach is not responding or is ..."

"Damn," Scully hangs up with a slam. Time for Plan D for Desperation.

* * *

Scully, still in Terminator mode, steps out of the elevator and strides into the X-Files office. She's not pointing a gun, but she might as well be as she demands, "I want you to do me a favor. It's not negotiable. Either you do it or I kill you. You understand?"

Spender is alone in the office, but he wishes he wasn't. Standing up, he asks her, "You okay, Agent Scully?" He's this close to calling either security or the mental hospital, and he doesn't know if it's a good or a bad thing that he knows both numbers by heart already.

"No, I'm not," the redhead says, totally not intimidated by the other agent's height. "I'm a gun ready to go off so don't test me, Spender. Don't even think about trying to weasel me."

Riiiiiiiiight, he thinks, even as he says in a reasonable voice, "What is it that you need?"

Even as she writes down the info, Scully feels vaguely traitorous for using the kid, but hell, this is the X-Files, the bastard may as well start working on one. He's way too compliant about helping, even after she threatens him again, but only exhales when he leaves.

The phone rings, and she pauses, wondering if it's Mulder. Who knows, if he's stuck out in the middle of nowhere and as seasick as usual, he might be dialing this number. Pushing down any further qualms, she answers, "Hello?"

"Agent Fowley?" an unfamiliar man's voice asks.

The redhead blinks. Fowley? Heh heh. Sure. "Yes," she says, lowering her voice a little.

"I was looking for Agent Spender," the elder man says, unhelpfully not identifying himself.

"I'm sorry, he's not here right now. Is there something I can help you with?"

It appears both parties are clueless about the other's identity as he goes on, "Yeah, Agent Scully just handed the Assistant Director a piece of paper with an intelligence system scribbled on it," he pauses.

"Yes?" she prompts him, hoping maybe he knows Mulder's location, "yes, sir?"

There is another pause, and now the man demands, "Who is this?"

Ohhhhhhhhhh shit, Scully thinks, hanging up slowly. The phone rings again as she leaves, and she runs into Kersh's secretary.

"Oh, Agent Scully," the blonde woman blinks.

Great. The redheaded agent fudges, but not as well as her husband, "I was just, uh..."

"I was sent to come get you," the secretary says.

"Yeah, I was waiting for Agent Spender, he was, uh...I'm supposed to pick up a delivery from him," Scully finishes lamely.

"Agent Spender is with Assistant Director Kersh," the blonde woman ends the charade.

Scully storms out, running to the elevator. Her cell phone rings, and she answers, but the reception is, as usual, crappy. She shouts, but neither she nor the other party is heard, and she hopes it's Mulder. She hits a button and the elevator opens to the three people she least wants to see, the unholy trinity of Kersh, Spender and Smoking Man, and ducks back in the elevator. She tries yelling into the phone again, with no luck.

The next time the doors slide open, she finds Skinner also holding a cell phone to his ear. To her surprise, not only was Skinner trying to contact her, but he got the info she needs, and she grabs the paper gratefully. She hugs him tightly, then thanks him wholeheartedly before the doors slide open again. When they do, Skinner chews her out, but she doesn't care, this time knowing it's for show as another agent steps into the elevator and Skinner steps out.

She can almost hear the clock ticking, even as she reads the contents of the paper in the elevator, and her excitement level is finally exceeding her worry and frustration levels. When the doors open, Scully runs into the garage. Smiling, she hears the VW bus before seeing it, and climbs in the back with Frohike who slams the door shut.

"Did you get it?" Byers asks, looking in the rearview mirror.

There's a bigass smile on her face as she holds up paper, "Yeah." There are whoops and cheers, and she hugs her kids, avoiding Frohike's would-be hug, and laughs with Langly. The cheers get even louder when they see the young Agent Spender trying to run after them, but they get away.

* * *

There's a knock on the door, and immediately, all the children stop screaming and crying. Wow, wish I could get them to do that at home, Mulder thinks as the pounding continues. He tosses his wet jacket out of sight, slicks his wet hair back and answers the door. "Yeah?" he asks, as casually as he can with a bunch of Nazis sticking their guns in his face.

One of the Nazis shout something at him, but Mulder shakes his head and shrugs helplessly. Another man steps forward, and it looks like Skinner. Mulder tries not to reel back in shock as the Nazi Skinner says with a weird German accent, "Who was the screaming?"

"Aw, kids, you know," Mulder shrugs, "you try to give 'em a bath and they yell bloody murder." As the Nazi Skinner translates, some of the men nod, and they turn to leave.

Just as Mulder's counting his blessings, a most unwelcome voice shouts, "Zat is the man!"

Shit, Mulder thinks, even as the children cling to him. Better late than never, he thinks, as the soldiers pull the little ones off roughly and he shouts and fights in vain. "Scul-lay!" he cries out.

When the door slams, Scully groans. "What's going on?" she murmurs, rolling to her side. The room is still sliding, and not in the good ship-rolling kind of way, and she puts a hand to her head. Then she sees her children crying, the elderly gentleman she's supposed to be protecting trying in vain to comfort them, and a sodden mess in the corner of the room. "What's going on?" she asks, louder.

Then her two oldest run to her while the younger ones are still crying in the scientist's arms. "Mommy, they took Daddy," Page wails while Sammy buries his face in his mother's arms.

"What?" Scully stares at her daughter, while the scientist fills her in on the mini-drama that happened while she was sleeping.

* * *

Unfortunately, they still shoot the captain in front of him, as well as throwing him into the hold. At least this time I know to keep my mouth shut about Thor's Hammer, he thinks, yelling about Pearl Harbor and Germans freezing in Russia. Hell, even if it was just the scientist's life on the line, he wouldn't spill anything, especially since his kids are here to up the stakes considerably.

"Hey, hey, who's in charge of this engine room?" one of the sailors yells out. "Oh, you. Oi, you!" he grabs a man looking remarkably like Kersh. "I'm talking to you. Shut her down, man. We got to scuttle her now!" Still, seeing Kersh shoveling coal along with other Jamaican sailors gives him something of a cheap laugh, and Mulder bites his tongue as the large, sweaty man hollers in a strange accent, "Put some piss into her, boys!"

"You heard me right - kill the engines!" the white sailor screams in the black man's face. "There's no other way, swabbo."

The Kersh-like crewman shows off the chains they have put on the engine. "You can't get to Germany if you can't steer," he declares. "Me overriding her. We steering a course for home."

The sailor is dumbfounded at what seems sheer idiocy. "Have you looked at your compass? You can't get to England going the wrong bloody direction."

The crewman glares at him, regardless of color or status. "We're not going to England. We're going to Jamaica!" he yells, and his fellow dark crewmen shout and cheer.

Another sailor sneers, "Listen, you steer her home, you bloody ruffo - to her home where she belongs!"

Fists are coming into play, and Mulder knows the tempers are flaring just as hot as the coal. "Listen to me! Listen to me! You can't take this ship to England. You'll never make it!" he says, trying to be the voice of reason again.

Now everyone is ganging up on him. What else is new? "What are you talking about? I'm in charge of the wheel!"

"There's only one place she's going, Yank," Rasta-Kersh tells him.

"Jamaica!" His crewmen cheer again.

Mulder forges on, aiming for the Mr. Unpopularity prize. "You can't take the ship to Jamaica, either. The Germans will hunt you down no matter what course you steer," he argues.

The crewmen shout amongst themselves, but finally they allow him to continue. Rasta-Kersh, however, is as direct here as he is back in 1998 "And who you be, boy?"

"My name's Mulder," he says, knowing, for better or worse, it means nothing to these men.

"He wants to go back to bloody America," the first sailor 's trying to look for the Nazi bastard that snuck in with him the first time around, but all those plain British faces under those white hats look alike to him, maddeningly enough. "No, I want you to take this ship and turn it back around the way you came," he retorts.

Of course, that meets up with a positive response, and the first sailor shouts, "Bloody hell, we're halfway home!"

"You've got to turn the ship around," Mulder continues doggedly.

"And what's in that direction?" Rasta-Kersh demands.

"The future," Mulder replies, then pauses. "Or the past." ::Damn, when are they gonna come up with proper tenses while time-traveling?:: He wonders. I'm starting to sound like Christopher Lloyd.

Another sailor smirks. "Eh? Oh, well, I'm convinced," he says sarcastically, making his fellow sailorsuits laugh.

"Well, I can explain," Mulder starts, but a banging at the door sounds and everyone turns.

To everyone's surprise, he's dragged out of there when one of the sailors knocks on the door and yells, "We've got a Yankee spy in here!"

As he's being dragged off, he yells out his football speech, "Turn the ship around or Hitler rises, Germany wins and your children will never know what freedom is!"

Brave words, but he doesn't feel too brave himself, especially now that he has no idea what's going to happen next. Still, he's secure in the knowledge that Scully's out for the count this time around, the kids and the scientist are out of harm's way, and maybe he can jump ship before it all goes to hell. As long as Scully and the kids are safe, Mulder repeats like a mantra to himself, as long as they're safe, I don't care what they do to me.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the present, that is, 1998, it's twilight time, and a small boat draws near to a large luxury liner.

"Hey, Scully, you're not going to believe this," Frohike says, not quite believing it himself, seeing the lights are on. "Get up here."

"What?" she asks, feeling bad that Page has inherited her father's tendency towards seasickness, even if her brothers and younger sister haven't. Even Langly is feeling kind of queasy, but hasn't listened to her urgings to get above-deck.

"The sky just cleared and there it was," the short man points to the larger vessel.

"Is it the Queen Anne?" Scully stares in wonder. Even if it isn't, she's gorgeous, the Navy brat in her thinks.

"That's her," Byers affirms.

"I don't believe it," she says, even as her eyes plainly declare it as fact. Frohike smirks, seeing her predicament. "Seeing is believing."

"They've got power," she argues.

"Maybe Mulder's already on board," Byers says hopefully.

Scully exhales and almost forces herself to accept the large vessel in front of them. "Let's hope he is."

* * *

Everyone in the ballroom is standing eerily still, as if for a painted portrait, when Mulder is shoved into the room. His eyes quickly scan for his family and the scientist, and he breathes an inward sigh of relief when he sees neither the kids nor the old man. His wife, however, is another story. "Scully," he breathes when he's shoved to stand next to her.

The redhead glares at him with a familiar how-did-you-get-me-into-this-mess kind of glare. Even as he grins weakly, she says in a low voice, "My uncle told me everything," she says, pausing on 'uncle.' "Who are you and why do you look like my dead husband?"

He's about to answer, but a more pressing matter reveals itself. That is, a Nazi presses his gun against the back of Mulder's skull, and he sighs when they shout incomprehensibly in German. He never bothered to trouble himself with German because he honestly didn't think he'd wind up back here again, but, hey, sometimes Elsbeth surprises him. "I don't speak Nazi," he grumbles.

Then Adolf Jr., that is, Spender, steps in and says in his odd accent, "How do you know ze ship's coordinates?"

"Lucky guess?" Mulder says, even as Scully glares harder.

The smoking man mutters something, and the gunman now aims uncomfortably  
close to Scully's skull. "Again," Spender says, "ze ship's coordinates?"

Might as well try the truth, he thinks, if it doesn't get us all killed, that is. "I'm from the future," he blurts out, and as Scully rolls her eyes, Spender translates.

There's a short barking cough from the smoking man, which Mulder takes to be laughter, but then he barks out more words. The hell? When he sees Scully fold her hands behind her head and kneel down, he prays the sailors and the crewmen, like the farmers and the cowboys in "Oklahoma", will be friends in time. "I'm sorry," he tells her, but he doesn't get the chance to hear her reply.

In the nick of time, the ship stops and the Nazis are now the ones pausing. Then the room erupts when a black and white motley of saviors pour into the ballroom, and as fists fly and people shout, Mulder grabs Scully's hand. "Hey!" he yells, stopping her from running out on him.

She snatches her hand back. "I'm getting my kids and we're rowing out of here!" she yells back.

"You can't!" he shouts, following her on hands and knees as they try to avoid more Nazis and more overzealous shipmates. "You're the only one who can save this ship!"

She wavers for a moment, then grabs his hand. "All right," she glares, "but this better be good."

They sprint through the hallways, less James Bond and more Abbott and Costello as they avoid running into more Nazi goons. "Are you armed?" she hisses at one point.

"I was hoping you were," he smiles weakly, and she makes a face, but he grabs her and continues running before she can say anything he'll regret.

And speaking of regret, they run into a Nazi that's just about to perforate them, and they both assume the familiar hands-behind-the-head position.

"Terrific, Einstein," she sighs. "Now what?"

A gun shot sounds and they both start, then stare at each other. Skinner, always the one to pull through in tight spots. "God bless America. Now get your asses out of here," he waves them off tersely, even as Mulder thinks, And God bless the Skin-Man, as they gratefully continue running.

At one point, Scully pauses, then frowns as she turns. "Come on," Mulder urges her, grabbing her hand.

"Damdest thing, like someone tap-danced on my tombstone," she murmurs as she hurries along.

* * *

At one point, Scully feels like someone walked over her grave. Or maybe it's just the strangeness of a long-lost luxury liner showing up in the middle of nowhere with its lights on and nobody home that's creeping her out. "Byers? Langly? Frohike?" she calls out, cradling April on one arm and aiming her flashlight with the other. She almost wishes she had three arms for a gun, or at least Mulder for backup. Mulder, where the hell are you?

She almost sighs loudly with relief when she sees the odd trio with the rest of her children. "There you guys are," she says. Together, they walk into a large, dusty room, looking as if it could have been some grand ballroom, but now looking like a cobwebbed mess.

"Somebody's mommy didn't clean up," Page declares, and Langly snickers as Scully glares at him.

"Mulder?" Frohike calls out, wishing the biggest room on this ship had some lights on. "Mulder!"

"Daddy!" Mulder's kids shout, and their echoes bounce back in muffled forms. "You think there are ghostes?" Sammy asks when nobody responds.

"It's 'ghosts'," Scully corrects him, "and no, I don't think so. Otherwise, your father would be leaping out to tell us," she adds archly.

"Besides, there's no such things as ghosts," Langly makes the mistake of telling them.

"Uh-huh!" Page tells him. "We got ghosts!"

"Nuh-uh!" the blond man retorts intelligently. "I think that's just a windy old house you guys have."

"Uh-huh, we got ghosts!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Scully's about ready to pull out her gun. "Shut up!" she shouts, pulling them all out of the ballroom.

"Uh-oh," Frohike murmurs, and Byers quietly agrees with a slight nod as their compatriot and the little blonde girl get reamed out but good.

* * *

"So how do I do it?" Scully demands. "Save the ship from this deck?"

Mulder grins. God, she's gorgeous when she's mad, he thinks. "Listen to me," he holds her by the arms, ready to lay on this poor 1939 version her first insane Mulder theory. "This ship's been caught in something called the Devil's Triangle. It's some kind of time warp - a rift in space."

As before, she shakes him off, her expression clearly telling him he needs to be institutionalized. And her words coincide, "Are you crazy?"

As before, he doesn't let that stop him. "You know Einstein, right? He predicts the theoretical possibility. He also predicts an atomic weapon that will destroy the world."

"Yeah? So what?" she says cockily.

"If you don't go back and convince the crew of this ship to turn this ship around and head back into the Devil's Triangle, everything Einstein predicted will become true - except for the outcome of history."

Scully stares at him hard. "So, if I don't turn this ship around...?" she says slowly.

He answers her question with a question. "How did they catch you?" he asks.

She pauses, blinks. "I," she stammers, "I was unlucky."

He's not buying it. Present or past, she's not a good liar. "Okay," he says, "why were you looking for me?" As she glares at him angrily, he shrugs. "Guess that answers that question."

She turns away impatiently. "Look, I've got more important things to do-"

"Your kids and Thor's Hammer, I know," he interrupts, and she whirls around.

"Look, if you want to make sure everyone gets home safe and sound, I suggest you turn this ship back." Then he grins suddenly. "In case you were wondering, I'm not a ghost," and proceeds to plant a nice long smackaroo to prove his point. Then she proves it just as equally when she smacks him with a strong left hook to the kisser.

Then they both reel back, not from the kiss, but from the pain of punching and being punched. Rubbing his jaw, Mulder mutters, "You always had to be the strong one, Red." Then he runs and jumps overboard before she can respond.

Belatedly, she runs after him and tosses a life preserver. "Idiot," she murmurs, then squints as he disappears from sight.

And appears in the present, where his unconscious ass is hauled into a boat by three Lone Gunmen and one irate, but silently relieved, Scully.

* * *

I could while away the hours  
Conferrin' with the flowers  
Consultin' with the rain  
And my head, I'd be scratchin'  
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'  
If I only had a brain.  
I'd unravel ev'ry riddle  
For any individ'le  
In trouble or in pain

Scully doesn't want to wake him, but her kids have other ideas. And frankly, after the hell he's put her through, she doesn't stop them from pestering their father. "Daddy, Daddy," they pull at him and poke him.

"Mm, huh? Where am I?" he squints, trying to sit up.

Scully puts a restraining hand on his arm. "You're in a hospital."

He closes his eyes and nods, feeling that queasiness that he's still on a boat. "That explains the tube up my-"

"Lie still," Scully interrupts him.

"I feel...Like hell," he groans pitifully, but his kids don't get the hint to make nice to daddy.

Neither does his wife, apparently. Crossing her arms, she says, "I don't blame you. You did something incredibly stupid."

"What did I do?" He blinks, hoping the anti-nausea medicine kicks in soon. She leans in and brushes his damp hair from his forehead. "You went looking for a ship, Mulder. In the Bermuda Triangle."

"I did what?" he asks, and groans when Sammy climbs onto the bed and bounces around.

"We were on a big ship," Page explains, "and we looked for you, but you were in the water, Daddy."

"Like a dead fishy," Sammy adds.

Scully is spared a response when the Gunmen walk in and Frohike declares, "Gilligan awakes."

It hurts to do it, but he smiles at his hyper little boy. "You were there," he says to Sammy.

"Yay!" Sammy bounces harder.

Oof. Big mistake. "You were there, Scully, too," he tells his wife as Skinner walks in.

"He's delirious." Langly smirks at the others.

Mulder nods at his on-again, off-again boss. "And you were there, Skin-Man." The linebacker-like bald man drops the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand the way others would dump a sixpack of beer. "Don't call me that," he makes a face, then shakes his head. "Yeah, me and my dog, Toto."

"You have a dog?" Sammy is interested.

"No," the hospitalized man corrects them both, "you were there with the Nazis."

"What's Nah-sees?" Page asks.

Scully sighs loudly. "Mulder, will you settle down? It's an order."

"Not that he takes orders," Skinner adds in an undertone.

* * *

The meds are finally kicking in, and not a minute too soon. Mulder was afraid he'd ralph all over Sammy, which wouldn't look good for anybody, although it might make his still-queasy stomach a little better. He grins a wide, goofy grin up at his wife. "You saved the world, Scully."

A cocky smirk comes over her face, reminding him of her 1939 self. "Yeah...You're right. I did."

"What kind of drugs is he on?" Frohike murmurs.

"I want some," Langly murmurs back, and both men are shushed by Skinner's pointed glare, and they belatedly remember the kids. "Sorry, man."

"No, no, no," Mulder tries to correct her, "The Queen Anne - I found it. You were there with the kids and Thor's Hammer. I told you you had to turn the ship around and then I jumped overboard."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I bet you did. The boat that you were on was busted into a million pieces. And as for the Queen Anne, it was nothing more than a ghost ship."

"You said there was no ghosts," Page frowns up at her mother.

"There's a difference," Scully tries to explain when Mulder interrupts.

"No, no, no. You and I were on that ship, Scully. In 1939"

Skinner shakes his head again. "Get some rest, Mulder, 'cause when you get out of here, I'm going to kick your," he pauses, editing for the kids, "butt but good." Then he herds the conspiracy trio out the door to leave the family in peace. Or what peace could be had with five out of seven below the age of six and one of the adults not acting much older.

"You thought I was dead," he tells her, and her heart lurches, since she never told anyone that secret fear while they searched for him. "But you believed me anyways."

In spite of the insane day, at the end of it, she's glad to have him back, insane statements and all. "In your dreams," she smiles gently, plucking Sammy off as belated penance. Then she uses her mommy voice, "Mulder, I want you to close your eyes and I want you to think to yourself, 'there's no place like home'." He chuckles and closes his eyes, now that some of the better, or rather, stronger, drugs are kicking in. She nods, and is gathering up the kids and pushing the Gunmen-modified stroller for the twins out the door when he calls her back.

"Hey, Scully," he props himself on an elbow, and tries to keep his fuzzy mind clear.

Putting Sammy and Page's hands on the stroller with a "stay" look, Scully walks back and leans close to his face. "Yes?"

There is a long pause as she waits and he gathers up what little brain cells he has. They look deeply at one another, nonetheless, like two people in love.

"I knew you'd come looking for me," he says, looking like his kids do when Santa leaves presents.

Then again, he's got that same look, Santa or aliens, Scully reminds herself. "Oh, brother," she rolls her eyes and herds their kids out. Mulder pouts as they leave, but grins a little when Page turns and waves.

He starts to lie down, but as soon as his face touches the pillow he pulls back up in slight pain and rubs his jaw where the 1939 Scully hit him. He smiles slightly as he thinks, Double time travel, whodathunk? Then he closes his eyes, thinking, There really is no place like home.

I would not be just a nothin' my head all full of stuffin'  
My heart all full of pain.  
I would dance and be merry, life would be a ding-a-derry,  
If I only had a brain.

_"If I Only Had a Brain" by Harold Arlen & EY Harburg_


	66. Dreamland I

Highway 375 Rural Nevada

November 9th, 1998

11:17 p.m.

::It kind of bothers me that I have very little memory of this case having any relevancy. We just ended up being turned away, and while we were gone someone broke into my apartment, cleaned up, and installed a waterbed. What sort of sick person does that? Wonder if they'll do that to whoever has the apartment now.:: Breaking off his thoughts, Mulder points at a sign. "Milepost 134. Two miles to go."

"I'm all a-tingle," Scully says in a bored voice. "So, Mulder, this supposed clandestine source who's contacted you how do we know that he's not just another crackpot whose encyclopedic knowledge of extraterrestrial life isn't derived exclusively from reruns of Star Trek?"

"Because of where this particular crackpot works. Groom Lake. Area 51. Where the military has conducted..."

"... for the past 50 years, classified experiments involving extraterrestrial technology."

"You're good," Mulder remarks. "It's all our questions. The proof that we've suspected but never been able to hold in our hands. That...that proof is here."

"Mulder, it's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in this car, or one very much like it for more nights than I care to remember."

"It's what we do," Mulder tells her.

"Doesn't it bother you that there are millions of other people in this country who know where they're going to be tonight, tomorrow, and the next day too? People who don't have to give the care of their children over to strangers on a daily basis?"

"I thought you didn't want to be a stay-at-home Mom. Didn't you go into this big spiel about how we needed to keep fighting the good fight because more people than our kids were counting on us?" Mulder retorts.

"Yes."

"Then what is your point?"

"Don't you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car? Settle down and live something approaching a normal life? If not in the immediate future, but someday?"

"This *is* a normal life."

They don't get much farther before they meet what looks very much like an impromptu roadblock. "I don't know if we're going to meet that crackpot after all." Mulder sighs.

Several armed soldiers command them to get out of the car and they do so, with their hands raised. A moment later they're approached by an unattractive middle-aged man: Morris Fletcher.

"May I see some identification please?" Fletcher asks in a bored look. He looks at their badges and sighs. "FBI. You're going to have to turn around and leave immediately."

"Why?" Mulder asks. "It's a public highway."

"It also borders on a US Government testing ground. What's your business here? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Checking out places to stay for our fifth anniversary," Mulder deadpans. "What are you doing out here?"

"Hiding top secret test flights?" Scully suggests to Mulder's surprise. "Using technology from UFOs?"

"Flying saucers," Morris corrects sarcastically. "I got a top secret for you. There's no such thing as flying saucers."

Scully pulls on his arm. "Come on, Mulder, let's..."

A sound like thunder makes Scully pause, and they look up to see a bright flash on the horizon, which then zips overhead. Mulder takes a step away from Scully to get a clearer look at it, then looks down and realizes that he's not wearing the right clothes. A few feet away Morris is in his t-shirt and jeans. No one else seems to know that something big has just happened.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go." Scully tugs on Morris' arm, and he smirks at a bewildered Mulder as he gets into their rental car.

"Scully?" Mulder says softly, watching them drive away.

* * *

A soldier standing beside Mulder takes note of his distress and raises his rifle, aiming it at the retreating car. "Sir, open fire?"

"No! No. Let them go. Let them go."

"Sir?" Not sure what to do, Mulder just stares at him. "Your orders, sir?"

Mulder pauses, then says. "I want to get out of here."

Mulder gets into a car, and doesn't realize that he's being spoken to until agent Howard says his name a second time. "Morris, what do you think you're doing?" Mulder doesn't respond. "Why'd you let them go?"

"They didn't know anything," Mulder says at length.

"They were FBI agents obviously here to meet someone, very possibly an informant. You just sent away our best hope of finding out who."

Agent Jeff speaks in Mulder's defense. "We can't just disappear a couple of FBI agents, Howard. We'll get their own people to deal with them. That's what Morris was thinking. Right, Morry? Let's go."

* * *

Once they get back to the MiB headquarters, Mulder is slightly relieved to find out whose body he's in, and thankful that he manages to locate a license so he knows where to go when he leaves.

Jeff and Howard quietly debate why their superior, Wegman is doing in at that hour, and they barely notice when Mulder wanders off, in search of Morris' office.

::Oh crap.:: Mulder thinks to himself as he looks at the photos in the office. The ones of Sadam and Gingrech are disturbing enough, but it looks like whoever Morris is, he has a family. ::I can't deal with this crap. I need to get back into my body. Scully will know what to do.::

Looking around, he tries to locate a phone.

* * *

"Are you all right, Mulder?" Scully asks when they pull up at a gas station.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you haven't said anything since we left those men on the highway. Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine. Gas cap's on your side."

"Okay...If you don't want to talk about it."

Scully becomes annoyed when Morris ignores her phone. She shoots him annoyed look and grabs it herself. "Hello?" There's no one on the line so she hangs up in disgust and starts to get back out of the car.

Morris stops her. "Oh, Dana? Want to pick me up a pack of Morleys, please?"

She gives him a look of complete disbelief. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Well...you're not going to be a Nazi about it, are you?"

"God forbid I take some interest in my husband's health," she mutters stalking off.

Husband? Morris thinks. He glances at Mulder's face in the review mirror. Lucky bastard.

* * *

Area 51

Mulder nearly drops the phone when Jeff shouts "bastard" it's soon clear that he's not the bastard in question. "I ran a reverse trace on all the outgoing calls. We've definitely got a leak. He called the FBI this morning from Wegman's office."

"Wegman?" Mulder gives Jeff a puzzled look.

"The leak! He used the guest phone in Wegman's office. He's rubbing our noses in it."

"Hmm. In what?"

"In the fact that he works in this building. That he has access to everything - all our work - and we don't know who he is." When the phone begins to ring, Jeff looks at him. "Morris, you going to get that?"

Cringing a little, Mulder picks it up and gets an earful from Morris' wife.

"She really cracks that whip huh?" Jeff teases. Mulder gives him a wan smile. "Come on, man. Let's go home, I'll give you a ride."

"I hate to ask, but do you think we could stop off for a gallon of milk?"

Laughing and pretending to crack a whip, Jeff nods.

"What can I say?" Mulder asks. "I've got a growing boy at home." ::or three, but who's counting?::

* * *

"There it is, huh? Home sweet home." Mulder sighs, and gets out of the car clutching a gallon of milk.

"Good night," Jeff says.

"Ciao."

After he finds the kitchen and puts away the milk, Mulder picks up the phone and is startled to hear an operator who asks him if he wants an outside line. Thinking of Jeff's tracing, he says no.

::Guess I better go up to bed before the "wife" has something else to bitch about.:: He thinks, hoping that he finds the right bedroom on the first try.

To his relief, Mrs Fletcher is sound asleep. He finds some chaste looking pajamas and struggles to get into them without waking her. After a moment of debating he perches on the edge of the bed, and lies down as far away from the woman as he can.

* * *

Meanwhile

Washington, DC

Both Scully and Morris are yawning when they get to the house. He pulls out Mulder's keys, and squints at them. After a few seconds he realizes that the name on one of the keys matches the name by the lock, so he is tempted to breathe a sigh of relief when the lock turns on the first try.

"Home sweet home," he remarks loudly as the door swings open.

"Be quiet!" Scully hisses at him. "It's late, you don't want to wake the kids."

"Oh yeah," Morris mutters. He looks her up and down, wondering how many kids they have. Must be at least two, but her figure's still good, so...

"Hello, Fox, Dana." A young woman in a bathrobe comes down the stairs. "Just getting in?"

"We had a late flight," Scully tells her.

Morris is on the verge of wondering if this agent Mulder is an old-school Mormon who doesn't like the current church prohibitions against multiple wives, when the younger woman speaks again. "David and Jared ate about an hour ago, so they'll probably be waking up again in a couple of hours."

"Okay. Everyone else go to bed okay?"

Everyone else, Morris wondered, trying to turn his face so she wouldn't notice his look of shock. How many kids did these people have?

"Page and Sammy went to bed without a hitch, but April was cranky. I wish she'd tell us what she wants."

"We all do." Scully sounds tired. "The pediatrician says there's nothing wrong with her ears, so it's just a matter of time before she's talking."

"Honey, do you think it would be okay if we look in on the kids before we go to bed? I've really missed them this trip."

"Sure, Mulder, we'll just be really quiet."

"As mice," he promises. He follows her to the kids' bedrooms, and peers in at the sleeping forms. Looks like two preschoolers, a toddler, and two very small babies. No wonder agent Scully seems so tired.

* * *

Once they climb into bed, he only intends to kiss her good-night, figuring that Mulder is the sort to do that, but he's surprised when she reaches over and cups him through his pajama bottoms. Apparently she sees the shocked look on his face, because she frowns a little and says, "If you're too tired..."

"Uh..." He stalls for time, wondering if this would be considered cheating on his wife. Then he realizes that he doesn't care either way. When opportunity knocks... "I'm just surprised you want to. I mean, the babies are so young."

She laughs, then covers her mouth. "I'm sorry. Given that Page and Sammy aren't quite eleven months apart I'm touched that you'd be concerned about it being too soon for me."

Looking at her, he wonders if she's already thinking about another baby. Shrugging mentally, he decides that if that's what she wants... "I thought you might think differently after having the twins."

"Oh, is that why you've been so...polite? Nope. I still can't get enough of my handsome husband."

I was right Mulder is one lucky bastard, is the only thought still in Morris' mind as he helps her undress.

* * *

Washington, DC

6 a.m.

Scully looks up at Morris while putting on her panty-hose. "Could you get April, please?"

"Uh, sure." He thinks he remembers which kid that is. "Why?"

"I wanted to read her a story before we leave for work. Her doctor said it's important to hear language even if she's not talking on her own."

"Okay, sure," he agrees happy to know which kid it is for sure. The bigger girl must be talking, so it has to be the toddler.

He opens a couple of doors before he finds the right room, but doesn't wake anyone. To his surprise April is sitting up in her crib.

"Hey there, April. You look a lot like your mommy, don't you. Except for those eyes...which are suddenly filling with tears. What gives, Kid?"

Tears are rapidly running down her face by the time he brings her to Scully. "What's the matter, Baby?" Scully asks as she takes her youngest daughter from Morris. "Did something scare you?"

Morris is taken aback when the toddler shoots him a fearful look. "She must have had a bad dream."

"Yeah, I guess," Scully agrees, settling April on her lap and opening a picture book. "Sounds like Michelle is getting the rest of the kids up."

"Let me know when you're ready..." Morris wanders off, wondering if the kid is on to him, or if she normally hates her father. His daughter seems to hate him, so he thinks it could be either one.

* * *

Hoover Building

8:30 a.m.

Morris sits before Kersh with an attentive look on his face, and completely ignores the questioning looks Scully sends his way.

"My two frequent flyers. I'm to understand you were in Nevada yesterday and after - what's it been? - Two, three conversations such as this on the matter," Kersh says evenly.

Scully squirms. "Well, sir..."

"This morning I got a phone call from the Pentagon demanding that the two of you be reprimanded for trespassing on a top-secret military installation. What do you think you were doing there?"

"We were following a lead, sir," Scully says quickly.

"And that's part of your current caseload? A legitimate investigation?"

"Agent Scully and I were contacted by a confidential source," Morris says.

"What source?"

"Oh, if I had the name, I'd give it to you." He ignores Scully's sharp look. "Some whistle-blower working inside the so-called Area 51. Said he had some 'big deal' information. I got to tell you...The whole thing turned out to be just one gigantic mistake on our part."

"Agent Mulder, with the exception of the cardinal O'Fallon case you were specifically ordered not to pursue any line of investigation pertaining to the X-Files."

"Sir, you're absolutely right. And on behalf of Agent Scully and myself, I'd like to apologize for our blatant disregard of your direct order. You have our word. We will never ever do that again." Morris promises smoothly.

This shocks Scully into silence, at least until they get to the hallway.

"Mulder! What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"'I'd give you his name if I had it'? Whatever happened to protecting our contacts? Protecting our work?"

Morris shrugs. "He asked."

"What is going on with you?"

"Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me?"

"Mulder, you are acting bizarre."

"I know what your problem is." Morris states.

Scully puts her hands on her hips, and growls, "Just what would that be?"

Morris leans towards her. "You want me. Right here and now. Too bad we can't get caught messing around in the office right after getting chewed out." He swats her on the butt. "It's gonna be a long day, huh, Dana?" Then he walks off, oblivious to her outraged stare.

* * *

Meanwhile in another timezone

Near Area 51, Nevada

Eggs sizzle in a frying pan, but Mulder is staring into space. A touch on his shoulder catches him off guard. "Scully?"

"Morris, what are you doing? And who is Scully?"

"Good morning?" Mulder asks tentatively. "I'm um, making some breakfast. Would you like some bacon with your eggs?"

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is the first time in almost 20 years I've ever seen you cook. And you never told me who Scully is."

"Scully is someone I work with," Mulder tells her as he slides some eggs onto a plate. "No one important."

"Of course you're not going to elaborate. Morris let his wife into the details of his work? What was I thinking."

"You know my work is classified." Mulder guesses at a typical answer, but is dismayed when she walks out of the room. "Um...Honey? I ne...Have you...Have you seen my car keys? I thought I might have left them..."

A teenage girl walks into the kitchen. "Morning, Dad."

"Morning Sweetie."

"You promised me that you wouldn't call me stupid nicknames!" the girl shouts and runs back upstairs.

"Morris...What did you do to Chris?" Joanne calls.

"Who knows?" Mulder mutters under his breath. "Where are my keys?"

"Yo, dad." Mulder looks up when he sees a young boy come in the room.

"Good morning, Terry."

"Not Terry." The boy sounds a little less irritable than his older sister. "Terrence. 'Terry's' for wusses."

"Oh, and Terrence isn't?" Mulder wonders under his breath. "Hey, uh, Terrence how about helping your old Dad find his car keys?"

Joanne overhears and looks up from her eggs. "Chris, did you give your father back his car keys?"

Morris' daughter drops them on the floor instead of handing them to him. ::If Page or April ever act like this, they're going to a convent.:: Mulder fumes to himself as he reaches down for the keys. "Everyone have a good day."

As he turns to leave, Chris shouts. "Mom!"

"Morris! What about Chris?"

"Chris?"

"You said you'd give me an answer today," Chris says with a pout.

"Her nose. You said you'd give her an answer about her nose."

"Um...I think..." ::I think I've seen bigger noses, that's what I think.:: "I think we'll do what you suggested, Honey."

"For God's sake Morris, can't you make up your mind about something as simple as a nose ring?" Joanne demands to know.

Mulder stares at the girl's nose. "I'm sorry Chris, but I don't think you should disfigure yourself that way."

"I hate you! I wish you were dead!" Chris shouts at him.

"Well, my work here is done. Have a nice day," Mulder mutters, then makes for the door.

Joanne follows him. "You want a divorce, don't you? Just say the words - 'Joanne, I want a divorce.'"

"Joanne?" ::So the harpy does have a name.:: "Joanne, no."

"I will not live this way, Morris. I will not let you walk in and out of this house like a total stranger. Maybe it's better if you just..."

::Drop dead?:: Mulder wonders. "Sorry. I'm just not myself lately." ::I've got to get back to my real family before I wish I'm dead too.::

* * *

Washington, DC

That Afternoon

Both confused and annoyed, Scully looks away from Morris' game of computer golf when her phone begins to ring. "Scully."

"Oh, thank God, Scully, it's me."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"It's me, Mulder."

"Mulder." Scully gives Morris a quick look, but he's engrossed in his game.

"I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner. Look, something really weird happened last night when that UFO passed over us."

"UFO?"

Mulder is disappointed. "You don't remember? You don't remember. Okay, the man that you're with, that's not me. His name is Morris Fletcher. He's an Area 51 employee."

"Morris Fletcher."

"That's right. Everybody here seems to think that I'm him, but I'm not. I'm me. I'm Mulder." He pauses for a second. "Your husband."

"Uh huh, okay." Scully tries to get Morris to pick up the phone, but he ignores her. "Mulder, uh...Where are you?"

"Better not say. Look, just get out here as soon as you can."

"How can I get in touch with you?"

"You won't. I'll get in touch with you. Tell the kids I love them."

After Scully hangs up, she looks at Morris. "Why would someone impersonate you?"

"No idea."

"Then you don't think it was your source? Well, I'll run a trace."

"Uh...No, no. I think we should notify El Jefe ASAP. We don't want our collective asses chewed out all over again."

"Mulder? Are you sure that's the best thing to do?"

"Look, little lady, I think it's time you got your panties on straight. We're federal officers...We go by the book."

"Mulder..." Scully says weakly, staring after him.

* * *

Area 51

Late Afternoon

::You'd of thought I'd remember something like this:: Mulder tried not to let his upset stomach get the best of him a few hours later when he and Jeff look at the body of the store clerk that a soldier has just put out of his misery.

"We've got to get out of here before it happens again."

"Again?" Mulder asks in a daze as troops set the gas station on fire.

"Yeah, again. Our next stop will let you see for yourself."

"Ah," Mulder says, completely unsure that he wants to see anything else like that.

* * *

Meanwhile...

"Oh, hey, Dana." Morris looks up with a lazy smile when Scully catches him napping at his desk.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, you know, just a little recharging of the old batteries. What's up?"

"We got the trace back on the call we received this morning. It came from a gas station pay phone off of highway 375 three miles east of Groom Lake."

"And?"

"And I'm thinking it was your source although I don't know why he'd try and impersonate you."

"Maybe so."

"You don't think that we should follow up on this?"

"Are you out of your pretty little mind?" Morris asks her sharply.

"Am I out of my mind? Mulder, you are out of your mind! What is up with you? I'm thinking about having you examined for mental illness or-or drug use or...Or maybe a massive head injury! This is an X-File, your life's work, your crusade!"

"As I understand it, we're off the X-Files."

Furious, Scully leaves the office, slamming the door behind her.

"Guess I ain't getting any tonight," Morris says to the empty room.

* * *

Area 51 Lab

::How does it breath?:: Mulder wonders as he stares at a lizard with its head embedded in a rock. ::Maybe the nostrils aren't surrounded by rock. Hmm. I guess I could have ended up worse off than in this idiot's body.:: He glance down at Morris' paunch. ::A little worse off::

He tears his eyes away from the lizard when he realizes that Howard is speaking to him, Jeff, and general Wegman "This was brought to a local vet. Some kid found this in the desert ten miles east of the gas station." Then Howard points to a map where the lizard was found.

Wegman points to a different spot on the map. "This is where you found the gas station attendant?"

"Yes, sir. We located the pilot at the crash site here and the Indian woman right there." ::What pilot and Indian woman? Should I be mad that I'm, I mean Morris, is somewhat out of the loop?::

"What's this?" Wegman asks, pointing to a fourth dot.

"That, we believe, is ground zero. Once we analyze the flight data recorder we hope to confirm it's where the warp began." He shows them the flight data recorder.

"Warp?" Mulder asks.

"Beam me up, Scotty," Jeff quips.

"That's a tear in the space-time continuum, an anomaly created by the malfunction of the aircraft which was operating in gravity pulse mode before it went down."

"We've been flying these things since '53. I never heard of anything like this," Wegman says.

::I knew it!:: "According to quantum physics, it's possible," Mulder calmly remarks.

"Anti-gravity systems utilize bends in space and time for propulsion. A sudden shift in a craft's trajectory could create the kind of distortion we're witnessing right here."

"If this is where your so-called warp began we would have all seen it and the three of us were out on highway 375 at the time, sir, intercepting two FBI agents," Jeff says.

"A lizard and a rock existing in the same time and space. The fact that none of us remembers seeing it is evidence that my theory is correct, sir," Howard insists.

"And how's that?"

"Lost time," Mulder tells him.

Howard nods in agreement. "Lost time is a common symptom of close proximity to anti-gravity propulsion systems."

"Then how come my head isn't in a rock, or Morris'?" Jeff asks.

The question makes Howard look annoyed. "That's one question I haven't been able to answer. It is possible we suffered consequences from our exposure that we're not fully aware of."

"What do we do about it?" Mulder asks. All three men give him a strange look.

That's your department - keep it out of the paper, make sure the witnesses disappear." Howard says.

"Well, yeah, but I mean, how do we reverse it? How do we get the lizard out of the rock?"

Howard shrugs. "Who says we can?"

The remark makes Mulder feel a little ill, but he decides that the flight data recorder must be the answer to everything. If he can get his hands on it.

* * *

"This is not a marriage. It's a farce." Is the first thing Mulder hears in the morning as he tries not to fall off the narrow edge of the bed.

"What?" he asks Joanne sleepily.

"You're not attracted to me anymore. I disgust you, don't I?"

"No. No. It's not...It's not that you're disgusting. I-i-it's just that..."

"It's just that you don't want to ever make love to me ever again, that's all. That and you mumble something about Scully in your sleep. Who is Scully, Morris? Is it another woman?"

"Does Scully sound like a woman's name to you?"

"Who is Scully? Tell me."

"Oh, Joanne, I'm sure I've told you many times in the past that there are things about my work that unfortunately, I have to keep a secret."

"Oh, no, Buster. That's not going to fly this time."

"My point is that there are a lot of things you don't know about me. And...I've just...I've been under a lot of pressure lately. I mean, up is down and black is white. I don't know where I stand anymore. I don't even know...who I am really anymore. I just...I know for sure that I am not the man you married. I'm just not. And I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."

Joanne gives a relieved laugh. "Oh, God, Morris. I didn't know. They have that pill now. We can work this out. There's other ways to be intimate." Then Joanne hugs him while he's still stunned.

"I think that that was the doorbell," Mulder says.

"We can make this work," Joanne promises, and goes to the door.

"Yes?"

"Hi. My name is Dana Scully. I'm looking for Morris Fletcher."

The happy look melts on Joanne's face, and she yells into the house. "Morris, your whore is here!" When he sees Scully he smiles - until Joanne slaps him. "You son of a bitch." She turns and storms back into the house.

Scully looks nonplused by her reception and shakes her head to clear it. "I'm sorry. Uh, Morris Fletcher?"

"Scully, it's me. It's Mulder." He closes the door and walks into the driveway with Scully.

She gives him a nervous look. "You're, uh...You're the man from the other night? From Area 51?" He nods and she adds, "You phoned me. Would you mind telling me what this is about?"

"I'm Mulder. I'm really Mulder. I switched bodies, places, identities with this man Morris Fletcher the man that you think is Mulder, but he's not. Of course you don't believe me. Why was I expecting anything different? Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your badge number is...Hell! I don't know your badge number. Your mother's name is Margaret. We've got five kids, and named the second one for my sister after you vetoed my choice of Verse Mulder..."

Joanne opens the door and dumps Morris' suits onto the stairs. "Cheater!"

"Look...Any of that information could have been gathered by anyone," Scully says.

"Even me wanting to name Sammy 'Verse'? That is so you. That is so Scully. Well, it's good to know you haven't changed. That's somewhat comforting."

"I don't know what the point of all of this is."

"I'll prove it to you."

"No. You won't, but I wouldn't mind if you came clean with me."

"Scientific proof about what happened to us on that road two nights ago. Fair enough?"

Joanne Fletcher opens the front door again and yells out, "I am calling the police!"

"Please, Scully."

"Good-bye, Mr. Fletcher," Scully says, walking away.

"I will prove it to you, Scully. Tonight. I'll prove everything. Okay?" Mulder calls.

Scully doesn't answer him, but just gets into her car.

* * *

Ahearn's Service Station

Lincoln County, Nevada

Night

After ignoring the station attendant, Mulder makes a beeline for Scully when he sees her down another aisle.

"Scully, I got it. I got the proof." He holds out the bag to her, but she says nothing.

A moment later soldiers burst into the little store and cuff him.

"I'm sorry," Scully says morosely.

"Damn it, Morris." Jeff comes in, with Morris in tow.

"You! You son of a bitch!" He shouts at Morris. "You orchestrated this whole thing! He's not me, Scully! Would I do this? Would I do this? Scully...! Scully!"

Scully watches them take him out but then seems to realize the truth of what he claims. She takes a few steps toward him, but the soldiers get in her way.

Mulder continues to yell at Morris and to Scully as Soldiers drag him out. "No, you bastard, tell them the truth! Scully, he's not me! He's not me! Scully! He's not me!"


	67. Dreamland II

Nevada

November 12th, 1998

Scully reluctantly watches the MIB vehicles drive off.

Morris looks somewhat contrite as he joins her. "You hate me now, right? Dana, I'm sorry I narced on you to Kersh, but I...I was scared you were going to lose your job."

"You did the right thing, Mulder," Scully tells him.

"I did?"

"I've been telling you for years you should play more by the book, haven't I?"

"Hey, it's the new me." Morris claims. He doesn't notice Scully's look as she watches the road.

* * *

FBI Headquarters

Washington, DC

When Scully enters the basement office carrying a box, Morris nearly falls out of his chair trying to turn off his monitor so it's not obvious that he's been playing computer golf again. "So, what did Kersh say?"

"He said that I was willful, insubordinate and not a team player and the FBI didn't need agents that weren't team players."

"What a jerk. Then what?"

"Two-week suspension without pay."

"You're not serious. Who does he think he is?"

"Looks like you're on your own for a couple weeks. I'll see you at home."

"Let me make you dinner to ease the pain a little," Morris suggests. "I can drop the kids off at my mother's-"

"Your mother's?" Scully gives him a disbelieving look. "I thought we agreed that neither of your parents is fit to baby-sit in anything but the most dire of emergencies."

"Did I say my mother's?" Morris asks. "I meant your mother's. We'll give the nanny the evening off - God knows she'd probably like a few hours to go out with friends - and have the house to ourselves until I pick the kids up."

"I'll drop the kids off, but that sounds good." She gives him a small smile. "See you tonight."

"Why don't you spend the rest of the day shopping? Maybe for something lacey."

* * *

Area 51 Brig

Lying on his uncomfortable bunk, Mulder is giving up hope that the pilot stuck and Lana Chee's body is ever going to stop running her mouth. ::or maybe it's his mouth.::

"...he's like a damn dog tick."

"Maverick?"

The pilot ignores him. "You ain't shaking that son of a gun."

"Hey, Grandma Top Gun, will you shut the hell up?"

A few second later a guard shows up outside Mulder's plexiglass cell.

"General Wegman wants to see you."

* * *

"Son..." Wegman says. "You got a set on you. I'll say that much."

"You had us fooled. Why didn't you tell us what you were doing from the start?" Jeff asks.

"Meaning?" Mulder asks, having no idea what is going on.

"It's the wrong one. You replaced the flight data recorder. This one's," Howard holds up a flight data recorder. "from a scrapped F-111, sir. It's junk. You gave the FBI the wrong flight data recorder. Why?"

"Morry," Jeff says. "If you were running a scam on the FBI why didn't you let us in on it?"

"I didn't know if I could trust you. We have a security leak, gentlemen, and for all I knew it was one of you. That's why I decided I should approach Agent Scully alone to find out who her contact is. Unfortunately, her partner Agent Mulder screwed everything up." Mulder hopes they buy it.

"So why didn't you tell us all this afterward?" Howard asks.

"I knew that you wouldn't believe it until you figured it out for yourself."

"So the real flight data recorder is safe?"

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely."

"And you will bring it back?"

"Of course."

"By God, you do got a set on you. I wish I could say the same about some of your colleagues. About those who proffer rumor and innuendo those who make dangerous accusations."

"Sir," Howard protests. "Morris's behavior seemed to..."

"You can explain yourself to the review panel in Washington. I've already wired them recommending censure for your actions. You're lucky I didn't throw you in the stockade."

* * *

Fletcher Residence

Rachel, Nevada

After Morris' daughter informs him that her mother is getting a restraining order, Mulder has serious doubts about what will happen to Morris' marriage once he gets back. He's not sure if he should care, after the way Morris screwed him, but he can't help but feel a little bad for his family, as unpleasant as they are. ::Probably all Morris' fault they treat him this way, anyway.::

Joanne gives him a decidedly unfriendly look. "What are you doing back?"

"Joanne..."

"Your stuff is all outside. Take it and get out."

"Joanne, listen to me. There's something I got to tell you."

"I've heard enough from you for one lifetime, Morris."

"Go tell it to that tramp of yours, that Scully, whatshername".

"Dana Scully - Special Agent Dana Scully."

"Special Tramp Dana Scully."

"She's my partner, Joanne."

"I'm supposed to be your partner," Joanne snaps.

"My name is not Morris Fletcher. It's Fox Mulder. Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI. Dana Scully is my FBI partner, my wife and the mother of my children. I am not your husband, we are not married, we are complete strangers and I have a whole other life that I'm desperately trying to get back to. I miss my own kids, Joanne."

"You know, Morris, most men when they have a mid-life crisis they go out and buy themselves a sports car. They don't run around calling themselves Fox."

"I want you to look out the window. Will you just look out the window with me for a second? See that car down there? See the two men in it? They're surveilling me. They're spying on me. I don't know if your husband ever told you this but he has a very dangerous job and those two men in that car, like you, think that I'm him only they don't trust me. So, one false move and I'm history. Which means that your husband will also be history because I won't be able to get back and set things the way they're supposed to be. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

She doesn't say anything, so he tries to reason with her. "I'm not good with Terry and Chris because I don't have kids that old, yet. My kids are only little. Three of them are still babies, and the other two are in preschool. I wish I could show you pictures-"

"You're not good with our kids because you're not here for them, and never have been. Morris, if you don't like the man you've become I don't blame you one bit. But this flight from reality isn't the answer. Accept who you are. However repulsive that may be."

* * *

Washington, DC

When she comes in the house, Morris kisses Scully on the cheek. "How's your mother?"

"Good. She was pleased to have the kids over. I guess she feels like she doesn't see them often enough."

"I have a surprise for you, up in the bedroom."

"You do, do you?" Scully smiles knowingly at him.

"Someone has a dirty mind," Morris admonishes playfully. "I had them set it up while you were out shopping. Do you hate it?"

Scully stares at the waterbed. "No, I don't hate it."

"Well, all right then. Uh, don't go away."

There's champagne in one hand and glasses in the other when he comes back in the room.

"Do you know what would really be fun?"

"What?"

"If we play a game like we used to when we first got married. I'll be the police officer, and you can be the bad, bad man." Scully dangles her handcuffs in front of him.

"Oh, yeah. Me first?"

"You first," she agrees, handing him the cuffs which he eagerly wraps around the bedpost.

"Now what?" Morris asks. When he looks up he sees that she's pointing her gun at him. "Shit."

"You're not Mulder."

"What?"

"Baby..." The top pops off the bottle of champagne, startling them both.

"'Baby me and you'll be peeing through a catheter. I can't believe I had sex with you!"

"But it was good though, right?" Morris leers at her.

"Your name is Morris Fletcher. It was Mulder who was arrested in the desert. He was telling the truth about you. Now, how do we get things back to normal?"

"How should I know? I wouldn't do it even if I could. You saw my wife. Do you think I want to go back to that? Two kids who'd probably kill me in my sleep for the insurance money. A $400,000 mortgage on a house that just appraised at $226,000. And my job...Yee Gods. You think being a man in black is all voodoo mind control? I can see the paperwork."

"Are you through?"

"As far as I'm concerned this thing is a gift from heaven. Hot wife, four out of five kids don't seem to hate me... Besides, no one is ever going to believe you so you might as well just get used to me being here."

"Or I just shoot you...Baby."

"I'm telling you, I have no idea how to change things back," Morris says pleadingly.

"What about Mulder's source? The man he was supposed to meet in the desert? What about him? Do you know how to get in touch with him?"

"I don't know anything about that. Sorry. You're out of luck," Morris says primly. "And you wouldn't really kill me, would you? You'd never get your husband back in this body if you did."

Before Scully can weigh in on her opinion on that matter, the answering machine goes off. "Hello, hello. I'm very busy entertaining my sexy wife. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Scully gives Morris a disgusted look and he blushes.

"Agent Mulder, I'm trying you one last time. Are you or are you not interested in the classified information I have to give you? Please pick up the phone if you're there."

Waving her gun at the phone, Scully indicates he should pick it up. Morris does so "Mulder."

He holds the phone away from his ear so Scully can hear too. "Agent Mulder, listen very carefully."

* * *

Fletcher Residence

4:47 p.m.

Bored, Mulder plays with the blinds with his foot as he keeps an eye on the surveillance team keeping an eye on him.

"Well, I guess we've given the neighbors enough to talk about. For God's sake, Morris at first you couldn't wait to get away from me and now you won't leave the house."

"Jesus, are you always this much of a martyr? No wonder you don't get along with him."

"Him, who?"

"Your husband."

"You are my husband," Joanne snaps.

"Not that again." Mulder sighs. "Where can we go?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're right. We should get out of the house. Go someplace with a lot of people. That should keep us from being at each other's throats."

"Someplace with a lot of people?"

"Mm-hmm."

"In Rachel, Nevada?" she asks disbelievingly.

"Come on, what do you say? I'll pretend to be your husband and everything."

"Morris..." She shakes her head sadly, but goes and gets her purse.

* * *

Little Al Ein Bar & Inn

"Well, this place is interesting," Mulder says as he and Joanne take their seats. "I don't think I've ever been anywhere like this. Alien themed western bar. Huh."

"I thought you said you were going to pretend to be my husband," Joanne says in a strange tone. "He's a regular here."

"Oh yeah, sorry." Mulder looks around.

"Are you expecting someone?" Joanne asks.

"No, I'm not expecting someone."

"Because if you're here expecting someone and not to buy me a drink, you should tell me now so I can divorce you and take the house."

"Relax. Order us whatever it is that we usually order." He looks up and sees Jeff and some other MiB employees coming in, and they're not anyone he wants to deal with. "Whoa, ooh, that beer, it went right through me. I got to...I'll be right back."

* * *

Mulder sneaks out the back door, and begins looking for a car that's unlocked so he can "borrow" it. Although he's not sure where he's going to go if he finds a car, he knows he can't stay there, and Joanne has the keys to Morris' car.

By chance he stumbles up to Scully's car. "Scully!"

"Mulder? Is that really you?"

He gets into the car with her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to figure out a way to help you."

When Mulder goes back inside, he gets doused with white wine by Morris' unhappy wife, and stumbles onto Morris and Wegman's meeting. With his help they get the data recorder to Scully so she can see if it contains any information that will help them switch back to their own bodies.

* * *

The Next Night

Morris stays in the car while Mulder and Scully talk.

"You don't look too happy. Don't tell me I'm going to have to put two more kids through school."

She gives him a hesitant smile. "That is you in there, Mulder, isn't it?" He nods. "I, uh...I just got off the phone with Frohike. They were able to download and analyze the crash data and, yes, there was an anomalous event that night."

"And how do I get back?"

"Well, that's just it. It's all about random moments in time...About a series of variables approaching an event horizon. And even if we...could recreate that moment if we could sabotage another craft...Mulder, if we were...If we were off...If the event were off by even one millisecond..."

"I might wind up with my head in a rock."

"Something like that, yeah."

"What about him? I mean, me. Whatever. Whoever he is."

Scully shrugs. "I guess if we can't get you back in your body, it and I get a divorce. He may look like you, but he's not the man I want raising my children."

"He's not who I'd pick, either," Mulder says grimly.

"As for everything else...'Agent Mulder' has become AD Kersh's new golden boy. He's been tasked with returning the flight data recorder that he and I stole. The son of a bitch confesses to Kersh even more than I do to my priest. I'm just tagging along for the ride."

"What do you mean, 'just tagging along'?"

"I'm out of the Bureau. I've been censured and relieved of my position."

"No. You can explain it to them like you explained it to me. You have the data. You can make them understand. You can get your job back."

"I'd kiss you if you weren't so damn ugly," Scully tells him. "If it doesn't...work out, divorce his wife too, Mulder. We can make this work if we have to, I swear."

Morris honks the horn at them and yells out the open window. "Take a picture - it'll last longer.

Mulder stares at the car. "If I...shoot him is that murder or suicide?"

"Neither, if I do it first." When he looks alarmed, she adds. "I'd wait until it was absolutely certain that this thing can't be fixed. And I am going to keep working on this."

"I know you will," Mulder says, and hugs her before Scully goes to deal with Morris.

A short time later Scully discovers that the burned out gas station no longer was, and that the attendant has no idea what she's talking about when she brings it up. She's practically running when she reaches the car and throws herself inside.

"What are you doing?" Morris asks as she hits the gas.

"If I'm lucky, I'm getting rid of you," she says through gritted teeth.

"How?"

* * *

Fletcher house

::Man, you screwed up Morris. Wonder where you'll live now?:: Mulder wonders as he puts Morris' stuff in a U-Hall. He tries to push away the thought of what happens to him if he can't switch back.

Just then, Scully and Morris pull up in a car. "What are you doing here?" Mulder asks, walking up to the car.

"I need to talk to you. Something's happened," Scully tells him.

In the front door, Joanne and Terry are attempting to get Morris' recliner outside. "Morris! Don't forget your stupid chair! You and it should be very happy together!" Joanne looks up and sees Scully. "Terence, get back inside." Once he does, she speaks to Scully. "You got a lot of gall coming back here, Sister."

"Joanne, I told you - I'm not your husband." Mulder points to Morris. "This man is."

"You come here to watch my family fall apart?" Joanne asks Scully. "You getting some kind of big kick out of that?"

"Mulder, I have to talk to you alone ," Scully insists.

::She knows it's me!:: Mulder thinks gleefully. ::Maybe if I can't get my body back, I can at least have my family back. It'll take time, but we'll all adjust to me being so ugly.::

"Home-wrecker!" Joanne shouts as Mulder and Scully step away to talk.

Morris gives Joanne a sad look. "Careful. You're going to bust a lung."

"Leave me alone."

"Joanne...What he said about me being your husband - it's true."

"Get the hell off my porch."

"We got married on June 13th, 1978 It rained that day. You got mad at me at the reception because I said couldn't see the cake behind your fat ass. Remember our first apartment - that dump in Pentagon City? You'd turn the air conditioner on and the lights would go out? Or when you were pregnant how I'd tickle your kneecaps to make you laugh? Remember? Remember the night Chrissy was born? When I held her in my arms all red-faced and screaming?"

"That was the only time I ever saw you cry." Joanne begins to cry herself. "Oh, my God...Morris? Is that you?"

Mulder pulls on Morris' arm. "Come on, Morris. Let's go."

"What do you mean, go? Where are you taking him?" Joanne asks frantically.

"Mrs. Fletcher, we have reason to believe that whatever event caused this to happen may be in the process of reversing. If it does, we can get our husbands back into their correct bodies."

"We got to get back to that highway, back to the exact spot where this all began. It may be our only chance," Mulder tells her.

Two MiB SUVs pulls up in front of the house. Jeff gets out of one and approaches them. "Sorry, Morris. A traitor's a traitor."

"This isn't what it looks like," Mulder says quickly.

Soldier, who had been rummaging through Scully's car holds up the fight data recorder. "Got it!"

* * *

A few miles down the road Jeff has to stop the car because another impromptu roadblock has been set up. Leaning out the window, Jeff yells to Howard. "What are you doing?"

Howard looks calm when he walks over to the car. "I'm cleaning up a mess."

"What are you talking about?"

"About an hour ago I put Captain McDonough and Mrs. Chee back where they belong. Now it's their turn." He points at Mulder, Scully, Morris and Joanne.

"The warp that started this is snapping back like a rubber band," Mulder says in awe.

"Only we have to be in its path when it happens," Scully says. They all listen to a distant rumble that doesn't sound much like thunder.

"Why are you doing this?" Mulder asks Howard.

"Till now, I had a spotless career record. I want that back."

The rumble gets even louder. "So this is time snapping back?" Morris asks.

"It'll be like the last few days never happened. You won't remember any of this," Howard says. "I don't think any of us will."

"Oh. Well, in that case, Dana...It's been real." Morris raises a hand to slap Scully on the behind, but glares from both Mulder and his wife make him drop his hand. "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"God I hope not..." Scully mutters. The rumble reaches a crescendo, and there's a flash of light. "We're back!" Mulder crows excitedly.

"Yeah, we're back," Morris replies sullenly, but then an amazed look fills his face when Joanne throws her arms around him.

"Come on, Mulder. Let's go."

Once they're in the car Joanne waves to them, and actually seems happy. ::I didn't see that coming..:: Mulder thinks as they drive into the night.

* * *

Washington, DC

Early the Next Morning

"Mulder, just checked the messages. Looks like we slipped under Kersh's radar. Our little field trip to Nevada went unnoticed."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mulder, I'm sorry that your confidential source didn't pan out."

"Well, I guess you were right, Scully. Just another crackpot who watches too much Star Trek."

He opens the door to their bedroom, then looks back out into the hallway at her. "When did we get a waterbed?"

"A what?" She pushes past him and looks in the room. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"I have no idea." Mulder confesses, shaking his head. ::They did it again, the diabolical bastards!::

* * *

November 19th, 1998

"I want you to close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice," Doctor Killen says.

Mulder closes his eyes, and wonders if Killen is really a doctor. He probably isn't, but he does seem to know how to hypnotize people, which is the important thing. For the second time Mulder is absolutely certain that more went on the week before than he's aware of, so hypnosis seems like the logical way to unravel the mystery of why there's a waterbed in his room that no one will claim responsibility for.

" - listen to the sound-" ::I am getting sleepy, very sleepy. Or bored. No, it actually is sleepy...::

When Mulder comes back to full consciousness, Doctor Killen is giving him an angry look. "Here." He thrusts a cassette tape at Mulder. "Do not come back here ever again."

"What, why?" Mulder asks, startled by the remark.

"I don't know if you're very good at faking that you are under, or if you have severe mental problems that allow you to believe your weird fantasies are reality, but I will not be mocked like this in my own office."

"Uh...all right then. Thank you for your time."

Since Mulder paid in advance, Killen just holds the door open for him, and made it very clear that he wants Mulder to leave.

"I wonder what the hell that was all about," Mulder mutters to himself as he gets into his car. He pushs the tape into the car's tape player and begins to listen to himself speaking to Killen.

Once he's gotten to the part about switching bodies, he thinks he understands the good doctor's reaction.

* * *

November 25th, 1998

When he shuffles through the mail, one of the pieces surprises him. It's postmarked from New York, but has no return address so he's curious as to what it could possibly contain.

Slitting it open, he unfolds it and reads:

_Agent Mulder,_

_How have you been? I hope your family is well. I thought I should tell you that I'm finally taking your advice – I'm going to become an FBI agent. I start Quantico in February, and I'm hoping that I get placed in New York so I don't have to take Luke out of his school for more than just this school year._

_The reason for this sudden change of heart is painful to discuss. Barbara got a job in sales, about two years ago. It meant a lot of long hours away from the family, but she seemed to find the work fulfilling, so I supported her decision to devote time to her career._

_I'm regretting now that I didn't pay more attention, since I'm sure there were warning signs along the way... She was made a vice-president of the company last month, and agreed, without discussing it with the family, to take a position in Europe. This of course lead to a fight, and during it she revealed that she hadn't talked it over because she was leaving me for one of her co-workers who was also moving to Europe for his job as well._

_The kids are taking it hard, mostly, I think, because she made it clear that she was not just leaving me, but them as well. It's been a strange transition from husband and father to just single father. We're getting by._

_Anyway, thanks for suggesting the FBI as a career._

_John Doggett_

Sighing, Mulder puts the letter back in the envelope, and riffles though a desk drawer until he finds the card Doggett sent him almost exactly three years before. Everyone looks so happy in the picture, and he finds it hard to believe that the smiling woman holding tiny baby Hannah is now thousands of miles away from that little girl. Husbands seem easy to leave, but how do you abandon a daughter who is barely three and a son who isn't yet a teenager?

"Here," he says a couple of minutes later when he finds Scully watching TV with Page.

"Oh, that's too bad," Scully says sadly once she's gotten a chance to read it.

"Yeah."

"You know, I sort of wondered how happy they were when we saw them that Fourth of July. Since she wasn't with them on a holiday."

"Ah." Mulder guesses that it's one of the signs Doggett said he missed.

"I'm glad he's going to become an FBI agent, but New York to Virginia is a hell of a commute."

"Maybe he plans to rent an apartment."

"For four months? Who rents places for four months?" Scully asks.

"You know what would be nice?" Mulder asks back. "If he knew some people with empty bedrooms that'd let him and his kids stay with them for a while."

"You want them to stay here?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

"Why, do you hate the idea?"

"Well no, but he'll probably say no."

"Probably, but it is a nice gesture of friendship in keeping with it being Thanksgiving this week."

"If you want to make the offer, I'm okay with that." She adds.

Mulder grins at her. "When I was a kid my mom would never let me and my friends have sleepovers."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Guess that makes me cooler than your mom."

"Oh, definitely," Mulder agrees, nuzzling her neck.


	68. Terms of Endearment

November 29th, 1998

After waiting a few days to see if Scully will think better of it, Mulder picks up the phone and calls Doggett. He's not sure if the man has actually given him his number, since he'd initially gotten it by having the doing a trace when Luke had called him so long ago, but he doesn't figure Doggett will care either way.

After a couple of rings Doggett picks up. "Hello?"

"John, it's Fox Mulder. I got your letter a couple of days ago."

"Oh, hi. Glad it got there safely," Doggett mutters. He sounds like he regrets what he wrote.

"Did I ever tell you about my house?" The question must seem apropos to nothing.

"Uh, I don't think so."

"We inherited it from my uncle Saul. Ten bedrooms. Between Scully and I, the kids, and our nanny we only use six bedrooms since only the three older kids have their own rooms yet." Mulder is tempted to go on to explain that it's easier to keep the twins in the nursery together and to explain how April took to her new room a lot easier than Sammy did when he was taken out of Page's room a few months ago for the second time, but he decides that it will just confuse Doggett more.

And Doggett does sound confused. "Okay."

"So we have four bedrooms that no one ever uses," Mulder tells him. "Given that, Scully and I wanted to offer three of them to you and your kids while you go to Quantico."

"You remember that it takes four months to complete training, don't you?" Doggett asks in disbelief.

"With two FBI agents in the house, that sort of thing is hard to forget."

"That's a very generous offer. I don't know what to say..."

"Say yes," Mulder prompts, forgetting that he'd been expecting a rejection.

"You really don't mind?"

"We really don't. Like I said, those rooms are just going unused. Buy groceries that your kids will like, sign Luke up for the local public school and put Hannah in daycare, and you'll be all set."

"I hope you won't regret this, but yes. And thank you."

"When do you start at Quantico?"

"February fourth."

"Okay, so we'll expect you, Luke and Hannah on the second or third."

"Great. See you then, I've got to tell the kids."

"Bye until then."

Mulder hangs up the phone, then goes to look for his wife to tell her that they're getting their three house guests after all. ::Man, I hope she was agreeing with the possibility that he'd say yes in mind.::

* * *

mid-December 1998

US Department Of Agriculture

Washington, DC

::Does sibling rivalry mean that you want to kill your little weasel of a half-brother?:: Mulder wonders bitterly. He pushes aside the nagging voice in the back of his mind that insists that he could be out in the field working on that demon baby case, if he hadn't decided that the chance for entertainment wasn't worth upsetting Scully over; cases with kids were harder to take every time they added one to their family.

No, as far as he was concerned, it was all Spender's fault that he and Scully were stuck in an even more dilapidated office than usual, interviewing people who wished to work for the department of Agriculture.

The two current hopefuls seemed like real pieces of work. The fellow Scully is talking to looks like he might be Jerry Garcia fresh from the witness protection program. And the woman he's interviewing... someone should have taken her aside and gently explained that a tight-fitting dress, and long nails, both bright red, were not the best choices she could have made for her interview.

Scully, though she looks bored out of her mind, is going through the script that Spender handed them before condemning them to this special corner of hell. "Remember your truthfulness is important, Mr. Ginsberg and as a prospective federal employee, I will remind you to answer as honestly as possible. Okay?"

"Sure. Fire away."

"Do you, or have you ever smoked marijuana?"

"Nope. No, siree."

Even Mulder's interviewee can't help but stare at him. When she does Mulder realizes that it's been a full minute since he's spoken to her.

"Ms. Hart, have you ever been convicted of a crime?"

The woman's face becomes coy. "Not unless you consider breaking hearts a crime."

"Breaking and entering yes, breaking hearts no." Mulder glances back at the list. In an act of passive defiance, he's yet to memorize the questions.

"Have you consorted with people who smoked marijuana now or in the past?" Mulder looks up when Scully asks that, interested in Mr. Ginsberg's answer.

"No...I really don't think so."

"Tell me something, agent Mulder," the lady in red says. "Are you married?"

"Yes, and happily," Mulder tells her with a straight face. The woman is lucky, because Scully, still dumbfounded by Ginsberg's reply, doesn't seem to have heard her. Reaching into his wallet, Mulder pulls out pictures of his kids. "Ain't they something?"

Hart gives him a weak smile. "They're beautiful."

A sharp rap on the door makes all four turn their heads towards the source of the noise. Just a second later the door swings open, and agent Skinner sticks his head in. "Agent Mulder? Scully? Could I have a word with you, please?"

"Excuse us."

Through the closed door Mulder hears Hart and Ginsberg strike up a conversation, and a perverse thought occurs to him - they'd make a good couple. Couple of what, he's not sure of, but -

"What can we do for you, agent Spender?" Scully's voice is polite, but cold.

"I have a case I could use your help on." Spender turns to Mulder. "And to answer your question before you ask it, you should help me because it'll get you out of that office."

"Fair enough," Mulder agrees. "How can we help? Us, in particular."

Spender grimaces. "The case that landed in my lap is unusual. It wasn't something I planned to follow up on, but then local officials forced my hand." He nods towards Scully. "Your medical knowledge will be particularly useful."

"Where's the case?" Mulder asks, knowing that it's on both of their minds.

"Hollins, Virginia."

"Has there been another disappearance?" Mulder asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Hollins is very close to Roanoke, isn't it?"

"Oh. No, it's not that sort of case. I think it would be best to simply show you our crime scene, rather than waste time explaining it now."

"Whatever you say." Mulder tries very hard not to make a face at him.

"Great. We leave in about an hour," Spender tells them. "We should be back in DC tonight, so no need to pack any clothes."

As soon as Spender walks off, Scully grabs Mulder's arm. "Oh my God, Mulder. We're really getting out of here."

Some of Mulder's enthusiasm flickers when he realizes which case Spender is talking about. This time around Spender didn't round-file the demon case.

* * *

Betsy Monroe's Yard

An Hour Later

A team is excavating some very small graves. There's a far away look on Scully's face as she carefully examines a tiny skeleton. Mulder joins her, looking somber himself. He barely notices that a police officer is taking photographs just a few feet away.

"Who killed these babies, agent Spender?" Scully demands to know.

He shrugs. "As far as we can tell, their mother did."

"That's horrible," Mulder says quietly.

"I know. And what's worse is that it seems as though the man who is probably their father killed a lot of their half siblings too." Without any preamble, he uncovers a box that also contains bones. "This is the only skeleton we were able to recover from the other site, but I suspect that there's a history of infanticide in that man's history too."

Sighing, Scully peers at the little misshapen head. "Because the babies were deformed?"

"Probably."

"What about these babies?" Scully gestures to the graves. "They're not deformed."

"I don't know." Spender looks chagrined. "We're going to find out, though. We have the mother in custody."

"You do?" Mulder gives him a shocked look. ::This isn't how this story goes.::

"Of course. Officers found her about an hour ago. She was trying to flee, but blood loss slowed her down, and she fell asleep at the wheel. Unfortunately, she didn't do the state the favor of killing herself in the accident."

"I see," Mulder says, although he doesn't.

"Her baby wasn't killed either," Spender adds.

"Why would she kill four babies, but not this one?" Scully asks.

Spender opens a folder. "From these records it's clear that she knew that the baby was going to share the same deformity as the victim we recovered from the other site. However, for all we know she simply hadn't had time to murder this infant too."

"Oh."

"Once we get back to DC, I need you to see if there is conclusive evidence that the five victims are related. We need all the evidence we can get to try the murders."

"Okay, sure," Scully says faintly. Once Spender is out of earshot, she turns to Mulder. "How could anyone kill four perfect babies, and let a deformed one live. I don't mean that you should kill a baby for being deformed, but..."

"Maybe the baby with problems isn't the one that she saw as being wrong. Maybe she wanted a baby that has demon horns," he says, staring at the skull in the box.

"No one wants a de-de-mon baby instead of a perfect one, Mulder," Scully says shakily.

"I don't think everyone has the same definition of perfect as we do." To his shock, her eyes fill with tears. Thinking quickly, he puts his arm around her. "Hey."

She rubs away tears with the back of her fist. "I'm sorry, this case has just really gotten to me. I think it's hormonal."

"Yeah," he agrees absently.

"I'm going to take the pregnancy test tomorrow, to be sure," she adds.

::Wait, what? I think I'd remember having sex lately.:: "You are?"

She smirks a little and kisses his chin. "I told you that I couldn't get enough of my handsome husband the night we flew back from Nevada."

::Oh my f~cking God! Morris! If I ever see him again, I'm going to kill him!:: "Good thing it's mutual," he says in as lighthearted a tone as he can manage.

"Agent Mulder?" Spender's voice makes him look up. "I didn't just drag you along for the ride. Your part in the case is here."

Looking down, Mulder realizes that Spender is holding a baby carrier. There's a receiving blanket thrown over the top, hiding the passenger from view. "What?"

Putting his free hand on Mulder's shoulder, Spender steers him away from Scully. "Look, we're in a bind here. Child services tried to find a placement for this kid, but none of the foster families they asked will take him in. I normally wouldn't ask this of an agent, but I know you're good with kids, and it's only for a few days. Maybe a week."

"Why won't anyone take him in?" Mulder asks slowly.

"Um..." Spender looks down at his feet.

Without asking his leave, Mulder pulls the blanket off. "Holy shit! This isn't a baby, it's a demon!"

"That sort of comment isn't very constructive, Mulder. The child has some unfortunate deformities, but don't you think it's a little harsh to call him demonic? He's not going to win any beauty contests, but he's simply a baby."

Mulder doesn't answer. Instead he stares at the infant. If you took a normal baby gave him a pair of little horns and stretched out his fingers, toes and eyes, you'd have a child who looked a lot like the one sleeping in the baby carrier.

"It's better for him to be in protective custody until a foster home is arranged than in an orphanage," Spender says.

For some reason Mulder is sure that Spender has already tried to get an orphanage to take it in and been refused. Old school Catholics probably wouldn't want a demon, no matter how small, in their midst, and he doesn't know of any secular orphanages.

"How long are we talking about?" he asks.

"A week, tops."

"IF you can get Scully to agree to this, I'm going to hold you to that. You really don't want me to show up at your house with a diaper bag."

When Spender tries to hand him the carrier, Mulder throws up his hands and backs away. "Uh Uh. If you want me to take that home with me, you need to convince Scully first. I'm pretty sure she'll have some words for you about bringing...that home to our kids, two of whom are barely three months old." ::Not to mention that she's possibly pregnant again, dammit.::

"This baby can't even hold up his own head-"

Mulder points to where Scully is. "Tell her that."

Spender thrusts the baby carrier at him. "I'll be back soon."

"Uhhh..." The baby stares up him with dark, blank eyes, which makes him uncomfortable, so he throws the blanket back over the carrier.

While Mulder watches from a distance, Spender talks to Scully. He gestures animatedly, which amuses Mulder for some reason. Maybe because the younger man doesn't seem to realize that he's making that impassioned request.

After a couple of minutes the two of them walk back to where Mulder has been keeping an eye on the baby demon. ::Or maybe he's an imp. Isn't that a small demon?::

He lifts the blanket so Scully can see, and she frowns. "Unfortunate deformities."

Mulder stares at her. "He's not deformed, Scully. This is what he's supposed to look like."

"No babies are supposed to look like this."

"Uh, baby demons are," Mulder says.

She gives him a 'don't be silly' look before reaching out to touch it. His instinct is to grab her wrist so she can't, but he squelches the impulse, leaving his fingers twitching impotently.

"Agent Spender said he was probably premature, but he's big even for a full term newborn."

::A newborn what?:: "Maybe you're mentally comparing him to David and Jared," he suggests instead. "They were small at birth."

"Maybe," Scully says as she continues to look it over. "I think I'll weigh and measure him when we get home, though."

"You - you want to bring this creature into our home?" Mulder sputters in shock. He'd been so sure that she would flat out refuse Spender's idea.

She sighs. "It's just a baby."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, it'll give us a taste of what having six kids in the house would be like."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just borrow Emily for a week instead?"

* * *

It takes about an hour after Mulder reluctantly agrees to a week of demon-sitting for them to get on the road. Most of the time is spent debating the legality of raiding Betsy Monroe's house for baby supplies for her son. In the end the decision made that commandeering her possessions for his benefit falls under in the realm of legitimate seizure, so Spender and Mulder wrestle the crib intended for the infant as well as several armloads of other baby paraphernalia into the trunk while Scully buckles him into the backseat.

When he makes the mistake of looking in the review mirror as he gets behind the wheel, he shudders. Tiny claws and horns are going to haunt his nightmares about driving with his kids for months, he can already tell.

On the ride home Scully turns the conversation back to the possibility that they're going to be having another baby. She chatters excitedly, and he thinks he hears her say something about not minding at all if this one was a girl, to even things out. Mostly, he's just glumly thinking about the coin that melded together that Scully got last time and the waterbed he inexplicably received not once but twice. Those changes seemed to be too far away from Nevada to be reversed when everything else went back to rights. It seems as though Morris borrowing his body to have sex with his wife is irreversible too.

::I tried, William. I really did. Hopefully Mom wants seven kids.:: "He thinks about David and Jared and feels a sick rush in his stomach before assuring himself, ::Nah, two sets of twins? What are the odds of that? After this next kid is born I'm going to be impotent for a year, I swear to God.::

"We need to set some ground rules about...our houseguest," Mulder announces abruptly.

"Okay." She seems to notice that he looks surprised that she agreed without arguing, because she adds, "You're the one who has to be responsible for him all day."

"First, I want to keep him in one of the empty bedrooms - as far away from Page and Sammy's rooms as possible. I'm going to put a lock on the door too. I don't want them to see it, ever. The last thing we is for everyone at their preschool to hear all about this case."

"Okay."

"I don't think they'll realize that I'm home all day, they'll just think I've gotten home from work early."

"True."

"And we can't expect Michelle to have anything to do with...him. We hired her to look after our kids, and even if Spender is willing to pay her more, I don't feel right asking her to care for him. I mean, when Doggett comes next month he's putting Hannah in daycare, after all."

"Right."

"So when you and the older kids are home, I'll keep a baby monitor with me so I can listen for him. With luck they'll think the crying is one of their brothers."

"They probably will," Scully agrees.

"You're not even paying attention to what I'm saying, are you," Mulder states.

She gives him a guilty look. "Okay, I'm a little distracted."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her hand touch her belly. Scully doesn't even seem conscious of it. "If you are pregnant, whose turn is it to tell Skinner?"

"I'm pretty sure it's yours."

"Are you sure? I don't think he'd even yell at you," Mulder teases. "He might punch me."

"I don't know, Mulder. He was pretty damn mad when I told him about Sammy."

"Um...I think the fact that he only got four months notice had something to do with that."

"Then you'll have to tell him as soon as we find out," Scully says brightly.

Mulder just groans

* * *

They manage to sneak the baby into the house, and all of his stuff, without waking any of the kids. Unfortunately, they do wake up Michelle. The robe-clad nanny pokes her head into the room while Mulder fights with putting the crib together.

"You're home," Michelle comments sleepily.

"Yeah. Sorry we woke you."

"It's okay..." She trails off when she sees the baby in the carrier. "What's that?"

"A baby," Scully says shortly. "He's in protective custody for the week. Mulder will be staying home to look after him." She adds when Michelle looks worried.

"What's wrong with him?"

Before Mulder can tell her that demons are supposed to look like this, Scully jumps in. "Hereditary congenital deformities."

"Poor kid," Michelle says sympathetically. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one," Mulder tells her. He's finally gotten the last corner of the mattress support in place, so he stands and looks at the baby. "I was thinking of calling him Louie until we find out what his real name is."

"That's a nice name." Michelle yawns. "See you tomorrow."

After the nanny shuffles off, Scully gives Mulder a long look. "And here I was sure you were going to insist that we call him Daemon. Or maybe Damien."

::Louie, Lucifer, what's the difference?:: "I'm more mature than that."

His wife gives him a 'yeah right' look, so he rolls his eyes.

Before long Scully is yawning too, and tells him not to stay up too late, which seems to be his hint that she's not going to help him wrestle the mattress into the crib. He does, and pulls a sheet over it too, before looking down at Louie. Even if the kid is a demon, he'll probably get cold during the night, so Mulder rips open a package of baby blankets and pulls out a couple. Then he pours formula into a bottle.

From the baby carrier, Louie watches, blinking sleepily.

"Uh, I suppose I ought to give you a bottle and change you, huh?" Just then he realizes that the baby hasn't made a peep all night. "You will cry sometimes so we know what you need, right? It's okay to cry, all babies do."

He talks to Louie for a couple minutes more before realizing that he's just stalling so he can put off picking him up. "Okay, no breathing fire or anything."

Picking Louie up doesn't feel much different than holding any of his own babies when they were this small. The only difference is that Louie's skin is warmer, and he's got those tiny claws to watch out for. "You know what I'm going to do," he tells the infant as it hungrily devours the bottle, "Tomorrow I'm going to look in April's dresser and see if I can find some of her old hand mitts. Then you can't accidentally scratch anyone, or yourself either. You'd of thought your mommy would have thought of that, huh? She knew what you'd be like."

Once the bottle is gone, Mulder burps him, then hesitates. What's going to be in that diaper when he changes him? Cringing, he untapes the diaper. Never in his life has he been so happy to see normal baby pee. ::Looks like demons are made like normal boys too:: he notes to himself. "Tell me something, Louie. Your parents aren't full demons, right? I take it that they're each the offspring of a demon and a woman or man. That'd make you about half demon too, but you look a lot more like we'd expect a demon to. Maybe they're really demons, and they can shape shift or use a glamour. Can you? That'd make your childhood a lot easier on you if you could."

Louie kicks his feet as Mulder redresses him, but offers no comment. "Try it this week, okay?"

He can't tell if Louie is considering the advice or not, because he's asleep as soon as Mulder puts him in the crib, just like David's usual MO. Shrugging, he covers the baby up, turns on the baby monitor, and shuts the door.

* * *

The days at home pass by more quickly than he imagined they would. Although he keeps expecting Louie to do something unexpected, the infant just acts like a normal one, eating, sleeping, burping up formula, dirtying diapers...every thing that all five of his own kids did their first weeks of life. Just like a normal, exceptionally ugly, baby.

He can't help but be a little disappointed. Sure, he has no idea how he'd deal with it if Louie started to breathing fire and setting the drapes on fire, but it would be more exciting than holing up and watching the baby do nothing.

Finally bored out of his mind in the middle of the second day, Mulder hauls a desk down from the attic. While they were suspended in October he'd finally had time to look through some of the stuff of Saul's that was still up in the attic. Scully had initially come up too, but after a few minutes of sneezing at dust, she'd left him to his own devices.

There's a lot of stuff up there, some of it obviously even older than his deceased uncle. It's Mulder's opinion that some of the stuff belonged to Saul's parents, if not his grandparents. Someday he wants to catalogue it all.

For now he's content to have a place to set up his laptop. With a little of the mad skillz the gunmen have tried to beat into his head, he manages to access online much of the library research that he'd done the last time he'd lived through this case.

* * *

The house is quiet that night after Scully and Michelle put the kids to bed. He feels a little guilty that he's not reading bedtime stories, but the baby demon has been rather fussy, so he's been in the spare room turned temporary imp storage since shortly after dinner.

There's a soft knock on the door, then Scully comes in. "How's he doing?"

"Okay, I think. He's quiet now, anyway." Looking down at the baby, he sees that the boy is not sleeping. Instead his coal-black eyes are fixed on him and Scully.

Scully snakes her arm around Mulder's waist. "Poor kid. He's so damn ugly. What horrible deformities."

Mulder shakes his head. "While he was sleeping today, I looked up information on his parents. I think I've found pretty definitive proof that his parents weren't typical parents to be."

"Mulder, don't tell me that they are demons. I've seen Wayne's body, and seen Betsy in prison. They're as human as you or I."

"But-" Deciding to humor his pregnant wife, he closes his mouth. "Okay, I won't say it."

"What would we do if something happens to this baby, or any others we might have, so they're not perfect?"

"Others?" Mulder affects shock. "Like more than one other? How many kids were you thinking of producing, Woman? I thought you said you didn't have any Cheaper by the Dozen aspirations!"

::You don't fool me, you may kid yourself that you don't particularly like being pregnant, but you haven't stopped wanting babies. If I ever see Elsbeth, I'm going to ask her if that's an echo caused by subconsciously knowing you were denied them before.:: He thinks while waiting for her response.

"I don't know, I wasn't lying when I said I didn't have a number in mind. Things happen. I'll love and welcome any children we have," Scully tells him with a soft smile.

"That's what we'd do," Mulder declares.

"What?" She gives him a puzzled look.

"Before I derailed your train of thought, you asked what we'd do if we had a baby who wasn't perfect. We'd welcome and love them, same as the others."

"Oh." To his surprise, tears well up in her eyes before she throws her arms around his neck. "If I ever get mad at you and ask why did I ever marry you, remind me of this conversation."

"Will do. I hope you agree with me. Because like you said, Things happen. For all we know I'll get kidnapped and impregnated with an alien-human hybrid myself. I hope you'll love little ET as much as I will."

Laugher arrests her tears. "Maybe he'll have your nose instead of no nose."

"Either way, the poor hypothetical alien-human hybrid," Mulder says mournfully.

* * *

On the fourth day of demon-watch Mulder decides to make his own fun. Sitting in the rocking chair while Louie sleeps, he pulls out his cell phone. It's time to light a fire under his kid brother's butt. "Agent Spender, it's Mulder. It's been four days, and I'm really curious about the progress you're making on relieving me of nursemaid duty."

"Actually I was just about to call you," Spender sounds calm. "Social workers called me today. They located a family who has taken in two children with cranial deformities. They're going to take him tomorrow night."

"If you can, make sure that they don't come until after seven-thirty? I don't want the kids awake and underfoot. And these people, have they seen a picture of him? I don't want you coming back late telling me that they got one look at him before running off like they were being chased by the hounds of hell."

"I took a full roll of pictures before getting you and Agent Scully down to Virginia," Spender reassures him. "They realize that this is an unfortunate-looking little boy."

"It's nice to hear that they aren't going into this blindly."

"Has he been much trouble?" Spender asks. "What are you calling him anyway? You can't be calling him baby all the time."

"I've nicknamed him Louie. I'm sure whoever adopts him will pick something else."

Spender sighs. "If he's adopted. Special needs babies are hard to find permanent homes for."

"You're pretty sure the murder charges against Betsy Monroe are going to stick, then? Scully told me that she thought that the evidence was pretty conclusive, but you know how jury trials are..."

"There isn't going to be a jury trail. Word came down that it's just going to be a judge," Spender tells him. "That ought to make it easier."

"It could."

* * *

During the early part of the day, while Page and Sammy spend four hours of the morning in the 3s & 4s preschool class, Mulder keeps the door to Louie's room open. When the boy is sleeping, he likes to look in on his own infant sons, and his silent little daughter.

The fact that the door is open is what lets him hear Michelle call April. Just a moment later a pair of curious brown eyes are staring into the room. Mulder picks her up and calls down to the nanny. "It's okay, I've got her."

April gives him what can only be a smug smile. Mulder tickles her, which makes her giggle. "Let me guess, Michelle was changing your brothers' diapers and you got away."

April smiles and nods. Then she points chubby fingers at the crib.

"What's in there?" Mulder asks, just like her pediatrician suggested.

Looking a bit puzzled, April eventually signs the word "baby."

"That's right! Doesn't look much like your brothers, though, huh?" April shakes her head. "His name is Louie, and he's going to a new home tomorrow. I hope it's a nice family, because Louie isn't going to have an easy life."

Reaching through the bars of the crib, April gives the baby's leg a sympathetic pat.

"This baby is our secret, okay?" Mulder asks. "Don't tell Sammy or Page, I don't want them to know."

April kisses him on the cheek, and he assumes that's an agreement. In the crib Louie yawns and scrunches his eyes shut, So Mulder carries April over to his chair.

"I'll tell you another secret too. Mommy and Daddy are going to have another baby. It wasn't part of Daddy's plans, but Mommy seems happy about it, so I guess I am too. And in about two and a half years your youngest brother is going to be born. He's going to have red hair like you and Sammy, and Mommy's eyes." Glancing down at his daughter, he wonders if it's nearly naptime. She's sleepily sucking one thumb and playing with the end of his tie; an improvement from when Page used to mistake his ties for a noose.

"I like being able to tell you secrets, but when you're ready to talk, I'll always be ready to listen. No matter what Mommy might say to the contrary."

April is asleep by the time Mulder carries her back to her room.

* * *

The Next Night

Standing in the doorway, Scully waves good-bye as the couple carries the eight-pound demon out in his baby carrier. Standing behind her, Mulder watches them leave too.

After the couple drives off, she squirms around so she's facing him. "You okay, Mulder?"

"Yup."

"After a week taking care of that kid, you seem like you're in better shape than I would be," Scully confesses.

He shrugs. "I didn't let myself get attached, because I knew that you and I weren't going to be keeping him. And now that I've met his new foster parents, I'm sure that Louie is going to be just fine."

"Really?" Scully follows him into the house once he stops blocking the doorway. "They struck you as being good people?"

"They didn't even flinch when they saw him, and cooed over him like he was one of our beautiful little boys. But they also seemed cognizant that there's a tough road ahead of that child, when it comes to being accepted by others, so they've got level heads on their shoulders. I don't think I could hope for better than that," Mulder tells her.

"That's great," Scully tells him.

::And I don't think you need to know that they're demons too.:: Mulder adds silently to himself. ::The Dad's eyes flashed a wicked red when he winked at me while we dismantled the crib. Guess they can do glamours after all, so hopefully they'll teach Louie to..:: Mulder bents down and tickles Sammy. "That little boy is going to do just fine with his new family. I can feel it."


	69. How The Ghosts Stole Christmas

Somewhere In Maryland

December 24th, 1998

Just before 10 p.m.

"This is the first and only year we leave some of our Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve, Mulder. I mean it. Checkout lines were worse than rush hour on the 95. If I heard 'Silent Night' one more time I was going to start taking hostages."

"I broke out into a cold sweat in the toddler toy aisle," Mulder says with a shiver. "If you promise not to have twins again when we should be starting to do our Christmas shopping, I guarantee that we'll never do this again."

"This baby is going to be twins, just because you said that," Scully says with a smirk. Finally realizing that they've stopped driving, she peers out at the huge dark house, and then turns to gives her husband a questioning look. "What are we doing here?"

"Stakeout." He has all he can do not to grin. Knowing the outcome of this impromptu case doesn't make the idea of repeating it any less appealing. For once there's no chance of anyone gets hurt, so he's been thinking of it as a scary sort of fun – like roller coasters and scary rides at Universal.

"On Christmas Eve?" She gives him an incredulous look.

"It's an important date."

"No kidding."

"Important to why we're here," he clarifies.

"Mulder, we've got wrapping to do. It's the night before Christmas."

"Oh."

Scully sighs. "Let's hear it. Give me the details."

"Look, if you think it's more important to wrap presents for the kids who'll barely notice anyway, I guess that we-"

"Mulder, we drove all the way out here. I might as well know why. Right?"

"I just thought you'd be more...curious." He pouts.

"Who lives in the house?"

"No one."

"Then who are we staking out?"

"The former occupants."

"They've come back?"

"That's the story."

"I see. The dark, gothic manor the, uh, omnipresent low fog hugging the thicket of overgrowth. Wait - is that a hound I hear baying out on the moors?"

"No. Actually that was a left cheek sneak."

"Mulder, tell me you didn't drag me out here on Christmas Eve to go ghost busting with you."

"Technically speaking they're called apparitions."

"You claim we live in a haunted house, Mulder! Why would you want to explore another one? We've got gifts to wrap. My mom expects us to be up to let everyone in for a family roll call under the tree at 8:00 a.m."

"I'll make it fast. I'll just give you the details."

"Whatever." Scully leans her head back against her headrest.

"Christmas, 1917. It was a time of dark, dark despair. American soldiers were dying at an ungodly rate in a war-torn Europe while at home, a deadly strain of the flu virus attacked young and old alike. Tragedy was a visitor on every doorstep while a creeping hopelessness set in with every man, woman and child. It was a time of dark, dark despair."

"You said that."

"But here at 1501 Larkspur Lane for a pair of star-crossed lovers tragedy came not from war or pestilence - not by the boot heel or the bombardier - but by their own innocent hand."

"Go on."

"His name was Maurice. He was a...a brooding but heroic young man beloved of Lyda, a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow her wherever she went. They were likened to two angels descended from heaven whom the gods could not protect from the horrors being visited upon this cold, grey earth."

"And what happened to them?" she asks with grudging interest.

"Driven by a tragic fear of separation they forged a lovers' pact so that they might spend eternity together and not spend one precious Christmas apart."

"They killed themselves?"

"And their ghosts haunt this house every Christmas Eve." Unperturbed that his wife is now laughing at him, he concludes, "I just gave myself chills."

"It's a good story, Mulder...And very well told but I don't believe it. And might I remind you that we're supposed to cook a turkey tonight?"

"Use one of those Reynolds bags, it'll cook in three hours," Mulder says dismissively before going on to the more important part of her reply. "You're still pretending that you don't believe in ghosts?"

"That surprises you?"

"Well...Yeah. I thought you believed in our ghosts."

"There's something strange about our house, but that's as far as I'm willing to commit," Scully says, and he snorts.

* * *

When he gets out of the car, she's not far behind him. "Changed your mind?"

"As much as I'm tempted to leave you here, something tells me that it wouldn't be a good idea. You'd get into too much trouble on your own."

"What kind of trouble?" he asks.

"Breaking and entering, for one."

They walk towards the house, completely unaware that if they looked back at their car, they'd see that the kids' presents weren't the only things sitting on the backseat.

He turns to her with a smirk when the door swings open with a creak at the lightest touch. "Entering, maybe." He snaps on his flashlight and begins to shine it around the foyer.

Thunder rumbles behind them, and a wind whistles through the house.

Laughing weakly, Mulder says. "Maybe it was a ghost." Scully rolls her eyes –until they both hear a knocking sound coming from above them. Deciding that it would be too obvious to comment on the knocking, he shivers exaggeratedly instead. "That's a cold wind."

"There must be a window open upstairs. You know, the weather report said that there was an 80 percent chance of rain maybe even a...maybe even a white Christmas," Scully says reasonably.

Maybe we should have bought Page and Sammy a sled-" Just then the door slams behind them with a bang, making them both jump. Scully tries to open it, but it won't budge.

"I think the spirits are among us," Mulder proclaims.

Scully doesn't look up as she continues to yank on the door. "Mulder, will you quit trying to scare me and help me get these doors open."

There's more knocking coming from upstairs. "Sounds like there's somebody walking around upstairs. There. You hear that?"

"Mulder, we really have to go. Michelle's leaving at 5 a.m., remember?"

He pulls her to his side. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid, okay?" Scully shrugs off his arm.

"Ghosts are benevolent entities," Mulder tells her over the sound of chains clanking from above. "Mostly."

"You are not scaring me, Mulder."

When Mulder begins up the stairs she hangs back, until a lightning flash reveals the silhouette of someone standing on the landing across from where Mulder is headed. The next flash shows that no one is there. Spooked, she's quick to follow Mulder.

"Mulder...These are tricks that the mind plays. They are ingrained clichés from a thousand different horror films. When we hear a sound, we get a chill. We-we see a shadow and we allow ourselves to imagine something that an otherwise rational person would discount out of hand. The whole...Mulder...?" She continues to follow him to the second floor. "The whole idea of a benevolent entity fits perfectly with what I'm saying. That a spirit would materialize or return for no other purpose than to show itself is silly and ridiculous. I mean, what it really shows is how silly and ridiculous we have become in believing such things. I mean, that...That we can ignore all natural laws about the corporeal body that-that we witness these spirits clad in-in their own shabby outfits with the same old haircuts and hairstyles never aging, never...Never in search of more comfortable surroundings - it actually ends up saying more about the living than it does about the dead," she concludes in a rush while watching her husband try locked doors.

"Mm-hmm."

"I mean, Mulder, it doesn't take an advanced degree in psychology to understand the...the unconscious yearnings that these imaginings satisfy. You know, the-the longing for immortality the hope that there is something beyond this mortal coil...that-that we might never be long without our loved ones. I mean, these are powerful, powerful desires. I mean, they're the very essence of what make us human. The very essence of Christmas, actually."

There's a creaking behind them, and they both turn to see that one of the doors Mulder tried is now partly open. "Tell me you're not afraid," Mulder demands.

"All right. I'm afraid...but it's an irrational fear."

"Most fear is." He grins at her. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

* * *

After she pushes the door open and looks inside, she turns back to him. "Mulder, did it occur to you that there aren't ghosts here but that somebody actually might be living in this house?"

"No one lives here."

"But when you and I were sitting out in the car there was not a light on. And look at this."

They walk into an elegant turn of the century two story library. There is a ladder leading down to the lower level. Most of the furniture is covered with white cloth. A Chandelier hangs from the ceiling.

"Must have been some kind of electrical surge," Mulder declares.

The clock downstairs is keeping perfect time. And how do you explain that?" Walking down the ladder, she leads him to the remains of a fire in the fireplace. "This fire has just gone out."

"Yeah. Maybe it a hobo decided to spend the night out of the cold, cold wind."

"Mulder."

"Okay, sorry. I mean 'homeless person'. When'd you join the PC police?"

"You and I both know that's unlikely. Don't look so disappointed that someone lives here."

"Why would anyone want to live in a cursed house?"

"Uh, don't you?"

"No, our house is haunted. This one is cursed. There's a difference."

"Mulder, it's not enough that this house is haunted? It has to be cursed?"

"Every couple that's ever lived here has met a tragic end. Three double murders in the last 80 years. All on Christmas Eve."

"You waited until now to tell me that?" Scully practically shouts.

"Relax. You don't believe in curses, remember?" There's thumps and bangs from above again. "Whoa...There's that sound again "

Then they realize that there's another noise, this one coming from beneath the floor. They peer down at the floor. While Mulder moves furniture about so he can get his ear near the floor, Scully looks over at the ladder – and doesn't see it.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" He lifts his head from the floor boards. "I think there's a hiding space under the floorboards... There may be somebody trapped under there. The hobo who started the fire, maybe."

"Mulder, don't," Scully says when he grabs the poker from the fireplace and begins prying at the floorboards.

"I got to get them out," he insists.

"Not now."

"Hey, you have a gun, right? Rationally, you've been in much more dangerous situations." Once he begins lifting the boards off he exposes a dead man. "I was half right. Looks like I was a little late."

Scully is very pale. "Oh, my God."

He keeps pulls up more boards, exposes another body. "Hey, Scully...Look at this. A woman."

Shivering a little, she shines her flashlight on the two very decomposed corpses. The woman appears to have a bullet wound in her belly, and the man a wound in his chest. "Mulder, it looks like they were shot to death. And you know what's weird?"

"What?"

"Mulder, she's wearing my outfit." The corpse is wearing an outfit identical to hers.

"How embarrassing," Mulder says dryly, trying to remember to act like he doesn't know what's going on.

"Yeah, well, you know what? He's wearing yours."

He checks what he's wearing - white T-shirt and leather jacket. "Oh...Scully..."

"That's us."

He notices that her gaze lingers for a moment on the corpse's stomach wound, and with a twinge of guilt his stomach jumps when it occurs to him to wonder if she's looking for the tiny remains of their unborn baby. It's on the tip of his tongue to remind her that it would be too small to see, but she turns and runs, and he follows her.

Once they run out of the library, they find themselves running right back in.

"Hey, Scully..."

"This is the same room." She looks shocked.

They try again, and enter the library again. They still see the dead bodies.

He shines his flashlight at both exits. "All right. I'm beginning to...Get this."

Scully shines her light at one doorway. "You go through that door and I..."

"I should come out...This door."

"Right."

Just as it was before, when he enters into the library, he doesn't find himself back with Scully. "Nice that some things can be counted on." He mumbles under his breath.

"Mulder!" Scully calls from the library she's in.

The doors slam closed, and when he opens one again, the library is empty. No Scully. "Scully! Hey, Scully. Scully, can you hear me?" He shouts while banging on the door.

* * *

Once he shoots the lock off the door, he sees that it's bricked up again. He turns around, deciding to try the other door this time when he starts to see a man staring at him. "Hey! Who are you?"

"That's a question I should be asking being this is my house you're standing in. This isn't one of those home invasions, is it?"

"No."

"Good. Would you like me to show you the door?"

"That's very funny. The door's all bricked up."

Maurice peers past him. "Uh huh. I see a door with the lock shot off it. You going to pay for that?"

"Do you take checks?" Mulder asks, then waves his hand at the door. "That's a door with a brick wall behind it."

"Okay, sure." The man doesn't look like he believes Mulder.

"You're playing tricks on me," Mulder complains.

"If I am, I'm sorry but I don't know any tricks."

"Yeah? That's a trick in itself, isn't it? You've been playing tricks on us since we got here."

"Am I to take it we're not alone?" Maurice pitches his voice in imitation of ghost and alien movies.

Mulder chuckles. "Ah, that's very funny coming from a ghost."

The old man laughs and slaps his knees. "Yeah, oh...the gun fooled me a little at first. You're a ghost hunter, huh? And you think I'm a ghost, huh? I've seen a lot of strange folks coming around here with a lot of strange equipment but I think you must be the first I've seen come armed."

"Strange folks?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Like those folks under the floorboard." He turns and shines his light on the floor, but the corpses are missing, the floor untouched.

"How did you do that?"

"I didn't do anything."

"There were corpses here - bodies buried under the floorboards."

Giving him a pitying look, Maurice invites, "Why don't you have a seat, son."

"Are you overcome by the impulse to make everyone believe you?" Mulder looks up at him. "I'm in the field of mental health. I specialize in disorders and manias related to pathological behavior as it pertains to the paranormal." Maurice explains.

"Wow. I didn't know such a thing existed," Mulder says, playing along.

"My specialty is in what I call soul prospectors - a crossaxial classification I've codified by extensive interaction with visitors like yourself. I've found you all tend to fall into pretty much the same category."

"And what category is that?"

"Narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac."

"That's a category?" Mulder chuckles.

"You kindly think of yourself as single-minded but you're prone to obsessive compulsiveness workaholism, antisocialism...Fertile fields for the descent into total wacko breakdown."

"I don't think that pegs me exactly."

"Oh, really? Waving a gun around my house? Huh? Raving like a lunatic about some imaginary brick wall? You've probably convinced yourself you've seen aliens. You know why you think you see the things you do?"

"Because I have seen them?" Mulder asks.

"'Cause you're a lonely man. A lonely man chasing paramasturbatory illusions that you believe will give your life meaning and significance and which your pathetic social maladjustment makes impossible for you to find elsewhere. You probably consider yourself passionate, serious, misunderstood. Am I right?"

"'Paramasturbatory?'"

"Most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with you."

"No one thinks that," Mulder denies.

"Spend every Christmas this way...Alone?"

"I'm not alone," Mulder tells him. "I'm married, with five kids at home."

"More self-delusion."

"No, I came here with my wife. She's somewhere in the house."

"Behind a brick wall?" Maurice asks. "How'd you get her to come with you? Steal her car keys?"

"They're my keys," Mulder says petulantly, then digs into his pocket to find them.

"You know why you do it - listen endlessly to her droning rationalizations. 'Cause you're afraid. Afraid of the loneliness. Am I right?"

"I'd just like to find my wife. We need to get home to our kids."

"Good...Easy. Piece of cake."

"Brick wall..." Maurice first points to the doorway, then his head. "Or brick wall? Go ahead, change your life."

"And get a concussion? No thanks." Mulder turns and confidently strides to the other doorway. And walks face first into another brick wall.

* * *

In another library Scully backs away from a locked door, and into a woman. Both scream, and Scully dives away, groping for her gun.

Lyda raises her hands innocently. "No, no, please, I won't hurt you."

"I'm a federal agent! I'm armed."

Lyda turns on lights. "You're what? A federal agent?"

Scully has finally gotten her gun out, and he holds it tightly, trying to counteract the shaking of her hands. "Please, I'm a little on edge. Don't come any closer. My name is Special Agent Dana Scully. And, uh, I can...I can show you my I.D."

"My goodness, I...I thought you were a ghost." Lyda smiles.

"I can assure you that I'm not. I, uh, I got stuck in this room looking for my husband."

"Oh, the gangly fellow with the distinguished profile."

"You've seen him?" Scully asks, eyes wide.

"With you in the foyer. I thought he was a ghost, too."

"Oh...That was you." She calms a bit.

"I sleepwalk sometimes. I thought maybe I'd dreamed it. But then here you were again."

Scully catches her breath. "I am sorry...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I, uh...It's just that we found bodies."

"Bodies...Where?"

"Right..." She turns and looks at the floor. Which is untouched.

"You look like you saw a ghost. There are ghosts in this house, you know."

"Who are you?" Scully asks, raising her gun defensively again.

"I live here, thank you very much," Lyda says with a pout.

"Where's my husband?" Scully asks loudly.

"Why are you pointing that gun?"

"There were corpses right there underneath the floor!"

"I think maybe the ghosts have been playing tricks on you." Lyda chuckles.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Scully says, still too loudly.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"It's my husband."

"He believes in ghosts?" Lyda asks.

"Yeah," Scully agrees. "He insists we have some in our house too."

"Oh, you poor child. You must have an awful small life. Spending your Christmas Eve with him...Running around chasing things you don't even believe in."

"Don't come any closer," Scully warns. "And I don't have a small life. I've got five wonderful kids, another on the way."

Lyda walks closer. "I can see it in your face...The fear...The conflicted yearnings...A subconscious desire to find fulfillment through another. Intimacy through co-dependency."

"What?"

"Maybe you repress the truth about why you're really here pretending it's out of wifely duty or loyalty - unable to admit your dirty little secret," Lyda says. "Your only joy in life is proving him wrong. And him, he just enjoys having you around as his brood mare."

"It isn't like that," Scully protests.

"Isn't it?"

"No it's not." Her hand goes protectively to her belly. "I'm the one who wants a lot of kids. I'm the one who's Catholic."

"But I'll bet being Catholic didn't stop you from using birth control before you were ready to settle down," Lyda guesses slyly. "Maybe you should ask yourself if you're so desperate to have countless babies because sex and parenthood are the only ways you can connect to your husband."

"You don't know me. And you don't live here. This isn't your house."

"You wouldn't think so, the way I'm being treated," Lyda says bitterly.

"Well, then why is all the furniture covered?"

"We're having the house painted."

"Well then where's your Christmas tree?" Scully's gun hand shakes wildly.

"We're Jewish. Boo."

Scully turns as Maurice enters the room. She aims at him instead. "Hold it right there. Don't make me shoot you. Stay where you are."

Maurice smirks at Lyda. "We really attract them, don't we?"

"Where's Mulder?" Scully asks, her voice now shaking too.

"Mulder? Is that his name?" Maurice asks.

"Where is he?"

"He'll be along."

Scully gestures to a corner with her gun. "Move over there." They just look at her. "Both of you, move. Move over there. Move other there."

"This violates our civil rights. I have friends at the ACLU," Maurice complains.

"Put your hands up."

They do. Lifting her arms reveals Lyda's midsection - which has a gunshot hole through it. Scully stares at her, then walks over to Maurice and lifts his hat. Hat off, a large round hole is bored through his head, and Scully can see through it. Swaying on her feet, Scully drops in a dead faint.

* * *

Mulder is attempting to pull himself up onto the library's landing when Lyda appears, staring down at him.

"Agent Mulder, right? What are you doing using my chair for a ladder?"

"I'm trying to get out of this room."

"Trying to get out? No, no. You can't get out that way," she adds when he pulls himself up to stand next to him. He hesitates for a moment, then pokes her in the shoulder. She is solid. He pushes her against the wall in his eagerness to get past her.

"Masher," Lyda accuses.

"Frump." He opens the door, only to find another brick wall.

"I don't know who you're calling a frump but I don't appreciate that - being manhandled, or called names. Certainly not at this hour," Lyda says shrilly.

"You're a ghost."

"Oh, more names!"

The ladder has reappeared during their spat, and they climb down it to the chairs near the fireplace.

Looking at her, Mulder asks. "What happened to the star-crossed lovers?"

"Oh, let me tell you the romance is the first thing to go," Lyda says knowingly.

"It's you. You're Lyda, and that was Maurice. But you've aged."

"I hope your wife finds you a lot more charming than I do." She goes to bookcase. "Let's see. Where is it?" Mulder stares as books poke out of the bookshelf on their own while she mutters.

"No, no, no, no... there it is!" Lyda pulls out a book whose spine says The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas. "I was young and beautiful once, just like your wife. Whoo! Look at us. Maurice was so handsome. He didn't have a gut."

She hands Mulder the book which has a picture of an attractive couple in it. The title's chapter is Tale of the Star Crossed Lovers. "I hope you're not expecting any great advantages to all this."

"To all what?" Mulder asks.

"I'm assuming you came here with similar misconceptions," she says suggestively.

"No no. We came here looking for you."

"Oh, yeah? You didn't come here to be together for eternity?"

"No."

"Not because you're filled with despair and woeful Christmas melancholy?"

"No, why?"

"Maybe it was your wife then."

"What about her?" he demands, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You knew this house was haunted."

"Yeah."

"Maybe you two should have discussed your real feelings about your marriage before you came out here. I'm speaking from experience."

"What experience?"

"I'm not going to get into semantics. A murder-suicide is all about trust."

"I thought you had a lovers' pact."

Lyda laughs at him. "Poetic illusions aside, the outcome, Mulder, is pretty much the same." She stands and holds open her robe exposing the bullet wound.

"Oh...!"

"I don't show my hole to just anyone."

"Why are you showing it to me?" Mulder asks, looking disgusted.

"It isn't like you're going to be eating any Christmas ham, is it?"

We're having turkey," Mulder explains, then stares at her. "Oh, you're trying to tell me that Scully's going to shoot me. Scully is not going to shoot me."

"Suit yourself, but if you shoot first, for her, the rest is an act of faith."

"I wouldn't shoot her."

"Maybe she shoots herself."

"I wouldn't let her."

"The bodies under the floor - maybe that was just some kind of Jungian symbolism. Or maybe...there's a secret lovers' pact."

Mulder laughs. "We're an old married couple."

"And this isn't a pure science. But you're both so attractive and there'll be a lot of time to work that out." Lyda holds a gun out to him. "Go ahead, take it." He quickly checks his holster and finds that the gun is missing. "Take it. Think of it as the last Christmas you'll ever spend in despair."

"But I'm not in-" The ghost disappears letting the gun fall into a surprised Mulder's hand.

* * *

Scully rouses from her faint, and finds her gun. When she does, she sees that's she's not alone. "Stay away from me. Look, I want you to get me out of here. I am quite capable of pulling this trigger."

"I'm glad to hear it," Maurice says. "You may well have to defend yourself against that crazy husband of yours."

"What have you done with him?"

"Kept him safe from his own mad devices - at least for now. Do you have any idea why he brought you here to this house?"

"I'm ghost hunting with my husband. That's all." They can faintly hear Mulder pound and call from somewhere in the house.

"Do you realize how seriously disturbed that man is? How dark and unhappy? What he's capable of?"

"Unhappy about what?" Scully demands to know.

Maurice gives her a pitying look. "Lyda told me you're expecting. Has your husband said anything much about how he feels about that?"

Scully doesn't say anything.

"Did he happen to mention a story about a lovers' pact?"

"Yeah."

"What a convenient way to get rid of a problem, how to escape a life that has you feeling increasingly trapped with every new arrival," Maurice tells her. Scully shakes her head.

"Scully...Scully, are you there?" Mulder calls through the blocked doorway.

"I'm here, Mulder!" she cries, then turns to Maurice. "Open the door."

He goes reluctantly to the door. "I've seen it happen too many times in this house."

She's reminded of the three sets of deaths, but rejects the thought. "I don't believe you. Just open the door."

"But..."

"Open the door!"

Maurice does so, and Mulder enters with his gun drawn. "Where's Scully?"

"Mulder?" Scully asks, getting his attention.

He turns to face her and fires his gun at her. His shot goes wild, shattering a mirror behind her.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" He fires again, missing her. "Mulder!"

"There's no getting out of here, Scully. There's no way home," he says, sounding numb. Then fires again.

"Mulder, come on...Mulder, don't come any closer. You're scaring me. Put the gun down!"

"You going to shoot me?" Mulder asks wildly.

"I'm not going to shoot you! I don't want to shoot you!"

"It's me or you...You or me. One of us has to do it."

"Mulder, look...We don't have to do this." She pleas.

"Oh, yes, we do."

"We can get out of here."

"Even if we could what's waiting for us? Kids we barely see, raised by strangers. They'll all be better off with another family, instead us poor excuses for parents."

"I don't believe what you're saying! Mulder, I don't believe a word of it."

He lowers the angle of his gun and fires at her. She drops her gun and stares down in shock at the bullet wound in her abdomen.

She slowly falls to the floor, still staring up at him. "The baby!" she gasps.

"Merry Christmas, Scully," Mulder tells her, then raises the gun to his temple. "And a Happy New Year," Lyda says, pretending to be him.

Maurice walks over and restrains Lyda from firing the gun. "Let me go!" Lyda shrieks, still looking exactly like Mulder. The two ghosts struggle over the gun, and Scully closes her eyes, making them both disappear.

* * *

Mulder runs into another version of the library, and sees Scully lying on the floor. "Scully?"

"Mulder...Is that you?" She barely opens her eyes.

"What did you do?" Mulder asks. There's blood pouring out of her belly.

"I didn't believe it, Mulder," Scully rasps.

"You didn't believe what?"

"I didn't believe that you'd want me to kill our baby...That I would..."

"What? I didn't-" He looks down and sees that she has raised her gun to his chest. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"What are you doing?" he asks, still shocked that it seems as though she's shot herself.

Scully fires the gun. In shock falls back bleeding from the chest.

* * *

Scully groggily rolls over and begins pulling herself out of the room she's in.

Having left another room, Mulder is stumbling down the stairs, bleeding heavily.

He reaches and falls into the foyer which has a trail of blood across it. He sees Scully a few feet away also crawling to the door.

"Scully?" he asks, dazed. "Scully..."

Rolling over with a groan, she points her gun at him, and he tries to do the same to her.

She lowers the gun and falls back to the floor "Ah...I'm not going to make it."

"No, you're not...Not without me, you're not." He's holding his gun on her.

"Are you afraid now, Mulder?" She gasps in pain. "I am."

"I am, too."

They both drop their guns and roll over painfully.

"Why did you shoot yourself, Scully? I wanted this baby." Tears begin to clog his voice on the final words. "Then you shot me, too!"

"I didn't shoot you. You shot me because you felt trapped by having another kid," Scully growls.

A hand shakes Mulder, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see Lyda or Maurice. He prays that he was tricked again, and Scully hasn't shot herself or him, but it hurts so badly.

"Stop that," Scully mumbles a few feet away, making him wonder if the ghosts are haring her too.

The shaking becomes more insistent, and he wonders how come the ghosts have such small hands.

Groaning, he rolls over and struggles to sit. Then his eyes widen in shock, and he falls back to the floor. Three little faces look down at him in concern. The problem is that he can see right through them.

"Ghosts!" he gasps.

"I know, Mulder. There, I admit it. Now you can die happy," Scully says tiredly without opening her eyes.

"No, Scully, our ghosts."

The little ghosts gesture frantically, urging him to get to his feet. Obeying their command, he does. He watches as one of them glides towards the door and fiddles with the lock.

"Scully..."

"What?" she asks, coughing.

"Get up."

"I can't," she moans.

"Get up...You're not shot." He holds his bloody shirt away from his body.

"What?"

"Come on. It's a trick. It's all in your head." He helps her to her feet, and holds out her bloody shirt too, showing her that there's no wound.

They run out the now unlocked front door, with their ghosts behind them. Once outside, they look down at their now clean shirts, then run to their cars and drive off quickly. The child ghosts are in the backseat.

Scully looks over the seat, then stares at him, eyes wild. "Mulder! In the backseat, there's-"

"Three little ghosts. I know. They were in the house. One of them got the door open for us."

"Oh god," Scully moans, a hand over her eyes.

"And you thought having our very own ghosts wasn't worth anything." Mulder scoffs.

"Why don't they look like those...like Maurice and Lyda?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "But I have a theory. Maurice and Lyda were adults when they died. That must have made them more attached to their corporeal forms, since they'd lived in them much longer."

"That's as good an explanation as any," Scully says with a sigh. Then she scrunches her eyes shut, refusing to open them until they get home.

* * *

Their house is dark and quiet when they get home. Mulder turns to the backseat, wondering if he can con the ghosts into helping them cart presents inside, but they're not there. Turning his head towards the house, he sees the last of the ghosts melting through the front door.

"Oh well." He sighs, getting out of the car.

"Oh well, what?" Scully asks, pulling open the back door so she can reach in for an armload of presents.

"It's...nevermind, it's stupid."

It takes them three trips to get everything in the house, and looking at the sprawl of toys, Mulder's suddenly glad that they'd gotten about half of them wrapped by scouts. The fewer to wrap, the sooner they could go to bed.

Before they do anything else, though, they check on the kids, and find them all asleep, and under blankets for a change. Sleeping, they look angelic.

"Hey Scully, why don't you start wrapping while I wrestle the turkey into the oven?" Mulder asks once they go back down stairs.

"I can handle it."

"Humor me," Mulder asks, heading for the kitchen before she continues to protest that she can do it herself.

A fast wrapper, she's gotten four gifts done by the time he's gotten the bird based and stuffed into the browning bag.

He reaches a pair of scissors, and some Santa-print paper.

Scully pauses in mid-cut and looks up at him. "Mulder...None of that really happened out there tonight...That was all in our heads, right?"

He's not sure what to say. "I-it must have been." He sticks a bow on a gift, and then looks her in the eyes. "You know I'm happy about the baby, right?"

"Are you?"

"Of course I am. It's ours," Mulder says simply.

"We don't have to have any more after this one," Scully says, giving him a guilty look. "I know I'm the one who is obsessed with babies."

Scooching across the carpet on his butt, Mulder pulls her onto his lap. "Hey. I agreed to your plan, and I'm still happy with it. If things change for me, you'll be the first to know."

Scully leans her head against his chest. "Can you believe it's only one? It felt like we were in that house for hours."

"If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that something about that house plays tricks on your mind."

She crawls off his lap and reluctantly goes back to wrapping. "I think we'll be done in fifteen more minutes."

"Good." Mulder pulls another box out of the pile and begins to wrap it. "Is there any chance, do you think, of getting the kids to let us sleep until seven?"

She looks at him, wide-eyed. "Maurice is right. You are crazy."

Mulder groans and goes back to his wrapping, hoping they're done before Michelle gets up to pack for her trip home.

* * *

By the time they've got the presents all tucked under the tree, they've noticed that their motor skills have slowed to the rate of a snail's. "I can't believe people are coming over in a few hours," Scully groans, closing her eyes as she smothers a monster yawn. "I'm not sure if even grabbing a couple hours' sleep would be worth it."

"Why just a couple?" Mulder frowns, wondering in his sleep-befuddled mind if they've forgotten something else.

She opens her eyes to make a face at him. "Michelle's leaving then, and we need to get the kids' breakfasts ready before our guests come, which would probably be that extra hour between her leaving and the kids tearing down the stairs for their presents."

Mulder groans. "Oh, yeah." Maybe this last-minute ghost-hunting wasn't such a good idea.

Scully nods as they make their way up the stairs slowly like old people. "Maybe I'll just take a long, hot shower, forget about that damn house and that damn Lyda and Maurice, and be shriveled and pruny but awake when Michelle has to leave."

Her husband chuckles as he pulls off his t-shirt and kicks off his shoes. "Only if I can join you in the shower," he says, "I doubt we'll have time to come close to presentable unless we get cleaned up soon."

"You got it." She nods and yawns, shedding her jacket and unbuttoning the slightly wrinkled blouse she could've sworn was bullet-shot and blood-soaked only a couple hours earlier. Unzipping her heeled boots, she notes with some tired detachment how cute Mulder's ass is, and finds herself unzipping and taking off her slacks and socks with more alacrity than she thought possible. "Mulder, could you turn on the hot tap first? I don't want to freeze once the shower's on."

Mulder looks back to find his wife, improbably filled with unborn life in her stomach, looking rather fetching in her tan-colored bra and panties. ::Don't go there,:: he thinks, ::we just finished wrapping gifts, we need at least a few minutes' nap, Michelle's gonna be awake soon, the kids will be up ...::

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asks, standing before him in nothing but the bod the good Lord gave her.

He blinks, then smiles slowly. "Definitely," he says, hauling her into the shower as she squeals.

"Mulder, we're just going to get cleaned up," she tells him, but the smile on her face suggests much more as she switches the tap to the showerhead.

"Oh yeah, sure we are," he agrees, pulling his drenched wife close to him, and for the next couple of hours, they keep each other awake 'just getting cleaned up.'

* * *

As the doorbell rings, Mulder's feeling like a porter or servant in his own home because he's been moving baby bags and suitcases to guest rooms, children away from dangerous areas, extra chairs to the dining room, and snow away from road since the crack of dawn. Still, he doesn't begrudge his wife relaxing, since she's also been awake preparing the damn turkey, doing last-minute cleaning, as well as feeding and dressing the kids. ::Maybe we could train the ghosts to clean up,:: he thinks facetiously, ::it's not they can't make themselves useful::. He may regret the last-minute ghost-hunting, but he sure doesn't regret the reason why he and his wife are still awake... ::We should do that more often,:: he muses, moving a fast-crawling Matthew out of the way.

Already Bill Jr.'s dictating which football game to watch (which reminds Mulder to bug the Gunmen about installing multi-channel views on their TV for such a time as this), Maggie Scully and Tara are working wonders in the kitchen, and Charlie and his wife Elaine are laughing with Scully as they keep an eye on the seemingly hundreds of kids (okay, just his and Scully's kids, plus Charlie's son Brandon and Bill Jr.'s son Matthew) tearing the house with new toys that all seem to be attached to some battery-operated noisemaker. Mulder's surprised that Charlie and his family beat Melissa, especially since Charlie lives clear across the country in Seattle now. Bet that's Melissa and Emily now, he thinks as the doorbell keeps ringing, his long legs taking him to the door.

"Hey, Melis-," his voice trails off when he sees who's been ringing the doorbell with his red-headed sister-in-law and her blonde daughter. "Ah. This is gonna be fun."

"Fox," Melissa says warningly, her eyes sliding to the man at her left, but Mulder puts his hands up briefly with a grin before squatting down.

"Hey, Emily," he says, hugging the little girl, "go say hi to all your cousins." As she runs inside, nearly bowling over her bigger cousin Brandon in the process, Mulder stands and says in a loud voice, "Melissa's here!"

The extended Scully clan pile into the lobby with welcoming smiles on their faces. The smiles are soon replaced by shock, surprise, and confusion.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Scully shouts, stunned that her husband hasn't shot the bastard on sight.

"Who's this?" Charlie asks, confused.

His answer comes quickly enough when his shorter sister pulls out a gun and trains it on the newcomer. "Alex Krycek," she grimaces, and is joined by her older brother Bill with similar expression and weapon.

* * *

"Tara, Elaine, take the kids upstairs," Maggie Scully tells the women, and they do so in a daze. When they're gone, she snaps, "Dana, Bill, put those guns away!" As they do so, reluctantly, her dark eyes turn towards her eldest daughter. "Melissa, I hope you have an explanation for this."

"Mom, this is Alex," Melissa says in a deliberately calm voice. Mulder notes in a disjointed fashion that it's the same tone she used back when she wanted him to visit Scully who was at death's door back from an abduction in the other universe. Weird. "Alex, this is my mother, you know my sister Dana, my brothers Bill and Charlie, and you know Fox," she points them out briefly.

Scully looks unamused. "Melissa, are you nuts?" she says succinctly. "He's on the FBI's most wanted list, for heaven's sake!"

"I am as sane as you are," her older sister replies, "and we're freezing to death out here. Can we come inside, or are you going to throw us out on Christmas?"

Scully looks about to answer in the latter, when her husband surprises her. "It's Christmas," he says, stepping around them to close the door behind them. "You want I should check him for weapons or something?"

"Yes," his little-but-fierce wife replies.

Sighing, Mulder drones, "Please assume the position, this is just a precautionary measure, since I really don't wanna call the cops in this early in the day."

As he pats down the one-armed man, he hears Mrs. Scully murmur, "Since when did you carry a gun, Bill?"

Bill Jr.'s saved from answering when Mulder pats the guest on the back. "I'm guessing the nicely-wrapped box in your jacket's a present, huh?"

Before Krycek can answer, the eldest Scully son hisses at his younger sister. "It's just like you, Missy," Bill Jr. says, his eyes squinting at the man who's been figuratively tarred and feathered the few times he's been mentioned. "Always attracting the wrong kinds of guys, but this time," he shakes his head, "this time you picked a real asshole." It looks like he doesn't trust the pretty boy in the black leather jacket as far as he can throw him, and it's clear he's about ready to throw him in a heartbeat.

Mulder feels obscurely better that Bill's picking on someone other than him, but in a way, it only makes him perversely more sympathetic to the devil. Damn. Melissa takes Krycek's real hand firmly in hers, "I knew you'd be like this. That's why we haven't exactly broadcast our relationship." She looks at Krycek, who, amazingly enough, hasn't said a word since showing up. Whether it's because he's about to throw up or wisely doesn't want to say anything to piss anyone off after the gun show, Mulder's not sure. "I don't expect you to understand, but we're a family. Deal with it."

"You're married?" Maggie asks, surprised.

"No, but he is the father of my child, and we love each other," Melissa says, turning to face her mother. "That's all that matters."

Bullheadedness must be genetic, Mulder thinks, as his wife and Bill Jr. set their mouths. Mrs. Scully's mouth droops a little when she sees no evidence there will ever be rings on those left hands, but there's something in her eyes he doesn't quite trust, only because he's seen it before when Scully was pregnant with William. Scary.

Then Maggie's hands shoot out, and Krycek automatically tenses until he sees she's grabbed his false hand. Her eyebrows go up slightly, but her voice is firm as she says, "Merry Christmas, Alex."

The fact that the look on his face suggests otherwise nearly sends Mulder into a fit of incongruous laughter. "Merry Christmas," he says in a rough voice, and disengages his real hand from Melissa's to dig out a small gift box. "This is for you."

* * *

"How sweet," Maggie Scully says, and pockets it with a small smile, much to the chagrin of her eldest son and youngest daughter. "Come inside."

It seems a truce of sorts has been brokered, and Charlie steps forward, a slight smile on his face. "Welcome to the drama," he tells Krycek, then hugs his sister. "Long time no see, Missy."

"Yeah," Melissa relaxes into her younger brother's embrace.

"Wow, this is one of the most exciting Christmases we've had in a while," Charlie grins. "I should come more often."

"Last Christmas was pretty interesting, too," Bill says, glancing at Mulder and Scully. "That's when Emily joined the family." He isn't surprised to see Scully storm off into the kitchen, followed by their mother.

His younger brother frowns and nods. "Oh yeah, I remember Mom saying something about that." Then he looks at Krycek. "Hey, you wanna beer?"

"Charlie," Bill turns on him.

The younger man shrugs. "Hey, if he goes psycho, there's two FBI agents, a Naval officer and a black belt in the house."

"Elaine's a black belt?" Mulder blinks.

Charlie laughs. "Naw, man, me. You gotta let go of your preconceptions about Asians, man," he claps the other man on the arm.

Krycek finally cracks a smile that seems genuine. "I'd like a beer," he says.

Melissa squeezes his real hand, and Charlie smiles at the man responsible for a great many atrocities in both of Mulder's universes. "Sure thing," the tall redhead nods, and lopes over to the kitchen.

Bill glances at Mulder, then glares at Krycek. "I've got my eye on you," he says, heading into the living room.

"Unless the Huskies starts kicking ass in the third quarter," Mulder notes in an undertone, "the Falcons are gonna keep his attention."

The redhead frowns. "I don't know why you're rooting for the Air Force," Melissa says as she walks into the living room, "if you're a Navy man."

"Because Oregon versus Colorado is boring," Bill replies, his eyes on the screen.

Mulder blinks. "She's into football?"

Krycek shrugs, but looks at the mother of his child with new appreciation. "Who knew?"

Charlie, in his wisdom, brought back beer for everyone. "Knew what?" he asks before knocking back his own bottle.

"That it must be great to be in Hawaii," Mulder notes, "two bowls in the same state on the same day."

"I was thinking of the warm weather, but that works, too," Charlie says.

"Melissa," Krycek says, sitting next to her and away from Bill, "I never thought you'd be into football."

She smiles briefly. "I'm not. But it was a great way to talk to my dad, back when he was alive and apoplectic over the referees."

"You know," Mulder notes when his wife and Maggie join them, "this is definitely weirder than last Christmas."

And the weirdness continues when the Scully women start yelling louder than the men over various calls, turnovers, and fumbles.

* * *

And for the most part, the rest of the day goes by in a seemingly peaceful fashion, until lunchtime, when Maggie Scully goes upstairs to retrieve Tara, Elaine and the children. It's as if Maggie's leaving them allows them to drop their masks and behave and speak exactly as they feel, which is less than full of Christmas charity and cheer.

"Look, just because it's Christmas doesn't mean I've got my head up my ass," Bill mutters mutinously to Melissa.

"Just because you're the oldest doesn't mean you have to act like an ass," Melissa shoots back.

"Uh-oh," Mulder sighs, making sure there's no sharp or heavy objects within reach of either.

"I can't believe you're actually putting up with that man," Scully hisses at her husband. In spite of her enthusiasm over the game, she's been shooting dagger-like glances at their unwelcome guest ever since he's been there and she isn't about to let up now.

"Not now," Mulder murmurs as Bill and Melissa's discussion grows more heated.

"Yes, now! Mulder!" Scully snaps angrily. "I can't believe you of all people would allow that snake in here!"

"Since when does your stupid mistake have to be ours, too?" Bill demands.

Melissa's eyes are lit with an unholy anger. "Since when did wanting to have a merry Christmas be a mistake? Or do I have to have everything rubber stamped by you?"

"Hey, someone has to be the responsible one around here," the eldest Scully huffs, "and it sure isn't Ditzy Missy."

"Call me that again and you'll have turkey stuffing up your ass," Melissa snaps.

Krycek laughs, and now Bill turns on him. "Oh, you think that's funny, pretty boy? We'll see who's laughing when they haul your ass away to the gulag. Oh yeah," he smirks as the double agent's eyes widen, "I heard about that. I'll bet Mama Russia can't wait to tear off that other arm."

"Will you stop acting like children and behave?" Maggie Scully has come down the stairs, unnoticed, followed by her grandchildren and daughters-in-law. "No offense," she tells her grandchildren, who don't notice the apology but only how red the Scully kids' faces have become in various shades of anger and embarrassment.

"Mommy, how come everyone's yelling?" Page asks.

It takes everything she has not to pull out her gun again and unload half a clip into her husband and the other half into that traitor Krycek. "Everything's fine, honey," Scully lies through her teeth.

"Yeah," Bill mutters, "just peachy." His glare, matched by his sister's, is aimed at Krycek, however, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"Daddy?" Emily quavers, wondering why everyone's mad at him.

Krycek's eyes look at no one but his daughter's. He bends down and she runs into his open arms, and he holds on to her like there's no one else in the world. "It's okay, baby," he tells her, looking at the floor. For the first time in his life, he regrets being the kind of man he is, if only to spare his daughter this kind of shitty family drama.

"Are you happy now?" Melissa glares back at her two tense siblings.

"Melissa," Maggie Scully attempts to soothe her eldest daughter vocally, but nobody else is cooperating.

"Yes, fine!" Scully declares, not looking at either her mother nor her niece.

Bill echoes, "Fine!"

"Then, fine!" Melissa retorts.

"Fine!" a new voice shouts.

"Fine!" Scully repeats, then spins around. Her mouth drops when she realizes who just spoke.

"Fine!" April repeats, sounding almost exactly like her mother in a higher octave.

Scully sweeps down and embraces her little girl, her anger temporarily shelved. "Sweetie, say it again!"

"Fine!" the little girl shouts, then wonders why everyone is laughing. It's not a bad word, and she's heard them all.

* * *

"You know, I'm all for the weird and stuff," Mulder says when everyone is either gone or asleep and he and his wife are finally snuggled in bed with visions of the day's surreality still in their heads, "but I'd settle for normal Christmases from now on."

Scully gives him a wry smile. "How do you define normal?"

He groans. "Maybe one in which your mostly-enemy doesn't show up at your doorstep with your sister-in-law and niece." Then he pauses. "Although hearing your youngest daughter speak for the first time is pretty cool, and hopefully normal, too."

She smiles a little. "Yeah," she agrees, then frowns. "Although I wonder if it's normal for her to be echoing people rather than speaking on her own."

"I think she just has to get used to vocalizing," Mulder says, "she's spent most of her conscious life signing. Besides, she's the only one in the family, not including Krycek, who can actually carry a tune."

"I can't believe we didn't arrest him," Scully agrees, laying her head on his chest.

He runs a hand through her hair. "Yeah, well, Melissa would've killed us if we did," and smiles a little as she snorts. "You know why we couldn't arrest him."

She sighs, then flattens her mouth. "Emily."

"Yeah."

Scully rolls her head so that her eyes are looking disconcertingly directly into his. "Even though we just lived it, I can't believe we actually watched a football game, had lunch and dinner, and sang songs with that man. I mean, he seemed so," she frowns, "*normal*."

"That's what they all say until he starts wearing a bunny suit," Mulder says.

She blinks. "What?"

"The generic definition is that a crazy person will go on a shooting rampage with just a gun," her husband says in a dry tone she's come to learn will lead to a bad punchline, "while a psychotic will go on a shooting rampage wearing a bunny suit."

Scully frowns thoughtfully as if it makes sense. "I think I've heard it with the psycho holding a teddy bear, but yeah. Although I could see you holding the bear, but not Krycek."

"Why not?" He pouts.

"Because Krycek lets Emily play with her toys, while you mess around with the kids' toys more than they do," she says archly. "You'd probably wear the bunny suit if it fit."

"That does it," he says, "no more dressing up for trick-or-treating."

She snorts again, but this time it leads to a fit of almost loopy-sounding giggles. "Mulder," she wheezes while gasping for breath, "you jerk."

He smiles before kissing her forehead. "I'm not a jerk," he answers, "I'm a teddy bear-holding, bunny suit-wearing, alien-chasing gun nut."

Scully grabs a pillow and smothers her guffaws into it before she wakes the kids and any other unfortunate soul. Then she lightly pounds her laughing husband's chest before they both subside into some well-deserved, long-delayed sleep.


	70. Two Fathers

Late January or early February 1999

Just because we're family doesn't make that guy any less of a jerk, Mulder thinks, as he and several other men play basketball on an indoor court.

Playing b-ball these past few days helps him figure out what to do about

Cassandra Spender while on shit detail, and whether or not doing anything different would help anyone in the long run. Even as sweat is soaking his torn Knicks sweatshirt and sweatpants, Mulder's inner conflict doesn't prevent him from making a basket, and grins when he sees Scully, dressed in a shorter-than-usual business suit and trench coat, walk in. Damn, she just walks, she scores, he thinks, tossing the ball over his shoulder to a teammate, then spins around and catches it, then casually shoots the ball and makes the basket. Smirking at his wife, he calls out, "Game."

His darker teammate shakes his hand, not buying it. "Oh, no, no. Aw, it don't work like that."

Mulder's mind is off the b-ball game and on to the more intriguing X-File as he joins Scully at the side of the court. "Hey, Homegirl, word up."

She raises an eyebrow at the colloquialism and his recent moves. "Mulder it's my distinct impression that you just cheated. And that you're not coming in again today."

He plays it off, knowing his beloved heavenly wife will never buy any line of bull he pushes and loves her all the more for it. "Oh, Scully, I got game."

She tries to hold on to the righteous indignation that brought her here in the first place, but only manages to control the expression on her face if not her heart. "Yeah, you got so much game I'm wondering if you have any work left in you."

He shrugs, and decides to push her buttons further. "No, I'm ready to J-O-B just not on some jagoff shoeshine tip."

As before, a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "No 'jagoff shoeshine tip'?" she repeats.

He grins back. "No background checkin' jagoff shoeshine tip."

She shakes her head, allowing the smile to spread, even as she crosses her arms under her breasts, the well-tailored suit cut to emphasize her best assets. Just because she's on the job doesn't mean she can't have fun with her husband, she thinks, and watches as her unpredictable partner's eyes predictably goes down to her chest. "Well, about your J-O-B, Mulder," she stresses his name, making him look up to her face, "somebody's been trying very hard to reach you by phone. Somebody who wants you back at the FBI ASAP."

He blinks, knowing what she's about to bring up, even as he still enjoys the vision of his wife just barely this side of proper with her boobs propped up by her crossed arms. "About what?"

"About an X-File," she smirks, knowing he'll probably get more excited over that piece of news than her piece of -. Maybe.

* * *

FBI Headquarters

Washington, DC

Hello, hello, little bro, Mulder thinks as he comes across Spender sitting at Mulder's bullpen desk writing a note. He'd debated inwardly about showing up in his torn and sweaty Knicks outfit, but figured he'd save that battle for another day. "You looking for work, Agent Spender? 'Cause if you are, I got a whole pile in that middle drawer that I'd love to shove down someone's throat," he vents cheerfully.

"I was just writing you a note," Spender says tersely. "I think you know why I'm here."

Will you never get that stick out your ass? Mulder wonders. "They found your mother," he says aloud.

"She wants to talk to you," the younger agent says, as if trying out something distasteful.

Oh well, since I'll never get to hang with Samantha, pissing off a half-brother is almost as good. "I didn't hear the magic word."

To his surprise, the young man snaps way early than expected. "Look, forget it, okay? My mother's been gone for almost a year. She turns up in a train car where she's been operated on by a group of doctors who were burned alive, and the only person she wants to talk to isn't me, it's you, okay?" He crumples up the note and tosses it backward, the paper ball landing neatly in the wastebasket, but he doesn't notice or care. "I just want the truth, which is what I thought you wanted, too."

Okay, playtime's over, he thinks sadly, time for all of us to grow up. "The truth is out there, Agent Spender. Maybe you should find it for yourself." He merely watches as the other agent shoots him a "fuck you" glare before pulling a file from his jacket and throwing it on the desk, then storming off. He sits down heavily in his chair, waiting until he hears the click-clack of his wife's impossibly high heels sounding in the hallway to open the file full of charbroiled scientist photos.

* * *

Later, Mulder and Scully, due to Scully's prompting, sneak into the hospital. As before, Scully is surprised at Cassandra's sudden self-mobility, but gets her to see Mulder hidden in a storage space. "Agent Mulder?" she calls out.

Mulder steps out from his hiding place with a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Shhhh."

"Oh, my god," she laughs, holding her stomach. "To think you'd be hiding in the closet like a little boy for me."

"As long as it's not like a little girl, I can handle it," Mulder says with a nervous chuckle. "When she hugs him, he smiles, wondering why everyone else's mom gives great hugs except his own. When they pull apart, he grins. "Wow, look at you."

Cassandra Spender's smile has gone from merely bright to freakin' incandescent as she does a slight curtsy at her now-strong legs. "I told you about their power." She turns her smile to Scully. "You said you didn't believe it." As Scully flushes slightly, the elder woman turns back to Mulder. "You wondered whether you'd ever see her again, weren't you? Your sister."

Scully's mouth drops. "How do you know about his...?" her voice trails off when she realizes that seemingly everyone and their uncle knows about Mulder's sister's supposed alien abduction. Her eyes widen when Cassandra Spender lights up a cigarette, and wonders exactly how healthy this once-crippled woman is.

"She's out there, with them. The aliens," Cassandra says matter-of-factly.

* * *

Scully's still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this smoking woman standing before them is the same one who was in such ill-health the last they saw her that she was in a wheelchair. "Cassandra, you were found in a train car. You'd been operated on by doctors."

The blonde woman nods quickly, still puffing away on the cigarette. "Yes, that's right."

The redhead can feel her eyebrows nearly reach the crown of her hair. "And these are the doctors who cured you?"

"No," Cassandra corrects her, "the aliens cured me. The doctors were working with the aliens. That's what I wanted to tell you."

"What?" Mulder asks numbly, wishing he could sink through the floor and skip this part.

But it's no go, and the rest of the exposition goes merrily to hell as before. "I told you that the aliens were here to do good and that I was being used as an oracle to spread the word. Only now I know what the aliens are here for and it isn't good."

Part of him is detached, working out yet another angle on how to best save the mother of his half-brother and a sweet, if now-knowledgeable, pawn in the game the alien conspirators are playing. "What are they here for?"

"To wipe us off the planet," Cassandra says bluntly. "They're taking over the universe. They're infecting all other life-forms with a black substance called Purity. It's their life force. It's what they're made of."

"It's the virus - the black oil," Mulder says dully.

Scully frowns at her husband before turning her worried glance on the older woman. "But, Cassandra, the doctors weren't infected. They were burned."

"By another race of aliens," Cassandra fills in. "A rebel force that are mutilating their faces so that they won't be infected. This is what I couldn't tell my son Jeffrey."

I hope I never have to be in a situation where me and my kids would be this separated as adults, Scully thinks. "Why couldn't you tell Jeffrey?"

Cassandra looks at her as if knowing her maternal fears. "Because he doesn't believe me...even though his life is in danger by these same rebel aliens."

"Spender's life's in danger?"

Mulder's not sure whether or not he should be insulted by what's turned into a summit of the moms. "He's in with the men that have been working with the alien colonists for 50 years."

"Working to do what?"

"Whatever it is they did to me...and what I'm sure they did to Samantha."

Mulder finally speaks up with the mention of his sister. "And you know who these men are?"

Cassandra sucks in another lungful of nicotine before answering bitterly, "Oh, sure. One of them's my ex-husband...Jeffrey's father."

* * *

In spite of the warm and fuzzy Christmas he spent with Agent Scully's family, or maybe because of it, Krycek's in a roomful of the world's slimiest American alien conspirators. He's never before believed in half the shit they've spouted, but when one of them starts talking about siding with the rebels, he speaks up. "It's an option you declined long ago. Resistance was futile then. Why would it be any less so now? That's why you voted against it - against men like Bill Mulder," and he tastes the irony on his lips, considering the man's son allowed him to live at that not-quite-cozy family gathering. "Collaboration has allowed you to prepare...to stall colonization. I mean, how close are you to developing a human/alien hybrid? That alone ensures your survival." Or maybe he's talking too much. Dammit.

"As slave laborers for the aliens," the Second Elder scoffs at Krycek's defense of the various projects.

Something's wrong, the double agent thinks, could he know about Emily? "What about your vaccine?" he says aloud. "By collaborating, you bought yourself time to secretly develop a way to combat the aliens - to fight the future."

It looks like Krycek's not the only one with a bullshit detector, and the Smoking Man snaps, "Alex, enough!" The older man looks at the Second Elder thoughtfully as he continues. "For fifty years, we've worked on this project - fifty years since Roswell. We can't sacrifice ourselves for every new threat, can we now?" he sneers before puffing at his cigarette.

Even if the other old men don't realize it, Krycek realizes that the Second Elder is an imposter, and not one of the Alien Bounty Hunter-types. He's not sure whether he should be relieved or worried by that knowledge, but figures the Smoking Man's gonna take care of it. He always does.

* * *

If he wasn't living it, Mulder would swear he was in some kind of demented soap opera or "reality show", with global and intergalactic ramifications. First, he allows himself and Scully to not only get caught snooping around in their old X-Files office by Skinner, but also by his unwitting half-brother Spender. However, he doesn't realize what kind of hold their birth father still has over his half-brother after all these years, and Spender finds himself being physically and emotionally abused by the man he once called "Father."

Unfortunately, Spender doesn't see himself having any sort of weakness, and that, like his father, is his weakness. Unlike his father, however, he's not the retrospective type, so he doesn't see his Achilles heel as clearly as others do. So he waits on a street corner, his jaw working tensely while he believes in his father more than he does his helpless but beloved mother. He watches as a car pulls up and his father steps out, lighting an ubiquitous cigarette. "I waited, like you asked," he says simply.

"Good," the Smoking Man says after a quick puff. "I'm pleased. I was doubtful after our last meeting."

In a way, he almost envies his father for his habit, which allows the older man to fidget, albeit in a seemingly calm fashion. "You have a new job for me?" he asks.

"Yes," his father says through a small cloud of smoke. "I may have been unduly harsh. You deserve a fighting chance to prove your father wrong." He hands Spender a cylindrical palm sized metal object that looks vaguely like either like a futuristic flashlight or a dental tool of pain.

Spender squints at the object. "What is it?" he wonders, hoping it's not his father's idea of a practical joke.

"A weapon," the Smoking Man says in his almost delicate manner. He smiles slightly when his son starts from the sudden stiletto appearance. "A man has infiltrated the group that I work with. That's to kill him."

Most people use a gun, the younger man frowns. "I don't understand." And why am I killing some random stranger?

"He's pretending to be a member of our group disguising himself as a man he's already killed. You will greet him as that man. Engage him in conversation. Then put that in the back of his neck." He holds the car door open. "You can do it, Jeffrey."

Numbly, Spender gets into the back seat of the car, the strange weapon still in hand. He doesn't notice the driver until he says, "Watch where you point that." Startled, the agent retracts the pick and the driver, who looks to be about his age, drives off. No words are spoken as they go, and Spender wonders how often this sort of thing happens. It's possible that the shifty-eyed character driving has done this sort of thing before, too.

It's part of the job, deal with it, he thinks as they pull up to a quaint, almost old-fashioned mansion, the type that looks like a very fancy house compared to rock stars' homes these days. It's not really murder, he tells himself, I'm protecting my father. Over and over again, he feeds himself the excuse, but if he honestly believed his father to be as powerful and dangerous as advertised, he would have more than second thoughts about this whole thing.

Even as he goes through the motions of the polite conversation and subservient messenger-like talk he's mentally rehearsed in the car, a part of him can't believe that this kindly old man before him is supposed to be some ultra-bad enemy of his dad's. He's not sure why his father feels the old man should be assassinated - assassinated rather than merely character - assassinated, but he's not one to question a man of authority like his father. So he holds the folded card in his hand, half-hiding it like a bad magician. "Something I've been entrusted with. It's, uh, it's a name, actually - one that will have meaning for you." Then he holds out the card, somewhat grateful it's not soggy with the massive sweat from his palm.

As the older man reaches for it, Spender drops the card like a klutz, and doesn't have to pretend to wince as the older man looks at him with disgust. "I'm sorry."

When the older man bends to retrieve it, Spender lunges at him with the strange stiletto-like weapon, but the old man sees it and grabs the agent's arm, effortlessly avoiding the attack. Desperately, as the old man throttles him, Spender scratches at the man's face, revealing the horrifyingly featureless face of something so beyond his ken that he has no words to describe it, that his body freezes involuntarily as his breath leaves him. Without warning, the faceless creature stiffens and falls to the floor as the driver stabs him in the back of the neck with the discarded weapon. Spender and the driver stare at each other for a moment, one not sure what to say, and the other debating whether he should leave right now.

In the meantime, bubbling green fluid oozes out of the creatures neck, and Spender is sure his own face is green as the world reels around him.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the haunted house, Mulder opens the door for the first of many visitors, welcome and not, he knows will be entering his home. "Thanks for coming," the black sheep agent says quietly. "I know it's late and you've been forbidden to have any contact with us."

As their stern boss enters the hallway, he sees Scully feeding David and Jared with the help of an ingenious sling. "You say Cassandra Spender's life is in danger," Skinner says without preamble.

Mulder blinks affirmatively. "Her life's been in danger going on 30 years...just not the way I think it is now."

The bald man looks from one agent to the other. "In danger from who?"

"Men who've conducted medical experiments in what began as a secret government project but what is now the most private global enterprise."

"Enterprising to do what?" Skinner frowns.

"To develop alien/human hybrids that will survive the viral apocalypse when aliens colonize the earth," Mulder says, not surprised that his wife still has a hard time believing all this, even after seeing Agent Fowley's condition, after all these years on the X-Files. Then again, not having experienced a lot of the pain firsthand might also have something to do with her prolonged skepticism.

Skinner also looks doubtful, and with good reason. He's got more to lose. "And I suppose you have proof of this?"

Mulder nods briefly. "Files that Agent Scully dug up that make all the right connections to Dr. Eugene Openshaw to my sister, to my father...to Agent Spender's father."

Their boss shakes his head. "Agent Spender's father?"

"The Smoking Man."

It's obvious it's the last connection he would've made. "What?"

"Shhh," Scully says in a low tone, rocking her babies lightly. "It's true, sir. We have documented evidence."

Skinner gives her his version of Scully-Eyebrow-Raising. "Then you believe this, Agent Scully? This whole account?"

As Scully sucks in her breath, Mulder steps in. "I know that Agent Scully has her doubts about the purposes of these experiments but I also know that she believes Agent Fowley was a test subject when she was abducted last year."

"If Cassandra Spender's life was in danger, why not Scully's?" their boss asks reasonably.

"Because I believe Cassandra Spender represents the final stages of these experiments - that she may very well be the first successful alien/human hybrid."

Skinner inhales sharply, then squints at his wayward agent. "What I don't understand is if she was a success, then why is her life threatened?"

Mulder pauses. "Because...the men who created her would rather kill her than let her expose the enterprise."

"She's under 24-hour guard," Skinner protests.

"Assigned by Agent Spender?" Scully asks, looking from her husband to her boss.

Skinner frowns, then turns on his heel with a brief, "Excuse me," and leaves as suddenly as he came. As the door closes shut, Mulder says, "Got everything?"

Scully nods. "You really think...?" her voice trails off.

He nods back. "Call your mom."

* * *

Meanwhile, Krycek has decided to stick with the kid, but is drawing the line at holding a bucket under his face. They're still at the deceased Elder's home, with the alien rebel taking its sweet time to just up and dissolve.

The kid, he has to remind himself, is the Smoking Man's son. Who knows what he'll report back to Daddy Dearest? With that, he shoves the car keys back into his pocket and rejoins Spender, who's still staring at the dead alien's body looking ready to puke or cry. "You've never seen one before, have you?" The kid shakes his head. "It's shocking at first," he nods, going on in the same tone of voice he reserves for Emily, practical but personal. "The acceptance of the idea, it's...It's something you thought only children and fools believed in. It undermines your beliefs - in yourself, in the world...but then you come to understand."

"Understand what?"

With that question, Krycek feels about as old as the Smoking Man himself, who obviously didn't have the balls to tell his kid about basic truths in this world. Truths he'd have to tell Emily about someday, but relishes the future job as much as he does this present one - not very damn much. "Well, the responsibility that this knowledge demands but the men who have it. The great sacrifice by great men like your father."

The kid squints up at him. "What sacrifice?"

"The sacrifice of your mother," Krycek says matter-of-factly, figuring his old man would've said something about that if he's sending the kid to do a job like this.

"What do you know about that?" the young man asks tersely.

Aw, shit. You stupid bastard, and he's not sure if he's cussing himself or the Smoking Man out. Slowly, he says, "Just that she's...been the subject of an experiment for 25 years."

The kid stares at him in horror. "My father's involved in that? Is he?"

Krycek always thought of himself as a Smoking Man in the making, but now, with a child of his own, he realizes he's much more like Bill Mulder than he'd care to admit. I hope Emily never looks at me like that, he thinks, even as he knows she probably will unless she's got even less morals than her father. "Your father directs the experiments."

It's not very often he gets to see a world crumble, change, so utterly for a person outside of war and poverty that Krycek at first merely thinks the younger man's a little slow on the uptake. "So...I'm protecting her now so the experiments can continue?"

Duh, the double agent almost says, but decides to change this guy's future. Nobody's gonna be the next Smoking Man, Krycek realizes, not his son, not Mulder, and certainly not me. The world's not strong enough for more than one bastard like that. "That's why he put you on the X-Files," he says in a cajoling tone. "That's why your father sent you here tonight. You're protecting the project, Jeff. Making the sacrifices. So that you can be a great man, too."

As expected, the young man suddenly grows a pair and stands quickly, his own queasiness at the dead body forgotten. "I'll be my own great man," he snaps before storming out of a house containing a dead alien and a live double agent.

Krycek smirks, but the expression fades when he realizes he's got to cover his own ass. Cracking his neck, he yawns, then reaches into his pocket for the car keys. He knows his next destination, as he knows Spender's. "Good luck," he says to the empty air, then pulls an aerosol can from his jacket filled with chemicals to speed the alien's decay process. Not that Baltimore PD ever knows what to do with the shit they find anyway, but why make it easier for them?

* * *

There is no easy way out, Mulder thinks as the loud pounding on the front door startles the kids, but I'll do my best. He bends down and checks the peephole, then opens the door for a very frightened and breathless Cassandra Spender. "Put this on," Mulder says tersely, shutting the door behind them and handing her a bag.

For some reason, she isn't surprised to find the lights are off, with the nightlights being the only illumination. Still, something bothers her. "What?" the older woman blinks at them, wondering why even the small children are up at such a late hour.

"I can't believe she found us," Scully mutters, even as a squeal of wheels screeches in the driveway. She swallows her disbelief, however, as she knows time is precious, and adjusts the dark wig on the older woman's head. Cassandra Spender, however, casts a terrified glance at the door when there's a loud series of raps. "Oh, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder you cannot let them find me." Her mouth drops open and her eyes are wide when Mulder peeks again, then opens the door. "No, please!" Her frightened entreaties serve to scare the children, and she starts to run towards an exit, any exit.

"Cassandra, it's okay," Scully tells her, blocking, then holding the scared woman. "He's a friend."

"Take her to this address," Mulder tells Frohike, who shoots the bewigged woman a curious glance before nodding.

"Come on, kiddoes, Uncle Frohike's gonna take you on a little adventure," the shortest Gunman says, and Page, Sammy and April join him as he hauls the twin boys' carrier to his chest. "Ma'am, if you could grab that baby bag, we'll be off."

Cassandra shoots Scully a worried glance, but the redhead smiles, puts the bag in her hands, and says, "Take care of the kids, Mom."

Quickly, the older woman nods, and the strange group hauls ass into the waiting VW. Scully waves, and a couple of small hands wave back, as if it's completely normal for her kids to be driven off in the middle of the night. Then again, she's fairly sure her neighbors have noted their odd hours, which is exactly what they're counting on. "Please," she breathes into the cold night, not knowing exactly what to pray, but staring as the van disappears out of sight, "please."

"Your mom's got them," Mulder says in a carrying voice, "get inside before you catch cold."

Reluctantly, Scully nods, hoping that Mulder's plan works, and that nothing bad will happen to her kids or Cassandra. Please, she prays again, holding her husband's hand.

As soon as the door locks shut, they hold each other, one knowing exactly what's at stake, the other with a vague but troubling notion that despite the seemingly easy exit, things are going to get a lot worse.

The sudden pounding at the door startles Scully, and her fearful expression is not lost on Mulder. He nods, and they slowly reach for their weapons as the pounding continues, getting improbably louder. How many thugs do they have working for the CDC? Mulder wonders facetiously, then smiles appreciatively as his wife jerks her head and they take their positions silently with guns drawn. Now it sounds less like knocking and more like someone is breaking the door down, which pisses his wife to no end. There will be blood tonight! he grins inwardly, quoting one of his newfound favorite movies.

"Is it me," Scully says, "or is it getting cold in here?" Her large eyes squint, and she can almost see the very things she tells her husband she doesn't believe in.

Mulder's eyes widen. The ghost kids. Oops. "It's okay," he tells their not-quite-dead hosts, "the kids are okay, and we will be, too. It's gonna be okay."

Somewhat mollified, they disappear, but it's still pretty damn cold, as if they left the thermostat off. "Mulder!" Scully shouts, and resumes her FBI-approved firing stance. He does the same, and she smiles grimly as the much-abused door flies into the dark hallway.


	71. One Son

February 1999

That night, Mulder is writing in his journal, unable to talk to his wife about what happened that morning. "Two men, young, idealistic - the fine product of a generation hardened by world war. Two fathers whose paths would converge in a new battle - an invisible war between a silent enemy and a sleeping giant on a scale to dwarf all historical conflicts. A 50-years war, its killing fields lying in wait for the inevitable global holocaust." For some reason, he thinks of the black and white photo of his father and the Cigarette Smoking Man, a photo he was going to ask his father about but never got a chance. But for his father's sake, as well as his family's, he's loathe to talk to the man so soon. Disconsolately, he munches on a handful of sunflower seeds as his wife lies beside him, snoring softly.

* * *

Earlier, however, there wasn't much time for rumination. "Mulder!" Scully screams as perfect strangers threaten to knock down their door. For some reason, she wishes Mulder hadn't shooed the ghosts away, it would be nice to have some kind of backup. What am I thinking, she thinks in the growing shock as the pounding gets louder, I don't believe in ghosts, conveniently forgetting her Christmas Eve encounter of the apparition kind.

When the door goes flying through the hallway, she and her husband throw  
themselves at opposite ends of the entryway, she going left and he going right. "Scul-lay!" he shouts as people in biohazard suits swarm through the opening, looking for all the world like alien invaders from a B-movie, hosing down a perfectly clean hallway and lobby with water and God knows what else. His anger rising up in his throat, he rushes to his wife, who's been knocked down by the force of the water, and helps her up. "Who are you!" he yells, more out of rage than curiosity.

Of course, the CDC are helpful as always. "Get down! Get down!"

"What's going on?" Scully stares in bedraggled indignation, trying to determine whether this is a bad joke or a serious threat in the confusion. She wishes she hadn't lost her weapon in the initial breach, and realizes her husband is similarly disarmed. Dammit.

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" the same anonymous-suited man shouts.

Mulder's just about ready to reach for his gun, government agent or no. "Who are you?"

The loud guy in the suit and helmet kicks him helpfully in the back, forcing Mulder to slip and land ungracefully on the hard floor. "Drop down! Drop! Drop!

Even as Scully slowly lowers herself down, her eyes are glaring daggers at the intruders. And as they blast the couple again with the hoses, the daggers in her eyes morph into laser beams. How dare they, her entire body language shouts, I'm gonna eviscerate each and every single one. Mulder notes with some amusement that once the hosers are done, they scurry away as quickly as they can, one of them even vainly trying to replace and seal the doorway. Her voice shaking with rage, Scully asks, "Who are you?"

The yelling man finally replies, once satisfied that they look as helpless as wet cats, "We're with the Centers for Disease Control. Remain calm and where you are for your own good. You're gonna be transported to a quarantine facility as soon as we can secure the environment."

The redhead scowls. "Quarantine for what?"

Another person steps forward, and this time, they see a woman's face through the faceplate of the biohazard suit. "A contagion," Agent Fowley replies. "A contagion of unknown origin."

* * *

During the journey, neither agent speaks to each other, a mixture of rage at their captors and fear for their children largely playing a part in that move. As they take their showers, they don't shoot covert glances at each other like they did last time, but instead silently hold hands over the short divide once the water stops. They're quickly shooed out and dressed in medical scrubs, brusquely checked by technicians for radioactivity. He and Scully finally voice their concerns and theories about where they are, and then a pair of doctors, male for Mulder and female for Scully, enter with kits and begin the process of checking them out all over again.

The bitch is back, Mulder thinks sullenly as his ex walks into the room. Almost immediately, his wife sits up straight and her jaw is working. Knew you wouldn't let me down, Scully, he grins inside. "I'm going to beg for your understanding and forgiveness and offer my humblest apologies for the way this went down," the tall brunette says, obviously not meaning a single glib word she's saying. "I didn't have a lot of choices. I owe your neighbors apologies as well. It's going to be some time before they're allowed back into their homes. We're still acting on a CDC Level Four quarantine protocol."

Scully frowns. "Based on what information?"

Agent Fowley looks mildly constipated, or maybe that's a look common to those who have no business in the X-Files. "That Cassandra Spender had contracted a highly contagious vectoring organism which produces a spontaneous cellular breakdown and combustion."

His wife, however, is less astounded at the other woman's expression than her words. "What?"

Calmly, as if teaching a mentally disabled child, the perfectly dressed and coiffed agent says, "She was and remains the only surviving victim of an unspecified medical experiment that killed seven doctors with violent and unexplained burning."

"Who called you?" Mulder asks, and now the agent turns large, hungry eyes on him. Yikes.

"Agent Spender," she says without any of the venom she used on his wife. "What I want to know is, where's Cassandra?"

Scully cuts her off at the pass. "Cassandra Spender was in a general hospital environment for days," she says, as arrogantly as a doctor to a stranger off the street. "We met with her, as well as Agent Spender, with no contamination protocol enacted, and yet on a whim you call in the third battalion. It's unjustified and highly suspicious as to motive."

Fowley raises her eyebrows slightly. "What motives are you suspecting?"

"Your attack on our home, when Cassandra obviously wasn't there," Scully raises her own eyebrow, but only slightly, as if the other woman didn't even rate a full skeptical expression.

"She's Patient Zero," Fowley says, nettled.

Now Scully's fine features go from mild doubt to utter disbelief. "No one is sick or infected here. I mean, I assume that based on you walking in here, dressed to the nines, offering apologies masquerading as explanations."

"Scully..." In the back of his mind, Mulder wants to see what a full-blown catfight between these two would look like, but it probably wouldn't be anything like the porn he used to have. Darn.

"Mulder," she turns to him, exasperated, "we're not the guilty parties here, and yet we're being treated as such. I'm just thankful Mom has the kids for the weekend so they didn't have to go through such groundless harassment."

Fowley looks uncomfortable at the mention of the children. "I believe they've had contact with Patient Zero, so we need to-"

"Touch our children and you're a dead woman," Scully hisses, "I don't care if I have to call the CDC, the ACLU, or the president himself, but you are not coming anywhere near them." Then her eyes glint, and Mulder doesn't like the looks of this. "Besides, you yourself was infected with, how did you put it, 'a highly contagious vectoring organism which produces a spontaneous cellular breakdown and combustion. I'm surprised I'm not inspecting you rather than the other way around."

"I've been cleared of the contagion," Fowley says stiffly. "Cassandra's the one causing the danger."

"Perhaps," Scully says, and one could almost hear the knives sharpening against the grindstone, "but I've seen Cassandra's recent records and can testify to her health, whereas I haven't seen any of your records. In case you forgot, I am a medical doctor."

The tall brunette pauses. "And in case you forgot, a doctor who is suspended indefinitely from her position at the FBI." Scully angrily pulls the blood pressure cuff from her arm and strides out of the room. Mulder gives the dark-haired woman a pitying glance, and walks out calmly. Fowley stares at the doorway, dismayed, her mouth turning into a thin line.

* * *

Scully sighs deeply when she opens a locker and removes a plain gray dress. Wrinkling her nose, she puts it back in the locker. She casts a forlorn look at her husband as he opens his own locker. "They've burned our clothes."

Mulder pulls out a suit jacket and grimaces. At least the last time, the suit looked decent, even if it was small. "I'm sure there's a mental patient missing his clothes right about now."

She folds her arms under her chest. "Mulder, are all your exes complete bitches or just the last two?"

He smirks, "Scully, please, tell me what you really think."

She inhales deeply before launching into her tirade, unconscious of the way his eyes have gone below her eye level. "Agent Spender calling the Centers for Disease Control? Mulder, this is just somebody using their position to stage a hi-tech government kidnapping."

Mulder shakes his head. "Apparently not. I just spoke to AD Skinner. He was at the hospital when Cassandra went missing. He heard Spender make the phone call to the CDC."

Scully smiles a little, finally noticing that in spite of his business-only content and tone, his eyes are squarely on her breasts. Cute, but later. "Eyes up here," she reminds him, and as he grins, she continues. "But she wasn't sick, Mulder. I mean, the remarkable thing is she was well."

Her husband, his eyes now on hers, asks, "Well, then why did she call us for help?"

She blinks, but recovers quickly in the next blink. "Because of everything that had been done to her - because of the tests, because of the medical experiments and the implant put in her neck - what nobody should have to go through. She just wants it to stop. And I'm telling you, they have taken her so that it can continue."

"No. It won't continue," he says quietly. "It doesn't have to anymore. She knows what she is, Scully. That's why it's so dangerous for her to be alive. That's why she wanted our help."

"What is she?" she stares at her husband. No longer does she think this is a bad prank, or an FBI reaming gone too far, but truly the threat he warned her about. She almost knows what he's going to say, but is oddly afraid to voice it herself.

His hazel eyes flicker, as if knowing what she's thinking. "I think she's the one, Scully."

* * *

Decontamination Facility

Fort Marlene  
9:02 p.m.

One of these days, I'll manage to pull a James Bond and stash decent clothes somewhere, Mulder thinks. Even if it's just the second time since that "non-X-File" in Dallas (and elsewhere), it's one time too many to be squeezed into a badly-fitting suit that's tackier than the last. Fowley must be real pissed at me, he thinks, and sees a woman who appears to have gotten her hair the same place he got his clothes.

Who knows, maybe she'll take pity on me this time, and calls out, "Hello? Hello? Oh, oh, Ma'am." He's relieved when she turns, and he points, "These shoes? They're, they're two sizes too small. I was wondering if I could get a..." Again, however, he gets shafted, and pouts. "Get a fuckin' nurse who gave a shit, dammit!" Not that it'll win him any brownie points, but it felt good to get that off  
his chest.

Limping down the hall, he wonders again if he should help Marita out, but she turned out okay the last time around without his help, much better than his half-brother, at least. Down the hall, Mulder sees a woman in a hospital gown duck out of view, and he sighs. Dammit. He quickly shuffles after her, vowing to shove these shoes up a deserving party's ass. He enters a lab and looks around.

Even though he knows it's her, her hoarse voice from out of nowhere still startles him. "I can't be seen with you."

"Marita?" he frowns in the strange lighting.

Everything in the room is a sterile white, highlighted by the odd blue lighting, including the disturbingly unkempt Marita Covarrubias. "If they catch me with you, they'll kill me this time."

"What have they done to you?" he asks quietly.

She looks at him, her pale blue irises surrounded by bloody whites, and it still gives him the heebie-jeebies. "Tests," she says, holding herself and shivering, "terrible, terrible tests."

"Like the tests on Cassandra Spender?"

The formerly well-groomed UN assistant shakes her head nervously. "No. No, Cassandra Spender is part of a program that's been going on for 25 years. A hybrid program."

"Then what were the tests on you?" he asks, feeling guilty that he couldn't save her from this fate this second time around.

The ordeal, however, has served to make her more human, as well as more canny. Bitterly, she answers, "I was infected with the alien virus - the black oil. My tests were on the vaccine against it," her odd eyes shifting, looking around corners, "being developed in secret."

"In secret from the alien colonists," Mulder continues, recalling the hell that dragged him from Dallas to DC to down in Antarctica. Sure, he got to see a UFO again, but at what cost? "The hybrid program was in cooperation with the aliens but the conspirators never intended to succeed...to finish the work."

The disheveled blonde nods her head, still shivering. "They were buying time."

"To make a vaccine and build a weapon."

For the first time, the source smiles, and it's the scariest thing he's seen since Scully's fury. "But Cassandra Spender happened."

He presses her, because she expects it, not because he needs to. "She's the first, isn't she? She's the first successful alien/human hybrid."

The smile slides from her face as if it never happened. "If she is," her eyes dart around, "and the aliens learn a hybrid exists...colonization of the planet will begin. With no stopping it." The eerie smile comes back to her face, however, when she adds, "But only if they find her first."

* * *

A steady, irritating chirping noise wakes the lone occupant in the X-Files office. It's been a long day, with nothing to show for it except an annoyed partner, two angry suspended (and decontaminated) agents, a suspicious supervisor, a traitorous father, and a missing mother. All that's been missing is a partridge in a pear tree, but since it's February, it doesn't matter. "Spender," the young agent rubs his eyes as he answers his phone. The brief nap, taken while still in his work suit, hasn't helped much.

"Jeffrey, it's me," a warm familiar voice says.

"Mom?" he asks, sitting up.

"Shhh," Cassandra Spender says, "I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. Just let me go, honey, and don't worry about me."

"Mom, where are you?" he asks, worry etched on his face as he flips on the desk lamp and fumbles for a pen and paper.

"I love you," is all she says.

"I love you, too, but where-?" He doesn't get the chance to finish repeating his question, for the connection is gone. Immediately, he digs around the immaculate desk, sending paperclips and pens flying, looking for a number. When he finds it, buried, in all places, a rolodex, he punches in the first two numbers, then stops, his brain finally catching up to him.

For now he realizes the paranoia his mother and Fox Mulder shares is based on fact, and that she took a big risk even calling him. His heart tells him he should call the surveillance people to track her last location, to find her and keep her safe, but his mind, the thing that's kept him out of the loony bin, tells him to save his own ass while he can. His mind's been telling him that for years, and so far, it's worked out.

He stares a long time at his cell phone, then makes the first of many calls, knowing he's playing a dangerous game against an opponent with years of experience in it. He's no Fox Mulder, and he's definitely no C.G.B. Spender, but then, he never wanted to be them. I'll be my own great man, he repeats to himself, his heart in his throat as he waits for his first call to connect to a private office in East 40th St., New York City.

* * *

With the help of the Lone Gunmen, both Scully and Mulder dig up the dirt on his "evil bitch ex", and he shakes his head. How the hell did I luck out with Scully? he wonders, not for the first time. Mulder has been debating his next moves as the Gunmen work their illegal mojo on various systems and securities, and decides he really doesn't want to see the Smoking Man or Fowley if he can help it. Screw it, he thinks, remembering that the last time, he only went to Fowley's because he stupidly believed in her, thought she'd be more reasonable than Scully. And how did I mistake Scully's fervor and reason for simply jealousy? *She* was the one who had my best interests, as well as Cassandra's and dammit, the world's, and I was thinking of my own stupid pride. She was jealous, yeah, but that was only part of the motivation behind her actions. When it came down to it, it *was* a matter of faith, except I put it in the wrong person.

Scully, however, is slumped beside Langly and sighs, her expression not full of righteous indignation, but rather sorrow and pity. "I can't believe it," she sighs before sipping from a hastily-brewed cup of coffee.

"What, the part about Fowley's travel records being purged from her FBI records, or her trips to pretty much every European MUFON chapter collecting data on female abductees?" the blonde man asks in his nasal twang.

She smiles wanly. "The fact that she did this after being Mulder's partner," she says, then turns to her husband. "How well did you say you knew her?"

Mulder's smile is just as sick. "Apparently not as well as I thought," he answers, thanking his lucky stars and that crazy Elsbeth again for allowing him to marry Scully this time around, rather than someone like, say, Diana. Then he shudders.

Now Scully smirks. "You think if we bring this information to Skinner, he'll reinstate us?"

Mulder blinks, then groans. "Maybe, but the kid, I mean, Spender, is still officially in charge of the X-Files, so we'd have to ask him first." Then he makes a face. "This is the guy who helped sink us, as well as call the CDC on us, so I doubt he'd be open to the notion of deep-sixing his own partner for us."

Scully groans just when Frohike walks in. "What's wrong?"

"You," Mulder replies as his wife and the short man glare at him.

"It's not you," his wife answers, "it's the fact that we could maybe save the world but not our jobs."

"We could always use some help around here," Frohike smiles in what he believes is a winning smile at the redhead.

She smiles, "That's very sweet of you, but I don't think I could afford to raise our kids on the kind of salary you boys make."

The Lone Gunmen look at each other, their faces crestfallen. "Damn, we're never gonna get married, are we?" Langly says.

"Shut up, moron," Frohike growls, "not everyone is suited for married life. Besides, we should enjoy the bachelor life while we can."

As the short and the blonde gunmen bicker, no one except Mulder notices the pained look that briefly crosses Byers' face, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, the suit-and-tie man of the group says in his calm voice, "By the way, has anyone thought to check on the current whereabouts and actions of Agents Spender and Fowley?"

They all look at him like he's grown two extra heads. "Good idea," Mulder finally says, and as the Gunmen start tracking the "current X-Files agents" in their own fashion, Scully calls her mother about their children while Mulder calls Danny, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from the Syndicate or the agents in question just yet.

* * *

10:13 p.m.

It just keeping getting better and better, Spender thinks as he hangs up on his partner. Someone called in from a recycling plant, claiming that some old woman beat up the security guards, then plowed through glass doors without a scratch. Ordinarily, he'd ignore the damn thing, except this time, the description of the old woman matches his mother. And if he's got the call from his X-Files office, he knows as sure as hell's hot that his dad's probably listening in and on his way. So, as he breaks several driving laws getting to the plant, he called up his ever-so-helpful partner, who sounded like she just woke up. Tough.

"I don't know why you're acting like the Terminator all of a sudden, but I hope that's enough to go against Dad," Spender mutters, jumping out of his car and racing into the building.

It smells like hell as he flashes his badge, sidestepping the fallen guards and looks at the small bank of security cameras behind the desk and seeing a woman racing from one camera view to another. Hope I get there in time, he thinks, running down the halls. "Mom! Mom!" he calls out, not caring if he looks or sounds like an idiot doing so.

As he turns a corner, a door slowly closes, and he practically skids down the hall to reach it. "Mom!" he yells, all protocol for approaching a fleeing fugitive who may be in danger flying out the window. "Mom, where are you?"

"Jeffrey!" a woman's voice says, and he spins around.

Agent Fowley, he thinks, slightly chagrined. She must live close by if she caught up this fast. "She's here," he tells his partner, "I saw her on the cameras not too long ago."

"Then we have to move fast," the brunette tells him, and he nods. "I've come in from the east side, what about you?"

"West, going through north," he says, "I guess we better check out the south."

"That's where the incinerator is," Fowley says, "you don't think...?"

"No," Spender says resolutely, but hauling ass. He's surprised to find his partner doing the same, and a few minutes later, they manage to catch up with his mother as she breaks off the metal chains from the incinerator door.

"Oh, Jeffrey," she sighs, even as he stands dumbstruck at the fact that his previously wheelchair-ridden mother has not only gained the ability to walk, as she did when he first saw her, but to break metal with her bare hands. What happened to her? Then she smiles same quick smile comes to her face, the same one that came after every horrific "return," and he realizes that something is terribly wrong. "I didn't want you to see this, but if I don't die, everyone dies." And before the stunned agents' eyes, she walks into the fiery furnace, the heat so great that her heavy clothes burn instantly and they are forced to stagger back. Unbelievably, her body is still whole as she glances over her shoulder, her figure silhouetted by the intense heat and light, and she smiles briefly before closing the heavy metal door shut behind her.

Now Spender breaks out of his stupor. "Mom! Mooooooom!" he screeches, running to the incinerator door and tries to open it. "Try" being the operative word, because his hands barely touch it and he yelps, the skin on his flesh blistering as he tries to shake off the pain. "What the hell?" Tears are falling down his face, but he doesn't wipe them away, partly because he's afraid it'll pain his hands further, and partly because he doesn't give a damn what his stone-faced partner thinks.

* * *

"I can't believe it," a voice cuts through the sudden gloom.

"You," the young agent's voice is filled with venom, "you did this to her!"

"She did it to herself," the Smoking Man replies, his cigarette smoke making the large room seem improbably claustrophobic. "Are you saying I pushed her in?"

"With all the tests, kidnappings, experiments, brainwashing, yes!" his son shouts at him. "I can't believe you honestly thought I'd join you after knowing what you did to her!"

"You had proof right in front of your face," his father says calmly, puffing away.

"You neglected the most important part of your work, that you were the cause of all her suffering," Spender says, hissing as he pulls out his gun and trains it on the man he regrets calling "father."

"You dare shoot at your father?" The old man looks mildly affronted, but somewhat pleased.

"I don't have a father," Spender says, but the old man is quicker than he thinks, and only hits the old man's arm. "Damn."

"Would you shoot your partner?" the Smoking Man is holding Fowley as his shield, holding a gun to her forehead.

"You bastard," the young agent squints, but can't find an easy way to shoot his assholic sperm donor without getting Fowley hurt or killed. Still, he holds his weapon in a two-handed grip that's nothing but sheer agony on his burned hands.

"Excellent," the Smoking Man walks backward, his hostage serving as an unofficial "badge" as he makes his getaway.

* * *

"Something's wrong," Mulder says as Scully drives.

"A disturbance in the Force?" his wife raises an eyebrow. They're heading to their FBI office, since he even he can't claim the extreme hunch of heading to El Rico AFB from nothing at all, but it beats sitting at home wondering if the world will end. His pretext is maybe they can find Skinner and confront him with the truth about Fowley. It's not much, but if even his wife's going stir-crazy with the suspense, he's glad he's in good company.

He grins before shaking his head. "Spender's not answering his cell, and neither is Fowley. And, surprise, surprise, nobody's picking up at the basement number, either. It's a conspiracy."

"Oh, Mulder," she rolls her eyes, then hits the gas when the light turns green.

To his surprise, his cell phone starts to chirp with an unfamiliar number, and he answers, "Mulder."

"This is Agent Spender," his half-bro's perennially strangled voice says at the other end.

The Force is definitely disturbed, he thinks as he asks, "What's wrong?"

"My mother killed herself and my father's kidnapped Agent Fowley," he says tersely.

"What?" Mulder's eyes get big. It's a good thing Scully's driving, or they'd run into another car. "How?"

"Incinerator, gunpoint," Spender replies in a ghastly parody of no-nonsense "Dragnet" types. "I know you have sources, call me when you find anything."

"Yeah," Mulder says numbly before hanging up.

"What was that?" Scully asks, concerned.

He doesn't get a chance to reply because his cell phone rings again. "Oh God, Fox, oh, thank God," a distraught woman says in a hushed voice before he finishes answering, sounding like she's at a construction site or something.

"Who is this?" he frowns.

"Diana," she identifies herself, "the Smoking Man, he took me instead of Cassandra."

And the shit just keeps hitting the fan, he thinks. "Agent Spender just called," he says, "do you know where you are?"

"On a train heading for El Rico Air Force Base," she whispers hurriedly, and now he recognizes the rhythmic pounding in the background as such. "I can't talk too long, I think they're gonna kill me if they know I'm talking to you."

It's the second time in so many hours that he's heard that, except now Frohike's quesadillas are sitting in his stomach like lead. "We're coming to get you," he promises before hanging up.

"Mulder, what's going on?" Scully asks.

"Turn around," he says, "get us to El Rico AFB. Cassandra killed herself, the Smoking Man's kidnapped Fowley and taking her there."

"Why kidnap Fowley if they're on the same side?" Scully muses before pulling a dangerous U-ey in the middle of DC, not an easy feat for even professionals.

As Mulder hangs on to his stomach, he replies, "Maybe they're on different sides if Cassandra's out of the picture and Fowley's the next best substitute."

"Oh, she's gonna love being considered sloppy seconds," Scully remarks, but there's a grimness to her face that belies her lighthearted words.

* * *

They've managed to catch up to Fowley's train at the train yards. As the warning bell clangs, Scully drives the car alongside the moving train. "Turn around," Mulder tells her, hoping maybe this cockamamie idea will work this time around. "Turn around, Scully."

Again, Scully makes a hard U-turn. The train whistle blows as train accelerates, the clatter of wheels on rails getting louder and louder. She pulls car in front of train, then she and her husband get out, weapons in hand. They fire repeatedly, nearly emptying their clips, hoping that the clang of the bullets against the metal monster bearing down on them gets the engineer to brake. Instead, they jump the hell out of the way as the train smashes into their car, and Mulder has an odd disconnect of the DeLorean's fate in "Back to the Future III".

Scully closes her eyes. "Ah, shit," she sighs, her hands on her back as her shoulders sag. Then she frowns as Mulder is dialing away on his cell. "Are you calling Agent Spender?"

He shakes his head. "Someone higher up the chain of command with less hair," he smirks, unconsciously straightening up a little when the Skin-Man answers.

* * *

Fort Marlene

Spender goes to the place he most likely would suspect they'd take his partner, the medical facility where he mistakenly sent Agents Mulder and Scully more than a couple hours ago. He sees how busy everyone looks, and figures it's to his advantage, nobody will question why he's there. Going from room to room, he finds nothing but empty beds and wonders how often this place gets used, anyways. The last empty room he comes to, he sighs and turns around. To his surprise, a disheveled blonde woman shuffles through the door, her bloodshot eyes darting nervously around as she closes it. "Please help me. They're going to leave me here."

Whatever she's infected with, he hopes it's not contagious, and finds himself backing away a little. "Please stay away from me. I can't help you," he says nervously.

"They're packing everything up. They aren't coming back here," the crazy-looking lady pleads with him. Then her expression gets canny. "I know you. I can help you."

Yeah, right. "You can't help me."

She shakes her head violently. "I know where they're taking her. I know how they're taking her. You've got to trust me, Jeffrey."

His eyes widen when she says his name, and they keep getting wider as she tells him about the tests they've done on her, things that have been done to his mother, and things that will surely happen to his partner. He calls Mulder's, then Scully's number, but gets a busy signal both times. Figures. Guess it's up to him to actually do what's right and save the damsel in distress, he muses, grabbing a wheelchair and motioning for Marita to sit down.

Steadily, stealthily, they make their way through the chaos of rats fleeing a sinking ship, for that is exactly what this situation is. Nobody questions him, and nobody wonders why he's wheeling an obviously ill-looking woman down the halls. They turn a corner just a block away from freedom, only to find a familiar face. "Krycek," he says.

Alex Krycek looks just as surprised to see them as they are him. "Guess you do run into everyone at least twice," he mutters.

"You've got to help us," Spender says, "My father did this to her. She wants to tell her story."

Krycek snorts at his naiveté. "You sorry son of a bitch. You don't get it, do you?" He decides to enlighten the kid again. "It's all going to hell. The rebels are going to win. They took it."

The agent squints, figuring he means "rebel aliens," like the kind Krycek killed in the fancy house. "They took what?"

The dark-haired man in the leather jacket and the blonde woman shivering in her hospital gown share a look, and then Krycek leaves without explanation.

Spender is about to ask Marita about Krycek, about what "it" is, but decides to save it for later. For now, they've got to get out of here, find a safe place for her, and maybe he can go to sleep tonight knowing he's saved at least one person, even if it's not the person he wanted to.

He doesn't believe in karma, but a part of him thinks that if he hadn't joined up with his father in the first place, his mother would still be alive. He's surprised when they come to his car, it's as if he sleepwalked here. Not wasting any time, he opens the back seat, and once she's in, he doesn't bother with a seatbelt as he reverses, then drives out like a bat out of hell.

* * *

The next morning, it looks like a funeral at A.D. Kersh's office, despite the bright sunshine outside. Everyone associated with the X-Files, Skinner, Spender, Mulder, and Scully are there, and one can almost sense the heavy burden they carry facing a strange new day. Kersh is looking at photos of the burned bodies from the Air Force base, his jaw working as he controls his emotions. "The way these people died...the loss of life here - it is beyond words." He puts the photos back in the file and looks up. "I can't imagine how it must be for you - losing your mother and your partner on top of all this."

There's an odd strength in the young agent Mulder never noticed before. He's always been too serious, but this time, this time, it's less the arrogant know-it-all serious that's the curse of every new agent, but a gravity brought on by knowledge and pain. "Yes, sir. But that's not why I asked for this meeting."

The A.D. is curious in spite of himself. "Why did you ask for it?"

The current head of the X-Files calmly replies, "Because I'm responsible for the deaths of those people at the Air Base hangar in no small way. I certainly didn't prevent them."

From the glint of his eyes behind his glasses, Kersh decides Spender can handle some hard questions. "I can assume then you can explain how they died? Because I have yet to hear any explanation."

They've barely talked since riding in the same elevator up to the A.D.'s floor, the only words being spoken was Mulder's confession that he roped his father into helping Cassandra, although it was all for naught. Spender's voice breaks through Mulder's wandering mind. "Agent Mulder can explain it. I think Agent Scully, to an extent," the young agent nods at the couple. "They might have even prevented what you see in those photos."

"Agents Scully and Mulder have been suspended by the FBI," Kersh says, steel in his voice.

The young man nods, "Also my doing...and my mistake."

The A.D. starts to speak, "I would ask..."

Spender interrupts him, "I'd ask, sir - before you tell me that it's not my business - that you do everything you can to get them back on the X-Files. Far worse can happen...and it will." He stands, looking at Mulder and Scully with a steady gaze, knowing that they can do the job he was never meant to.

The black A.D. is insulted that this whelp is taking off without permission. "Where are you going?"

"To pack up my office," Spender says simply, and heads for the door.

"Agent Spender..." He looks irritated now that Spender's started to act insubordinate like the former, now current, agents of the X-Files. His irritation only increases when Skinner abruptly leaves the room as well. He glares at Mulder. "You have answers now? Why didn't I hear about those answers before?"

Mulder had forgotten that he liked how much Spender pissed off Kersh. Classic. "I've had answers for years," he replies. Behind his placid façade, Mulder hopes Skinner will catch up to Spender in time. As he recalls, this was the last time anyone saw Spender alive, or at least, uninfected by the black oil.

They can almost hear the man's teeth grind into dust. "Then why didn't we hear about them?"

"No one would ever listen," the agent says blandly.

"Who burned those people?"

Mulder looks at his soon-to-be-former supervisor steadily. "They burned themselves. With a choice made long ago by a conspiracy of men who thought they could sleep with the enemy. Only to awaken another enemy."

It's obvious Kersh has had enough of the non-answers. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means the future is here, and all bets are off."

Kersh turns to the seemingly more sensible agent. "Agent Scully, make some sense."

"Sir, I wouldn't bet against him," Scully says flatly.

* * *

How the hell could everything go so wrong so fast? Mulder wonders as debates what next to write in his journal. Skinner found Agent Spender's headless body lying in a pool of his own blood, his brains splattered across the wall. The fact that Spender managed to fire in self-defense, according to evidence of discharge from his weapon gave Mulder a small measure of satisfaction, but not much. The fact that the Smoking Man could kill his own son, sanction experiments on his own wife and daughter only proves to him that there is nothing human about the man, in spite of his genetic makeup.

He looks at his last words, tempted to erase them, or at least black them out, but decides to leave them for now. Scully sleeps soundly, already in the throes of REM sleep, in spite of the horror of the past days. He closes his eyes, but instead of sleep, he feels a deep sorrow that threatens to rob him of sleep for the next week. He sighs, then scribbles, "Two different fathers abandoning two sons, who, like their fathers, were young, idealistic. Two different sons, warring against each other, joined forces unaware. One son, the product of skepticism, belief, betrayal, and hope, has become another inspiration in the fight against a future which must not come."

* * *

There's so many different worlds  
So many different suns  
And we have just one world  
But we live in different ones

Now the sun's gone to hell  
And the moon's riding high  
Let me bid you farewell  
Every man has to die  
But it's written in the starlight  
And every line on your palm  
We're fools to make war  
On our brothers in arms  
-"Brothers in Arms" by Dire Straits

* * *

February 2nd, 1999

The doorbell rings, and Scully checks her watch. "They're early," she muses as she goes to the door. "Hello, John," she says, a friendly smile on her face, shaking his hand.

"Hey, Dana," he says, holding a little girl's hand. "Hey, Hannah, this is Daddy's friend Dana. Say hi, honey."

Hannah had scootched behind her father's long legs, but after the prompt, she steps out, looking too cute for words. "Hi," she says softly.

"Hi, Hannah," Scully's smile deepens. Then she looks around. "Where's Luke?"

Doggett turns, then sighs when he sees his son isn't beside him. "Probably playing those video games that makes him double over like a hunchback," he says in his inimitable blend of Southern and New York accents, then chuckles. "Not like that stops him from hitting homers."

"Baseball fan, huh?" Scully comments as she lets them in. "Hopefully you and Mulder like the same teams, or there could be a civil war on our hands."

"Hey, I can be a gentleman," he protests, "but if Fox is gonna try to convert my son-"

"I highly doubt that," she laughs, thinking of how odd it is to hear her husband's first name, and walks out to the truck parked out in the driveway. The U-Haul attachment looks well-traveled, but none the worse for wear. "Mulder should be home soon, so you can leave the unloading for later," Scully says, and knocks on the backseat door. "Luke? Are you hungry?"

The boy's head whips up from the videogame, his eyebrows up. He says something, but it's hard to hear from behind the rolled-up window.

Scully squints. "What?"

Doggett rolls his eyes, then opens the door. "Of course he's hungry," he says, hauling his son out, even as the boy good-naturedly groans against the treatment. "There's no fillin' his stomach at his age."

"Da-aaad," Luke scowls, embarrassed, as they follow the small red-haired woman into the house.

His father gives him the most innocent look he can muster without cracking up. "Hey, no use lyin' to the lady, we're gonna be stayin' at their place for a while."

Scully waves them to the living room, with the age-old gesture to sit down. "I've only got messy food today," she apologizes.

"S'okay," Doggett says, stretching out on the couch. "Hey, where's the kids?"

"When they smell it, they'll come," Scully smiles, and disappears into the kitchen.

"Messy food?" Hannah stares up at her father.

He shrugs, but it isn't long before Page slides down the banister, followed by her brother Sammy, while April does an interesting sit-walk down the stairs, with her feet hitting the next step, then her butt. "Hi," the blonde girl says, staring at their visitors.

"'Member me? I'm your folks' friend, John Doggett," Doggett waves, sitting

up a little, but not moving towards her so as not to startle her.

* * *

Scully comes out with sandwiches, cookies and drinks precariously balanced on a large tray. At the same time, Mulder comes in through the front door, and he's got a big smile on his face. "Nice timing," he says, grinning when his kids rush up to grab his legs. "Hi, John."

"Hey, Fox," Doggett says, standing up and walking over to shake the man's hand. "Thanks for having us."

"Call me Mulder, and we'll be friends for life," Mulder says, shaking his hand as Scully pries their children off his legs.

"Mol-dah," Doggett says, trying it out. "Okay." He turns around to re-introduce his kids, and groans. "Luke," he chides his son, who's already stuffing his face with cookies.

Mulder laughs. "He'll develop a normal stomach by the time he gets to our age," he says, shucking his coat before picking up little April. "So," he says, leading his family over to where the food is, "are you ready to go through basic training all over again?"

The other man shrugs, joining his son on the couch. "I been workin' the streets of New York all these years, how much harder can it be?"

Scully raises an eyebrow but says nothing, while Mulder chuckles. "Well, let's see, you probably won't have too much trouble with counterterrorism, ethics, with practical law enforcement applications, communications and interviewing, informant development, evidence collection and handling, equal opportunity employment and cultural sensitivity, counterintelligence, human behavior, communications and interviewing, constitutional criminal procedure, physical fitness and defensive tactics, firearms, and practical problems." If he notices his wife giving him a suspicious look, he doesn't acknowledge it. "What about computer intrusions and fraud, or computer search and seizure?"

Doggett whistles. "Sounds like somebody memorized the handbook," he says. "I'm okay with basic word processin', but Luke here's got me beat in pretty much everythin' when it comes to computers. I figure I'll pick up what's necessary, ask around for help." He shrugs. "Hey, if I can handle thirteen o' those, two more shouldn't hurt."

Now Mulder struggles to keep a game face on. The guy actually counted? Either he's more anal than Jeffrey, or he's got pretty damn good recall. When he sees the guy's smirk, however, he realizes there's another wiseass in the house, and he grins. He forgot to never underestimate this guy. "I'm sure you'll do great these next couple of months."

"Eat up, guys," Scully tells them. "You'll need that energy to move all those boxes instead of your mouths."

"You're not going to help?" Mulder looks shocked.

"Love you," she answers, shoving a sandwich into his mouth.

* * *

February 4th, 1999

Scully looks up at the clock. "I can't believe we got home before he did," she says. "It's nearly midnight."

Mulder looks up from his reading, articles on Tibetan beliefs and artifacts temporarily forgotten. Blinking from behind his reading glasses, he also glances at the clock and nods. "Have you forgotten those long days of nonstop researching, physical training, and teamwork-building?"

Now she gives him a look. "What are you talking about? Between our job and our family, it seems like it hasn't ended."

He takes off his glasses, grinning. "Fun, isn't it?"

Scully rolls her eyes. "I put a box of Epsom salt in the guest bathroom, along with some heating pads, bandages and aspirin. Think he'll need anything else?"

Mulder makes a face. "Wish I'd known you when I was going through training, you could've been my replacement mom."

She laughs. "Mulder, *any*one who knows how to take care of you could be your replacement mother. Besides, John's not young anymore, and I shudder to think how nonstop training is going to affect him now." She shakes her head and pats the space next to her on the bed. "Besides, you staying up for him makes it seem like you're the worried parent, not me."

He grins. "He's got a key, a cell phone, and is a grown man. Why would I worry about him?"

"Because he's your friend who's going through a rough time on top of dealing with Quantico?"

Mulder puts away his papers where the kids can't get them, smiling away from her. "Okay, Miss Mind Reader, what am I thinking of now?"

"I'm thinking, Mr. Worrywart, that if you don't get to bed soon, I'm going to have to drag you to bed."

"Is that so?" Mulder leers over at his wife.

She rolls her eyes, and they hear someone stumbling through the hallway downstairs. "Sounds like he's home. Get over here, you."

Mulder blinks, then locks the door. "Are you hitting on me?"

Scully laughs, undignified chortles escaping her normally temperate demeanor. "Shut up, Mulder."

"Make me," he grins, jumping into bed with an aplomb Sammy would admire.

What would follow, however, wouldn't be suitable for his son's or any of their children's or guests' eyes.


	72. Arcadia

Hoover Building

February 20th, 1999

Skinner looks faintly amused when his agents come in to discuss their new assignment.

"What's the case?" Scully asks.

"There have been several disappearances in a gated community," Skinner tells them. "The missing are presumed dead."

"You want us to start an investigation?"

"Not exactly. We're arranging to rent the house the last suspected victims lived in, for a couple with young children."

"Us?" Mulder asks knowingly.

"You two and, I hope you don't mind me being presumptuous that you'd give permission, your little ones."

"You want us to bring five children on a case?" Scully asks, sounding shocked.

"Actually, no. Page and Sammy are cute kids, but they're also smart enough to ask questions or make remarks that might blow your cover. We'll pay for child care for them while you're gone. What about April, is she talking yet?"

"A little," Mulder tells him. "Not enough to carry on a conversation yet."

"You can bring her and the twins. That'll look wholesome."

"Uh, okay," Mulder says less than happily. It's not a case he really wants the babies around for, but to object would seem highly suspicious. "When do we move into 'our new house'?"

"The twenty-fourth of this month."

* * *

5:54 p.m.

When they get home, Mulder looks for Doggett and finds him in the study. The other man reading over a book for class. "Hey, John, something has come up that I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"Scully and I have been assigned to an undercover case, posing as a couple with three young children."

Doggett raises his eyebrows. "Three?"

"Skinner doesn't want the older kids to come because what they might say is a threat to our undercover status. So they'll have to stay behind with Michelle and you guys."

"You're not going to say that I'll be the man of the house while you're gone, are you?" Doggett smirks.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Though it's true. You're okay with this, I hope."

"As long as Michelle can get them off to preschool in the morning so I'm not late to my own classes, sure. We'll be fine."

"Good." All he could do was hope that the case went as safely as the last time around. "Remind me to show you where we keep the cat food. Though I'm sure that Page would show you if I forget. She likes to feed them. Um...just don't let her measure out the dry food herself."

"No problem."

* * *

Washington, DC

February 24th, 1999

Things get off to a slow start, because when they check in with Skinner in the morning, Scully begins to have second thoughts about leaving Page and Sammy behind.

"Maybe we should ask Skinner if we can bring them." She suggests while he gathers the equipment they need from their office.

"We didn't pack for them," he reminds her. "They wouldn't have any beds. Or clothes, or toys."

"I know but what if they think we're playing favorites?" Scully frets.

"They're too young to think that," Mulder tells her as he packs their casefile into April's diaper bag.

"But what if they're not? Then we won't be there to explain to them that we don't love the little ones more, and it's just for work."

"Scully, Michelle is a trained professional, and John's a father. I think they could reassure them if they by some chance do worry that we don't love them as much as the younger kids. Besides, with Hannah and Luke there to play with, they probably won't even know that we're gone."

"But what if-"

Mulder waves his arms in exasperation. "If we don't leave now we're going to miss our flight, lose out deposit on the moving van and minivan, won't get the movie van filled on time and Skinner will kill us!"

"I guess we need to get going," Scully says contritely. It's all he can do not to roll his eyes.

* * *

San Diego County, California

The Falls at Arcadia

When Mulder pulls their borrowed minivan into the driveway, he leaves room for the moving truck that's following them to get into the driveway too. Very little of the stuff in the truck is actually theirs, but borrowed from some place that the FBI in California uses to store props for undercover missions. The mini-van has most of their clothes and baby stuff in it, though.

Along side the driveway sees a nervous looking woman standing to the side, holding a ridiculously large basket with a ribbon emblazoned with "welcome neighbors."

"Hope you like Bath and Body," Mulder whispers to his wife.

"Be quiet, Rob."

"You know, Laura, I've always wanted to broach the idea of play-acting to spice up the old marriage, but until now I didn't think you'd go for it," Mulder whispers in what he hopes is a seductive manner.

Scully dashes that hope by laughing at him as she climbs out of the minivan.

Frowning a little, Mulder adjusts the sweater Scully insisted on wrapping around his neck, despite the fact it makes him look like a complete dandy. Or, he suspects, because it does. Before his thoughts get too deep into fashion, he reaches into the back seat and lets April out of her car seat. "Go see Mommy." He commands, then turning to the task of seeing to the boys.

"Up we go!" Scully swings her daughter up to settle on her hip while Mulder carries over the babies.

Putting on his best yuppie smile, Mulder exclaims, "Wow. Take a look at this. Honey, what do you think? Is this place us or what?"

The nervous woman soon joins them with a bright look. "You must be the Petrels. Hi. Welcome. Welcome to The Falls." She looks down at the basket she's holding, then at the little ones. "I'll bring this in for you."

"Thanks."

"I'd shake your hand, but I've got mine full. I'm Rob and this is my lovely wife, Laura."

"Rob and Laura Petrie," Pat says, making it sound like the TV characters the names were in fact borrowed from.

"We pronounce it 'Pee-trie,' actually," Scully corrects.

"Oh."

"Like the dish," Mulder supplies helpfully.

"Well, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Pat Verlander. I live six doors down. I'm the neighborhood welcome wagon."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pat," Scully tells her.

"Who are these little folks?"

"I'm not sure," Mulder replies with a straight-face. "We bought them off a band of roving gypsies just last night, and haven't thought of names yet. Got a pretty good deal, on them too."

"You'll have to excuse my husband's odd sense of humor. He's under the impression that he's funny. This is our daughter Morgan, and the twin boys are Riley and Bailey," Scully replies, using the names she and Mulder agreed sounded pretentious enough to be appropriate for the setting.

"They're adorable," Pat gushes. "How old are they?"

"Morgan will be two on April Fool's Day, and the boys are going to be six months later this week," Mulder tells her. They figure there's not really any point to lying about the kids' ages, since it's fairly easy for people to figure out their approximate ages anyway.

"I wish I'd had my kids that close together," Pat laments, and it takes a lot for Mulder to keep from blurting out that of all their kids, April and the twins are the farthest apart in ages. Good sense prevails when it reminds him that they're only supposed to have three kids, not five. Pat, meanwhile, is giving her watch an anxious look. "I really must say, it's already ten after 5:00. I don't think you're going to make it."

"I'm sorry?" Scully asks, giving her a puzzled look as she hitches April higher on her hip.

"The 6 o'clock cutoff? All move-ins are required to be completed by 6 p.m.." She frowns a bit when she sees Scully's genuinely blank look, and Mulder's faux one. "It's in the CC&Rs. It's one of our rules. We shouldn't waste any more time out here." She leads them into the house.

"Wow. The photos did not do it justice," Mulder remarks as he sets the boys on the rug. "I'm going to nip out to the truck and grab the playpen. We don't want Morgan underfoot, now, do we?"

"Thanks Rob," Scully tells him as she sets the toddler down and leans over the now fussing babies.

By the time Mulder gets out to the truck, with Pat hot on his heels, the neighbors have assembled as if by magic.

Like a general gearing her troops up for battle, Pat quietly instructs. "Guys, fast, fast now. Come on."

Mulder smiles to himself, glad that the people here are still so predictable. Before he can straighten up from plopping April in the playpen, there are neighbors already in the house.

"The previous owners left it so clean," Mulder remarks to Pat, who is back nearby, apparently satisfied that her wishes regarding truck emptying are being carried out. "I don't think we'll even have to disinfect the floors before letting the boys have blanket time."

"What do you do for a living Mr...Petrie? That's right, isn't it?"

Mulder grins and hugs his wife. "Yeah, I, uh...I work mostly at home which is great for Laura because she gets me all to herself. I'm a part-time writer, and full time dad." Pulling a face, he adds, "Before you ask, I compile research for a pair of scientists studying a rare species of jellyfish, so no one's read my work."

This makes Pat laugh. "Oh."

"This place really is immaculate, Pat," Scully says, trying to be cool and calm. "I, uh, I wouldn't mind sending a thank-you note to the previous owners."

"Th-that's sweet. Um..." She pretends to be interested in looking at what the neighbors are doing. "Good." Then she wanders off without giving Scully any indication that she'll be providing that address.

Things go okay with the unloading, until Big Mike drops the box with Scully's scientific equipment in it. Mulder winces, thinking to himself that some things really do never change.

"Oh, no. I'm...I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry. Send me any bills. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't worry about it," Scully tells him. She looks relieved when one of the women sends him back outside so he can't apologize any more.

Her savior introduces herself. "I'm Cami Shroeder, by the way. Win's wife."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Laura."

"Mama!" April shrieks from the playpen.

Scully turns long enough to catch her daughter's imploring look. Turning back to Cami, she says, "Sorry, it looks like our oldest has had enough of the people going in and out."

"I bet you have too," Cami remarks, earning a smile from Scully.

Outside, Mulder and Win discuss the basketball hoop. After Win expresses concern that it's against the rules, Mulder gives up. "Just...put it in the garage."

* * *

Everything is moved in by exactly 5:59. And people looked thrilled that they made the deadline. Standing on the steps, Mulder and Scully wave good-bye while they disperse.

Scully starts to go in, but Mulder stops her. "Hey...ooh, wait a minute. You didn't let me carry you over the threshold."

"Nice stall tactic. You ready?"

"Let's get it on, honey."

"All right, then," Scully says with a smile. Then she hands him a pair of gloves before rummaging in the box Big Mike dropped.

"Jesh, that looks like something Sammy would do," Mulder comments as he looks over her shoulder.

Scully sighs. "Thanks to our friendly neighbors there will be no fluorescein bloodstain enhancement."

Nodding, he bends over and tries to pull up the carpet in the corner of the room. "Not that it makes much difference. This place is so clean my mother might eat off the floor."

"She wouldn't."

"Hey, she might," he tells her while watching her pull out a video camera. ::we could have such fun with that.::

"Okay. 6:01 p.m., February 24. Agents Scully and Mulder-"

"And junior g-men and g-woman Jared, David and April," Mulder adds.

Ignoring him, Scully continues. "-in the former home of David and Nancy Kline who disappeared without a trace last July. The Klines were the third such couple to disappear since this neighborhood was built in 1991. All were apparently stable professional people with no history of violence, domestic discord or mental illness and it took a family member or employee to realize that they were gone including their cars and a few personal items. What local police found in each case was nothing - just impeccably-manicured homes and a community of neighbors who professed total ignorance that anyone had disappeared," Scully tells the camera.

"That's pretty surprising considering how nutty this bunch is about being neighborly," Mulder remarks.

"The local police department were at a dead end so they turned to the FBI. AD Skinner, in assigning us this case, thought a fruitful approach to the investigation would be if we went undercover posing as prospective home buyers as this planned community would seem to hide a dark, possibly murderous conspiracy of silence," Scully concludes.

"You want to make a sequel to our honeymoon video now?"

She smirks at him and turns off the camera. "We've made several sequels of another nature, don't you think?"

"What the kids? Sure. But you know, Laura, we're supposed to preserve precious memories on tape too," Mulder says solemnly.

Scully smirks at him. "You consider our passionate, but occasionally sweaty, moments precious?"

"Oh yeah," Mulder replies with enthusiasm.

"That reminds me, Rob and Laura Petrie?"

"Pee-trie."

"Mulder, if we ever go undercover again I get to choose the names, okay?"

"Fine."

"This name choice tells me that you're not taking this seriously."

"I'm taking it seriously. I just don't understand why we're on it. It's our first official case back on the X-Files. This isn't an X-File."

"Sure it is. It's unexplained. What do you want, aliens? Tractor beams?"

"Wow. Admit it, Laura, you just want to stay in a non-haunted house."

Before she can reply, the doorbell rings. It is Big Mike holding a hastily filled box of china.

"Hi. Well, you didn't need to do that," she says, trying not to let her dubiousness about the cleanliness of the china show.

"Oh, please take it. I have more dishes than I need. I just usually use one and then...wash it. Uh...I'm...uh, Mike Raskub, by the way," he says, offering his free hand.

"Hi."

"Big Mike, for obvious reasons. I just live the next street over."

Her eyes light on his necklace. "Oh. That's a caduceus. Are you a doctor, Mike?"

"No, a vet. Veterinarian. If you folks are thinking about getting a dog or any pet I'd be happy to check it out for you, no charge. Just, uh...you're not allowed to have over 16 pounds of pet. That's one of the CC&Rs."

"Mighty nice of you, Mike. I, uh...gosh, with all this hospitality, I can't believe the Klines ever left. That, uh...that was their name, wasn't it? The, uh, the Klines?"

Big Mike looks uncomfortable until April wanders over providing a reason to change the topic. "Aww, she looks just like you, except for having her daddy's eyes, looks like. I love kids."

"Do you?" Scully asks. "Have any of your own?"

"No, not yet. I'm still looking for the right woman who's willing to put up with me. It was nice talking to you, see you around."

She's just closed the door when Mulder calls to her. "Scully, take a look at this. I found it on a fan blade," Mulder says, trading her the china for an evidence bag. Inside the bag is something brown and only an inch or so in length. "Looks like whoever cleaned this place maybe missed a spot. That look like blood to you?"

"Mm-hmm." Both of them look at the ceiling fan. "How'd it get way up there?"

"Flying squirrel?" he blurts out his thought before he can stop himself.

"What?"

"It's just that...nevermind. I think the boys need to be changed. I go do that," he mumbles, leaving her to stare at the fan and contemplate rodents.

* * *

Late That Night

After lacing up his sneakers, Mulder pauses to kiss Scully on the cheek.

"What are you up to?"

"I'm going to jog. Be back soon."

"Stay out of trouble!" she calls as he heads out the door.

Once outside he brushes his fingers against the pocket of his sweats. It's still there.

Trying not to be too obvious, Mulder takes a meandering path to his destination: Big Mike's house.

Jogging close to the house, he quickly finds what he expected to. The light near Big Mike's front door is broken. Looking around to make sure that no one, including Big Mike, is watching, he quickly pulls the fresh bulb from his pocket and changes out the broken one.

When he jogs away, he's whistling to himself. ::Things are going to be different this time.::

* * *

Ten Hours Later

Except when he pushes the twins' carriage past Big Mike's house the next day, he sees that things aren't different at all. Win is washing what looks suspiciously like blood off the steps again. The bulb he replaced is shattered.

He barely listens as Win offers explanations as to why he's cleaning up for the neighbor and invites them to dinner. Why hadn't replacing the bulb changed anything?

* * *

Gene Gogolak's House

That Afternoon

While Mulder tries to juggle his fussy sons, Gene looks through the rule book for the community.

Pretending that David isn't crying right next to him, Gene finds his place. "All right, then, let's see. Basketball hoop and backboard. Portable. Nope, I'm sorry. It's not allowed."

"You're kidding?" Mulder asks. "I was hoping to be able to teach the boys to shoot hoops."

"I'm afraid not. Rules are rules...I suppose when they're older you can bring them to the community rec center. It may not sound like anything - a simple basketball hoop - but from there, it's just a few short steps to spinning daisy reflectors and a bass boat in the driveway."

"In other words, anarchy," Mulder deadpans.

"It may sound tough but ours is a system that works." Gene gives the book a look like it contains the wisdom of the ages. "That's why The Falls is one of the top-ranked planned communities in all of California. Most of our homeowners have been here since day one."

"But not all of them, I suppose," Scully says, relieving Mulder of Jared so he can better attempt to calm David.

"No, a few have left." Gene admits. "This community isn't for everyone." He adds pointedly.

Mulder gives Scully an innocent look, but she doesn't buy it.

* * *

Scroeder Residence

6:37 p.m.

"Open up, Morgan," Scully demands, and April shakes her head. She sighs, wondering why Sammy is the only child they have who'll eat without being held down.

"I was a picky eater when I was little too." Win remarks fondly. "So...Where'd you two meet?"

Taking advantage of Scully's preoccupation, Mulder says, "Actually, it was at a UFO conference."

Win nearly chokes on his tuna casserole. "Flying saucers? Interesting. Wouldn't have thought you folks would have been into that."

Mulder gives Scully's arm an affectionate pat. "Well, it's not me so much as Laura. She's quite the New-Ager. I mean, she's into those magnetic bracelets and crystals and mood rings, what have you. I mean, God bless her, she's a sucker for all that stuff."

"Well, I wouldn't have guessed that, would you?" Cami asks her husband.

"Mm-mm."

"No kidding," Scully says, faking a smile.

"I was always something of a scifi buff, so as far as I was concerned it was a match made in heaven," Mulder continues. "Although I didn't take my friend Mel's advice about renting a star trek costume to wear while proposing. It didn't seem appropriate for a restaurant setting."

Beside him Scully nearly strangles on her laughter.

Smiling, Cami looks down at Jared and changes the subject. "Your children are beautiful."

"Thank you." Mulder grins, then tickles April to make her laugh. "We've agreed to try to give them a more grounding in reality than Laura's secret interests, though. If they want to believe in power crystals when they're adults, though, that's their choice."

Instead of replying to the comment, Scully bolts up suddenly and mumbles 'excuse me' before covering her mouth and racing to the bathroom Cami point out during the brief tour of the house.

Mulder watches her, then affects a sympathetic tone. "I don't know why they call it morning sickness. It strikes poor Laura at all hours of the day."

Cami shoots him a surprised look. "She's pregnant?"

"Yup. More than three months gone. She should start showing in just a few weeks."

"But your babies are so young!" Cami blurts out, and immediately looks horrified that she has.

"I know. But she insisted that waiting a whole nine months after our daughter was born to conceive the boys was far too long." Looking to make sure that Scully isn't on her way back, Mulder smiles at Win. "I don't know any woman who loves being pregnant more than Laura, bless her heart. She thinks three months was still too long, and resents her doctor's sticking to that six weeks guideline."

"Reminds me a bit about those redhead jokes," Win says, earning a dirty look from his wife.

"All the rumors are true," Mulder says with a smirk. "And if you'd like to see the famed redhead temper, tell her one of those jokes."

"Don't worry, I won't," Win promises.

"I took a look in the regulations," Mulder confides. "I'm glad that there's nothing in there about a limit on your family size. With Laura's baby lust, and how strongly twins run in my family - my sister Pam is eight months pregnant with her third set - I wouldn't be surprised if we end up with enough kids for a basketball team. Or maybe a state record for most children."

"Wow," Cami says faintly.

"As nice as the house is, I can't see it holding more than six kids. I don't think we'll be here more than a couple of years."

The neighbors are still working the math out in their heads when Scully comes back. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Your husband explained that it was morning sickness rather than my cooking," Cami tells her.

Scully shoots Mulder a look before sitting down, and ignores his sheepish smile.

Putting down his fork, Mulder looks up at the other couple. "Yeah. You know, Win, uh, when you, uh...when you told me this morning that Big Mike was out of town on business...I don't think that's true," Mulder says, referring to a conversation they had before seeing Gene.

"You don't?"

"Mmm. No, 'cause we called his office, didn't we, Honey?"

"We did."

Win looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"We're thinking about getting a puppy for Morgan - got to teach kids responsibly young - so we wanted to call him and ask him his advice, whatever, and see if maybe his office had a forwarding number and they said, you know..."

"That he wasn't there. They didn't know where he was," Scully concludes.

"Yeah." Mulder pauses. "So, do you know where he is, Win?"

Cami Shroeder looks at her husband and he laughs uncomfortably. "I really couldn't tell you."

"Mmm. It's got to be something really freaky-deaky, hunh? I mean, for him to lie about it like that? Maybe he's got some wild secret life going on." He and Scully exchange a look. "But every community has its dark underbelly don't you think?"

"We don't have any underbelly. As far as I'm concerned this community is the American Dream," Win says defensively. Mulder nods, but his expression looks far from convinced.

Cami gets up abruptly. 'Um...I'm sorry. I, um...realize that it's past time that I walk Scruffy".

"Would you like some company?" Scully asks.

"Yeah," Cami says, looking grateful.

"I'll, uh, keep an eye on the kids, then," Mulder says.

"Good."

* * *

"So is this the American dream? This place?"

"Oh, uh...nice neighborhood, you know...just a lot of people who want the best for their families."

"So it's just not your dream," Scully says, and Cami shrugs. "Do you and Win plan to have a family?"

Cami looks terrified for a second, "No, um, no," then her pleasant mask falls back into place.

"Oh. It's just that you clearly like children."

"I do but, Win..."

Scully nods, but she looks around her. "You know, Cami, I-I've noticed that you've, uh, walked us past Mike's house...twice. Are you worried about him?"

"No...I don't really know what you mean," Cami says, sounding nervous. Just then Scruffy pricks up his ears, then gives a hard tug on the leash, making Cami let it go. The leash trails behind the dog until he disappears headfirst into a storm drain.

Cami winces and looks down at her abraded palm before yelling for her pet. "Scruffy! Scruffy, come here! Scruffy, no! Scruffy! Come out here!" When she pauses for breath, they both hear barking. "Scruffy! Scruffy, come out of there."

Both women kneel and Scully shines her flashlight into the drain. Cami looks over Scully's shoulder, and asks, "Do you see him?"

"Uh-uh," Scully replies, distracted. The dog isn't the only thing she can see: Big Mike's caduceus necklace is caught up in the drain too. She tries to grab it, but can't reach. And the dog rockets out of the drain yelping, anyway.

Cooing to the dog, Cami picks it up. "Oh, Scruffy, Scruffy, it's okay, it's okay. I got you. I got you. Oh..."

"What you got there?" Scully asks the dog, noting that he's got a brown smudge on his face, while Cami continues to fuss over him, she reaches for a handkerchief. "Let me wipe that off." He lets her so she gives him a pat. "That's a good boy."

"That's a close one, huh? Yeah? Thought I lost you down the drain! Okay, let's get you home. Come on."

"Rob and I had a dog," Scully remarks wistfully. "The sitter let him out, and he got run over."

"That's so sad," Cami says sympathetically, holding her dog tighter. Before they go back in the house to find Mulder and Win, Cami grabs Scully's arm and hisses. "I lied. This isn't a good place to raise a family. If I were you, I'd grab my babies and run."

"But wh-" Before Scully can finish, Cami is back in the house, acting like she never said anything odd.

* * *

Late That Night

"Okay, sweetie, I love you...yes, I love you too, Sammy. Behave for John and Michelle, okay?" After he closes his cell phone, Mulder heads up to the bedrooms. The little ones are all sleeping in their cribs, and Scully is speaking to the Lieutenant on the land line.

He holds out a small plastic bag to her. "It was still there," he says, meaning the necklace she told him about.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. We'll keep you updated." Once she hangs up, she looksat the necklace. "Local PD came up blank on Mike Raskub. No activity on his credit cards. No sighting of his '97 Mercury Villager."

"Yeah, there's no sign of him in his house. I didn't see him in the storm drain, either. I take it he's dead, Scully. Which is a damn shame since he seemed like a nice guy."

"That doesn't mean much, Mulder. They all seem nice, but someone's the killer. Do you suspect Win?"

"Mmm, maybe. I did see Win cleaning up, but that doesn't mean he did it."

"Cleaning up for who?"

"I don't know."

"Hey, what do we know about the stuff I found on the fan blade and you wiped off the dog?"

"I'm driving down to San Diego tomorrow and have it analyzed. I'm not taking the kids."

"All right."

"Why kill Big Mike?" Scully asks. "What's missing here is intent. What would be the motive?"

"Compulsive neatness, or a lack thereof. Have you noticed how everybody around here is obsessed with the neighborhood rules and the CC&Rs? You know what? You fit in really well here."

"And you don't. It's a wonder we keep the house clean."

"We do have five kids, that makes things less than sterile."

"You say that like I don't remember the state of your apartment before we married."

"Uh...got me." He pats the bed beside him seductively and waggles his eyebrows at her. She raises her eyebrows at him. "Laura, come on. We've got to christen our new house."

"This isn't 'our new house', dear."

"What will the neighbors think if they never hear moans of passion coming from our place?"

"Do yuppies make moans of passion?"

"I don't know about yuppies, but you sure do."

Smirking at him, Scully climbs into bed, and then scales him. "Kettle, meet pot."

"Hey, I never said I didn't."

If any neighbors are listening, they'll soon realize that all is right with Rob and Laura's marriage.

* * *

The Next Morning

Mulder is lying on his back with his eyes closed when he feels a small tug on his sweat pants. Opening his eyes, he looks down at April's happy face.

"I see that Mommy has set you loose."

"Arrr!"

"Arrr?" he repeats, confused. "Have you been watching pirate movies with Sammy?"

April extends two chubby fingers, and points at the window. "Arrr!"

"Huh. Okay..." There's obviously something she wants him to see, and he's beginning to hope it's not a bear eating the garbage.

Once he looks out the window, the blood drains from his face. There, out on the lawn, is an enormous play structure, shaped like a pirate ship. "Oh, that's not good, April." He turns his head towards the door. "Scully!"

She appears in a moment, holding a baby with a half-snapped onsie dangling around his toes. "What's the problem?"

"Um... you didn't buy that, did you?" he asks, pointing out the window.

"No, I can't say that I did," Scully says. She then lays Jared on the bed and finishes snapping him up. "Maybe it's a gift."

"I don't think we should send a thank-you note," he mutters, thumbing though the rule book. When he finds what he fears, he sighs. "I know you wanted to get an early start dropping that stuff off, but could you put if off a while? I need to take that thing apart before anyone notices."

"Yeah, sure," Scully tells him. "I'm going to finish getting them dressed anyway."

* * *

It's chilly out, but Mulder hasn't bothered to waste time getting dressed, so goosebumps raise on his arms while he pulls the play structure apart. His anger helps to keep him warm, however. He hadn't intended to duplicate any of his earlier antics, since he didn't want to risk having the babies hurt, so this against the rules addition to their lawn was most unwelcomed.

Gene must have seen him changing the light bulb. And what's more chilling is the nature of his little gift – a child's toy. It makes him scared for his children.

* * *

Scully returns from the lab with the results and a rose bush. She thrusts the bagged bush into his hands. "Plant this. Don't worry, it's allowed. I check the book."

"Sure." He finds a shovel out in the garage, next to the basketball hoop and the pieces of the pirate ship.

He's about half-way through digging the hole when Scully joins him out on the lawn. "Don't worry, they're napping." She stares at a spot of grass a few feet away. "What's that?"

Before he can say anything, she's squatting down and tugging at the sod. "Damn, Rob, it looks like a tunnel!"

"If there's one of these in every yard, it would explain how the killer got from house to house without the neighbors seeing anything," Mulder remarks.

"If there is a killer," Scully says. "These are the lab results from the San Diego PD. First of all, the stuff that we found on the fan blade - the dried blood and scalp hairs? It's neither. The blood is predominantly ketchup and brake fluid and the hairs are bristles from a scrub brush and the same goes for the sample we found on the dog's muzzle. It's coffee grounds, eggshells and motor oil with about 50 other constituents with a little mercurochrome for color. In other words, Mulder, it's garbage. Which makes perfect sense because this entire neighborhood has been built upon an old landfill."

"A landfill?"

"Mm-hmm. We found this stuff everywhere because it is everywhere. It's just beneath the topsoil and that protrusion in the front yard may occur from the venting of methane gas but...Mulder, I don't see how any of this has to do with the disappearances that we're investigating."

"If someone's using these tunnels, they're bound to track this stuff wherever they go." Mulder points out.

"Suppose this stuff was left by the killers. Where are the Klines now?" she asks. "They never found any bodies..." She trails off and gives the lawn a horrified look. "Rob, what if they're still here?"

He shrugs. "Even if they are, we can't just go digging up the yard. Our cover would be blown."

"Yeah..." She starts when the baby monitor receiver gives off a burst of static. "Let's go inside, Rob."

* * *

The Next Day

A rumbling sound pulls Mulder out of his sleep. Yawning, he goes to the window to see what's making all the noise, thinking perhaps that it's the trash truck. It's not.

"Oh my God!" Mulder howls. "Laura!"

"Hey Rob," Scully greets him. "They got here earlier than I expected."

"What about not wanting to blow our cover?" he sputters, staring at the backhoe that's ripping up their lawn.

"Don't worry, I'm having them put in a Japanese rock garden." She smiles. "And if they happen to dig up a body, well..."

"A rock garden?"

"There's nothing in the rules against it. Pat seemed a little upset when she saw it though."

::Are you trying to mark us for death? This isn't going to end well.::

For the rest of the day he stares out the window, watching the backhoe, and waiting for the monster.

* * *

The rock garden isn't planned for the same spot as the long ago tranquility pool Mulder had put in, and this makes all the difference. There's a bunch of alarmed shouting at twilight, and both agents run out to see what the commotion is.

"An arm!" the foreman shrieks. "I think this is a human arm!"

Looking down into the hole, Mulder sees dull white. "I think you're right."

Scully grabs his arm. "Rob, you've got to go to the police."

"Let's talk about this inside," Mulder hisses, and pulls her into the house. "Go to the police, Scully?"

"You're the one concerned about not breaking cover. A normal, non-law enforcement man would drive off to the cops immediately. He wouldn't have connections to the force already that he could call up."

"Um, okay. Let me bring the kids," he says, thinking fast.

"Take April if you want, but the babies are sleeping."

"Laura..."

"Rob, this isn't a dangerous situation, so a person wouldn't drive off with their kids like the hounds of hell were after them."

"Maybe they would," he whines. "I just want to be authentic."

"Go on, would you? I don't want you to wake them and have them both up all night."

::Please God, let things be okay.:: Mulder thinks as he straps April into her car seat and pulls out of the driveway. Instead of heading to the police, he calls them and drives to Gene's house.

* * *

There's a thump somewhere in the house, which makes Scully jump in alarm. Then both infants started to wail. What scares her more is that while she hunts for her gun, the babies' crying seems to get closer. And there are footsteps.

She nearly screams when a large figure comes into the room cradling her sons. "It's come for you, Laura. You can't make a noise. Shh. Shh."

Big Mike holds the babies out to her, and she grabs them before looking her neighbor over. He's dirty and bloody. "Mike. What happened to you?"

"You have to get out of here. Now."

"Why?" There's a huge thud downstairs, and Mike shakes his head. Then he begins pushing furniture in front of the door.

"Wait a minute, who's downstairs?" Scully asks. "It can't be Rob."

Big Mike holds a finger to his lips. "Shh, shh, shh."

"Mike...who did this to you?"

"The ubermenscher. It's our fault. The original homeowners - we asked for it and now we can't stop it." He gives the boys a sad smile, and they look up at him wide-eyed and silent. Mike finds the gun she misplaced and picks it up.

"Stop what, Mike?" she demands to know. He just shakes his head. "Mike, listen, settle down. Okay. Just give me my gun. I'm a federal agent..."

"The ubermenscher wants you, Laura and your husband. Digging up the yard was a big mistake." As his words fade away, something smashes against the door. He pushes Scully behind him.

"Mike, just give me the gun. Give me..."

"How are you going to shoot and protect them?" he asks, shaking his head again. "Closet. Now."

Finding that he's got a point, Scully turns and puts her little sons on the floor. Before she can back out to help Mike, he swings the closet door closed, locking it.

Her view is obstructed through the closet door's slats, even more so when Mike slides a bureau in front of the door. Something breaks down the bedroom door. There are shots, and screaming. She fears the worst.

* * *

Meanwhile

Gene struggles on the passenger side of Mulder's car. It took Mulder longer than he thought to cuff him and force him into the car. It probably would have been easier to put him in the back, but that'd mean he'd be next to April.

"I'm going to make it my goal to see you in jail for the Klines' murders," Mulder growls as he pulls up to the house.

"When the judge asks you how I killed the Klines what are you going to tell him?"

"A tulpa. It's a Tibetan thought-form. It's a living, breathing creature willed into existence by someone who possesses that ability - an ability I think you picked up on your whirligig-buying excursions to the Far East. Why'd you do it? I mean, is it so damn important for everybody to have the same color mailbox?"

"It's important that people fit in."

"But you didn't know exactly what you were getting into, did you? I mean, you can summon its existence, but...you can give it life, but you can't control it. The best you can hope for is to stay out of its way."

"Son, my lawyers are going to make you sound so stupid that not only will I never see the inside of a jail cell but you'll be signing all your paychecks straight to me." Gene gives him a nasty smile as Mulder pulls him out of the car. "You're going to wish you didn't interfere at Big Mike's house."

"Screw you," Mulder growls, and yanks him over to the mailbox. Unlocking one of Gene's wrists, he slips the cuff around the mailbox pole before Gene considers trying to get away.

"Rob?" Cami's voice floats across the lawn. "Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not," Mulder tells her. "Could you come get my daughter, please?"

Cami looks a bit frightened, but she takes April into her arms. "We've lied to you. My wife and I are FBI agents here undercover to see if we can solve the disappearances of the Klines. Please take her with you."

"What about the twins?"

He doesn't bother to answer, but runs into the house instead, calling his wife's name.

To his relief, Scully and the babies are both safe in the closet. And to his surprise, Mike is still there, lying on the floor. As soon as he frees Scully, she climbs out and check on him. "He's alive."

::He is?::

"I think the sound of you coming back scared it off." She looks up at him, suddenly alarmed. "Where's April?"

"Cami's got her. After I call an ambulance I'll go get her."

Outside, they hear a scream. Rushing to the window, Mulder sees Gene being battered by a large dark figure. Mulder tears outside, just in time to see the thing deliver a killing blow to the complex's owner.

The creature turns towards Mulder, but when Gene's last breath escapes in a death rattle, it crumbles away. Looking behind him, he sees Cami staring out the window while holding April.

Once she lets him in, she hands the little girl over. "He deserved it," Cami hisses.

Mulder can't find it within himself to disagree.

* * *

Two Days Later

Something blunt pokes Mulder in the leg. Looking down, he sees Sammy smiling up at him under a felt pirate hat, while brandishing a plastic sword. "Walk the plank."

"Never, you have to catch me first!" Mulder yells, dashing away from the little boy. He runs around the play structure that Doggett and Luke helped him put back together.

"Avast me hardies! Don't let the scoundrels get away!" Luke roars from the front of the pirate ship. He too wears a felt pirate hat. "I say, get them!"

"Yes captain!" some of the kids shout in response.

Giggling, Sammy, Page, Hannah, Emily, and even little April chase after Mulder and Doggett with plastic swords as they pretend to try to get away.

"Look at them," Missy remarks from the back porch as Scully returns with Jared, who woke up a couple minutes before. "Can you believe how little difference there is between the little kids and the big ones? You wouldn't see me out there running around."

"Speak for yourself," Scully says, dropping the baby into her sister's startled lap. Then the kids realize that Scully's joined the game and give her chase too.


	73. Milagro

March 1999

It's a lovely, brisk March day, and Scully had decided to catch the Metro to and from work today. There's a young man, thin, with dark hair, goatee and mustache and piercing blue eyes, sitting in a seat across the aisle from her who has been staring at her for quite some time, making her feel rather uncomfortable. Is there a zit, she wonders, not daring to take out a compact to check, since her hormones have been acting up and she wouldn't be surprised if acne's broken out all over her face since this morning. Dammit, she thinks, it *used* to be a nice day until we got this case, the nanny, Michelle, has been sick for a few days, April and Hannah just got sick, and I feel like a bloated toad.

When she gets off the bus, she's surprised to find the goateed man getting off at the same stop. There's a vague feeling of paranoia as she quickens her pace slightly, but is relieved when his footsteps fade and she turns to see him going up the driveway to the house just before theirs. New neighbor. Okay.

She sighs, unlocking the door and calling out, "I'm home." No answer. Maybe Mulder's drugged the kids, which would be nice, she smirks, locking the door behind her. Scully walks upstairs into the bedroom, shucking off her work clothes as she does so, and is surprised to find Mulder washing his arms like a surgeon in the bathroom. "Hey," he says, "the girls are finally asleep and the others are watching 'Fresh Prince of Bel Air' reruns in the guest room, but if we don't keep them away from the sickies ..." His voice trails off when he sees the odd look on her face. "What?"

Scully shakes her head, dropping the file on the bed. She doesn't want to sound like an overanxious pregnant chick, which is exactly what she feels like. "These are, uh...these are my autopsy reports from the second victim." She shows him some pretty gross autopsy pictures, still proud that she made it through the actual process without spewing like an "Exorcist" star. "As you can see the heart was removed in the same manner as the previous victim. No incisions, no scope marks, no cutting of any kind."

"No indication of how the killer did it?" Mulder asks, his tone somewhat constipated.

She's not sure if it's been the last case or this one that's made him touchy. Or maybe ever since they found out she was pregnant. Damn. "No. There's no prints, no DNA material, no hair and fiber," she says evenly.

"And yet, you still refuse to believe my theory - that what this is psychic surgery?" he asks. He's actually surprised that the jerk is still around, since he would've thought that Scully being married with kids would've scared him off. Damn.

Scully gives him a familiar "skeptical" look, to put it kindly. "Mulder, psychic surgery is some man dipping his hand in a bucket of chicken guts and pretending to remove tumors from the sick and gullible," she shoots back.

"Or ... it's a grossly misunderstood area of alternative medicine," he replies, then grins. "Hey, you think I could do a magic sickie snot removal from Hannah and April?"

She rolls her eyes. "Only if you're using a wet washcloth and wash your hands in hot soapy water," she says, keeping a straight face.

"Well, absent another theory how else do we account for the impossible extraction of this man's heart?" Mulder says, feeling distant from his wife. It's not fair he has to wait to lock up that asshole, it's not fair that he can't tell Scully about his second chance, it's not fair that this case is happening all over again.

Scully feels him withdrawing, but doesn't know why. "I don't know," she states simply. "I have no idea."

I have an idea, he continues to grouse inwardly. Let's pretend like I've gained clairvoyant powers for a couple of years, save ourselves the trouble, and have a good life. Let Doggett and Reyes knock themselves out while Scully, the kids and I take a siesta on some semi-deserted island for a bit. Aloud, he says, "I mean, we have no evidence - no MO to speak of." Yet. "This could be the perfect crime."

Both a corner of her mouth and one of her eyebrows go up. Nice. "Well, a crime is only as perfect as the man or the mind that commits it. Even if it were perfect - even if he made not one mistake - there's still his motive. You find his motive and you find the murderer."

Mulder grins bleakly. "You make it sound so simple," he says, putting the photos back into the file and putting it inside a locked drawer. They've learned the hard way not to leave files lying around the house, and he sighs, closing his eyes as he falls backwards on the bed. "Your turn," he says, not opening his eyes, "David and Jared are fed and changed, they should all be in the guest room."

"Oh," Scully says, pausing in the unbuttoning of her blouse. "'Kay." Disappointed, she rebuttons the top two, then walks tiredly to the guest room where, it seems, all the healthy kids have congregated on Luke's bed.

* * *

FBI Headquarters  
7:07 a.m.

Scully's wearing a skirt paired with a slightly thick coat, just so she can feel feminine without thinking of being with child. Thank goodness the nanny got better today, so both she and Mulder are free to work the case without worrying too much. The phone rings when she enters the basement office, and she jogs across, answering breathlessly, "Scully."

My God, Mulder licks his lips unconsciously, does she have any idea what she does when she sounds like that? "Hey, Scully, glad I caught you," he says, keeping his tone professional. "We got a third victim - 16-year-old kid out on Lover's Lane." He looks down at the teenager's body, still lying where he was killed, and wishes to hell he could cut this case short.

"Are you sure?" his wife breaks into his thoughts.

He keeps up the banter, but it's like he's just phoning it in. "Yeah. I'm sure many a person's had their heart broken out here, but not quite like this. I was hoping you'd be here to explain it in medical terms to the local PD."

"I'm not sure that I could," she replies, and he could almost swear she's frowning at the other end. "Did anybody see anybody? Anything?"

"No, nothing," Mulder answers, frustrated in more ways than one. "I mean, it's like there's nowhere to start on this case. Nothing to ask, nothing to say."

She wants to be encouraging, really, she does. "Well, there's got to be something, Mulder..." Her eyes catch sight of an envelope lying on the floor and picks it up. "Something about his victims - why he chooses them, a pattern."

"If 'clueless' was a lucky lottery ticket, Scully, we hit the jackpot. It appears to be just a series of random attacks."

"Maybe your luck's about to change," Scully says, "an envelope's been slipped under the office door."

"Yeah?" Mulder tries to inject some enthusiasm. Inside, however, he's seething. "From who?"

"It's unmarked," she answers. She rips open the envelope and takes out a small flat object on a chain. "It's some kind of a pendant. Like a charm." She stares at the burning heart imprinted on it, feeling like she should know what it is, feeling it tug at distant memories.

* * *

"Her prompt mind ran through the golconda of possibilities - was this trinket from the killer? Was there a message contained in its equivocal symbolism? Was he a religious fanatic who had, in fervid haste licked the envelope, leaving the telltale DNA that would begin his unraveling? She had a condign certainty the killer was a male...and now, as she held the cold metal at her fingertips she imagined him doing the same trying to picture his face.

"It would be a plain face, an average face...A face people would be prone to trust. She knew this inherently, being naturally trusting herself. But the image she conjured up was no better than the useless sketch composites that littered her files. Preconsciously, she knew this wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshal of cold facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize their relative hard values into discreet categories. Imprecision would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable not up to her male counterparts. Even now, as she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful...fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart...to let it open, to let someone in."

* * *

Later, once Mulder joins her in the X-Files office, Scully shows Mulder the milagro, giving him both explanation as well as basic description of the man who had dropped it off. Even as she gives him the data, leading towards a possible suspect, Mulder's lack of enthusiasm is worse than doubt. "Did you see that it's a burning heart?" she asks, finally tossing it at him.

Mulder props up his long legs, sitting at the desk and spinning the charm around by the chain. "I see it has a burning heart," he says dryly. "But we're dealing with a killer that leaves absolutely no clues. Why would he do something as heavy-handed as this?"

She sighs in exasperation. "I don't know, I'm not the profiler, you figure it out!" she snaps.

He blinks. That's different. Then he stretches the corners of his mouth into a parody of a smile. "Maybe it's a secret admirer," he says, finding it sounds less blithe and more biting than he expected.

She sighs, grabbing the charm. "I think I'll check it out," she says flatly.

"Actually, let me," he says, sitting up. "You've got a 9:00 a.m. with the DC medical examiner. He's going to let you autopsy the latest victim."

She stares at him, and he finds it's not just disbelief, but dislike in her eyes. "Thank you for making my schedule, but I think I'm going to have to be late for that appointment."

His eyes are still wide when she walks out, those high high heels doing wonders not just for her legs, but for that nicely round ass. "Damn," he sighs, wondering why he's gotten to be such an adolescent around his wife all of a sudden.

* * *

True to her word, Scully makes a detour to a Catholic church. She briefly crosses herself before going straight to a painting of Christ holding a burning heart. Her mouth hangs slightly open as she looks at the painting, and before she can pull her cell phone out to debate with Mulder, someone joins her. It's the new neighbor, the goatee guy. "I often come here to look at this painting," he says familiarly. "It's called 'My Divine Heart' after the miracle of Saint Margaret Mary. Do you know the story...The revelation of the Sacred Heart? Christ came to Margaret Mary his heart so inflamed with love that it was no longer able to contain its burning flames of charity. Margaret Mary...so filled with divine love herself, asked the Lord to take her heart...and so he did placing it alongside his until it burned with the flames of his passion. Then he restored it to Margaret Mary sealing her wound with the touch of his blessed hand."

She stares at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He looks back at her levelly. "You came here specifically to see this painting, didn't you?"

Scully nods reluctantly. "I know you," she says, deciding to go on the offensive. "You live next door. Why are you following me?"

He doesn't feign ignorance, but answers, "I'm not. I'd only imagined that you'd come here today."

Huh? "You imagined it," she repeats.

"I'm a writer," the goatee'd guy explains. "That's what I do - imagine how people behave. I have to admit I've noticed you. I do that...Notice people," he adds quickly. "I saw that you wear a gold cross around your neck so I was taking a chance with the painting - explaining something you may have already known. I saw Georgetown parking permits on your car dating from 1993 and a government-exempt sticker that lets you park anywhere you like. You don't live in this area but as a federal employee, you have reason to frequent it. You're not just a beautiful government agent, but also married and a mother of five." He adds quickly as her eyes widen a little in alarm, "There's a popular park nearby that you might bring the children to after work. You'd have noticed this church in passing and though parking is always a problem in this part of town your special privileges would make it easy to visit ... not as a place of worship but because you have an appreciation for architecture and the arts and would want to share it with your children...and while the grandeur is what you'd take away from your visit ... this painting's religious symbolism would have left a subconscious impression jogged by the gift you received this morning."

"That was from you?" Scully stares at him, a sinking feeling in her slightly rounded belly. Great, I've got a stalker, she wails inwardly. I marry Mulder and all the weirdos come crawling out of the woodwork.

"I have to admit to a secret attraction." She doesn't bother hiding her ooged-out reaction from him, obviously not wanting to deal with this. Then again, he doesn't seem bothered by it. "I'm sorry I didn't include a note explaining that but you didn't know me then."

"Yeah, and I don't know you now and I don't care to," Scully snaps, wishing he would just go away. God, any longer and she's gonna pull out her gun, if not her badge.

"I see this is making you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. It's just that I'm taken with you." He smiles briefly, and for a moment, there's something about those stark blue eyes over that goatee and moustache that could almost be called attractive. His unsettling gaze finally shifts back to the painting, giving her something of a respite. "You're tired of the everyday drudgery, and, while your work is exciting, it's not exactly what you'd wanted, is it? That much, I'm sure, we have in common." The corner of his mouth turns up, and she's fairly certain he's smiling all the way around when he adds, "To find passion in something like a painting, I suppose, is the means to find the heart of the matter in anything."

Her mouth drops, and she's about to give him a piece of her mind when the church bells toll. I guess the bells do toll for me, she thinks, walking quickly out of the now-uncomfortable church, now's a good time to hit that autopsy.

* * *

Busted, Mulder thinks as his petite wife walks into an autopsy bay full of the living MEs and a few dead bodies. "Hey, you weren't joking about being late. I was about to start slicing and dicing, myself."

"God forbid," she says, shucking off her coat and replacing it with scrubs. "I'm sorry."

He sighs. "Where were you?" he asks in a low voice.

"I was doing some research and learning that I owe you an apology," she says, not looking at him.

"For what?" he prompts her, knowing exactly "what" and hating it.

"The Milagro charm," she replies, "you were right about its insignificance."

He shakes his head, disagreeing quickly, "No, I think I was wrong. I think it's very significant. I think it may be a communication from the killer. Most of my research shows that most credible practitioners of psychic surgery believe themselves to be imbued with the Holy Spirit - that their hands become the miracle tools of God."

She holds up the charm like a dead squirrel. "Mulder, this...is nothing more than a tool used by a lovelorn Romeo who just happens to be our new next-door neighbor."

"Is it just me, or are we starting to get bad luck with creepy neighbors?" he wonders, not so rhetorically.

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes as she puts on the plastic cap to cover her hair. "Must be - this one's turned out to be a secret admirer who claims to know the mysteries of my heart."

"You're kidding," he says flatly.

"No, I wish I were. He cornered me today and told me my life story. It was kind of frightening, actually."

"Frightening?" Mulder repeats, feeling Neanderthal. That asshole! How dare he make a move on my wife, sic his created killer on innocent victims, and pretend to have feelings of love like a normal person! Even though a part of him, well-trained by Oxford and years in the VCU, tells him there's more to Padgett than that, he's still pretty damn pissed off that the prick had the gall to try and move in on a married woman. *His* married woman, dammit.

"'Frightening' as in too much information and intimate detail," Scully corrects him. "What kills you is his audacity."

"Did you get his name?"

The eyebrow goes up. "No, but that shouldn't be too hard to find out, should it?"

Mulder nods, not quite sure what to say, and decides to leave her to the slicing and dicing while he rummages through their new neighbor's mail. He's thinking of creating a tulpa to get rid of both Padgett and his created monster, then quickly chides himself for his childish revenge fantasy, since that kind of thing never works out the way you want it, anyways.

* * *

This is a mistake, Scully keeps telling herself, this is a mistake. She sees her husband's car in the driveway, but rather than grab him, she has decided to confront the smug writer by herself. She knocks nervously, looking around as if she were the criminal rather than the law. The goatee guy opens the door, and she paws through her purse. "Hi. I, um," she stammers when she nearly pulls out one of her "trashy novels," and nearly sighs with relief when her fingers grasp the small charm. "I thought that I'd return this," she says in a more steadier voice, holding out the milagro.

"Why?"

Simple question, simple answer, right? "Because I can't return the gesture," Scully says quietly, wondering why her tone isn't firmer. "I can't."

His face is devoid of disappointment, of embarrassment, or any emotion, really, as he lets her in. "You're curious about me," he states.

Well, duh, she almost answers, taking off her coat and draping it on her arm as there's no coat rack. As she looks around at the sparsely furnished home, it almost looks as if someone's just waiting to buy it and he's just keeping it tidy until then. "You hardly have any furniture," she remarks, the only things serving as such being a table and chair in the middle of the spacious living room. They continue talking, she questioning, he answering, in between the drinking of tea until she's not quite so uncomfortable as when she first walked in. His life sounds rather Spartan, not unlike her partner's before they got married. I wonder what would've happened to Mulder if I hadn't married him, she thinks suddenly as she continues to question the goatee guy, who turns out to be named Phillip Padgett. Would he have stayed this sparse, living only for his work and nothing else? That would be sad, indeed. "How is it you think you know me so well, Mr. Padgett?"

"I'm writing about you," Padgett replies.

She smiles a little in disbelief, and he smiles back. "Right." When she realizes he's serious, the smile slips from her face. "Since when?"

"Since I first noticed you. You lived in my old neighborhood."

"And you moved into this house by coincidence?" she asks, thinking, Please, please, say yes!

"No."

Her eyes widen. Damn. "You moved here because of me?"

"I-I should've said something but I just couldn't get it all down fast enough," he nods. "To really write someone, I have to be in their head. I have to know them more completely than they know themselves."

* * *

Somewhere in her head, alarms are going off, but either it's the hormones or her husband's chilly behavior that keeps her there, looking at the thick manuscript next to the old-fashioned typewriter sitting on the otherwise bare table. "This is all about me?"

"You're an important part," he acknowledges.

"May I read it?"

For the first time, he looks almost bashful. "It's not finished," he dismisses the thick stack of paper, and his large blue eyes fasten on hers again. "I can't tell you how helpful it is having you here - being able to talk with you like this. Would you sit and stay a minute?"

She almost smiles again. "You don't have anywhere to sit." To her surprise, Padgett leads her into the bedroom and sets his cup down on the bedside table and messes with the lamp. It doesn't come on. His money must go to the exorbitant rent rather than food and electricity, she surmises. Time to cut this interview short before it gets dark. "I'm due next door," Scully says, putting her cup down.

For an obsessed guy, he's paying no attention as he plugs the lamp in. "You haven't finished your tea," he says in a reasonable voice.

"I'm very uncomfortable with this," she finally admits.

He looks at her with the same steady gaze. "Why? You're armed, aren't you?" he says logically. As he turns on the bedside light, the bulb burns out. "Imagine that," he says with almost no irony. Padgett pushes the curtain away from the window to let a little light in. "I'll get a bulb."

As he goes to get a bulb, Scully looks out the window facing her own home. It's odd, seeing her home like this, the windowless side facing her like a blank page. At least it's not like he can see in our bedroom, she thinks, and blushes when she thinks of how often they've never thought to close the drapes. Padgett walks in with a new bulb, his eyes following her gaze at the whitewashed wall. "A view only a writer can appreciate," he deadpans.

"If you know me so well, then why am I standing here when my instincts tell me to go?" she asks, even when he sounded uncomfortably like Mulder just then.

He answers while changing the bulb, not looking at her. "Motive is never easy. Sometimes it occurs to one only later." The lamp fills the nearly bare room with a soft light. "Please," he motions to the bed, less like a lecherous invitation and more like a strange courtesy to make oneself comfortable on the only piece of furniture in the room. "Sit." He puts the shade back on the lamp and they sit together on the foot of the bed. Behind them, the bulb burns out again. "Imagine that," he repeats.

She turns to ask another question, only to find Padgett is leaning towards her, his hands on her forearms and his lips parting. Oh my God, she thinks, starting to shove him away when the door crashes open and Mulder bursts into the room, gun drawn. She's fairly sure that her face looks about as shocked as his. "Mulder!" she says.

"Scully," he says, and to her surprise, there's less worry and more sadness when he says her name. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing," she says pointedly, glaring at the very unembarrassed Padgett. "Thank goodness." She follows Mulder to the living room and they begin looking through the manuscript. A few pages flutter to the floor. Her husband looks intently at one of the pages. "Mulder...what are you doing?"

He hands her the page, then grabs the goateed man and handcuffs him. "Putting this man under arrest," he says abruptly, snapping the metal cuffs with more force than normal.

She sees the words on the page and feels a chill, the words a ghastly parody of the romance novels she'd been reading lately: "...his fantasy come to life..." and "... and felt his warm, beating heart."

* * *

This time around, it's not just Mulder hammering at Padgett, but Scully as well. At one point, she's about to tear Stalker Boy a new one, but Mulder guides her out of the prison interrogation room before she can touch the asshole. Padgett, of course, asks solicitous questions about her, which nearly makes Mulder want to tear the asshole's head off, but manages to restrain himself. When he comes out, he finds his fiery-haired partner pacing the hallway.

"What the hell was that?" she demands.

He blinks, but is inwardly relieved to find she's not tempted by the guy, but angry at him. "I was interrogating him," he answers. "Was it not to your liking?"

Her fists are on her hips as she glares up at him. "I've seen you go after child molesters with more heat," she says between her teeth.

Oh, I get it now, Mulder thinks as the reasons why she's been so pissed-off hits him. Damn. It's hard enough getting into the minds of criminals, but women, they're just complicated. But she's not the only one, he sighs inwardly as he nods curtly. "There's more than one culprit here," he says, "there's his accomplice, the Brazilian psychic surgeon."

She almost looks bored as she holds up a folder. "I know. Dr. Ken Naciamento, Sao Paulo, Brazil, emigrated here in 1996." As he pores through it, she adds, "Two years dead, Mulder. I'm having them fax me a certificate of death."

He sets his jaw. "Padgett couldn't have done this alone."

"Why not? I'm fairly sure he relies on research as well as his imagination, why isn't it possible that he could've gone after those teens and use Dr. Naciamento as a, a mentor or guide of sorts into how to commit these murders?"

Wow, she's been hanging around me a long time, he almost smiles. "Maybe he did just imagine it," he argues, this time on his usual side of devil's advocacy. "Like Shakespeare or Freud or - or Jung. I mean, maybe, maybe he has some gift and he has a clear window into human nature."

"No one can predict human behavior," she shoots back. "No one can tell you what another person's going to do."

What do you call reverse deja vu? He wonders. "Well, that's pretty much what I do as a behavioral profiler, imagine the killer's mind so well that you know what they're going to do next." Then he decides to switch back and use his own words rather than Scully's, since he's starting to get that weird, almost vertigo-like feeling again. "Of course, if he imagines it, it's a priori - before the fact. I think that's pretty clear from what he wrote about you." He looks at her levelly as she stares at him. "You know you're in here, don't you?"

"I read a chapter," she mumbles, looking away. "What does he say?"

He decides to go easy on her this time, since it's really not her fault Padgett's a nutcase. Quietly, he answers, "Well, a certain redhead and "the stranger" get X-rated on a bed in an unfurnished house." He pauses. "That is, of course, just his imagination."

"Of course," she says, not looking at him. "I think you know me better than that, Mulder."

"Mmmm," he says, and his cell phone rings. "Mulder." He listens, then says, "Oh, okay. Yeah, they do good work. Hannah's doing better, she and April were playing dolls when I left. Yeah, see ya." When he hangs up, he tells Scully, "Doggett's car crapped out on him again. He says he can fix cars, but he doesn't have time with training," he makes a face. "So he's gonna be coming home late." Then he handing her the manuscript, his features now expressionless, "You might want to finish it."

He leaves her with the novel from hell, and decides to swing by the cemetery, since there's nobody to call him in on it and hopes he gets there in time to save the girl. His pace increases as he leaves the police station, not even aware that he's behind the wheel until his hand turns the key in the ignition.

* * *

Police Station

Mulder exhales noisily, knowing it's not the road construction crew's fault he got to the cemetery only in time to see Maggie dying on the ground rather than alive, her life oozing from her as quickly as her blood. The ambulance came, but with no heart and no way of stopping that much blood loss, the girl died in the emergency vehicle. "I didn't like him before and I sure as hell don't like him now," Mulder scowls as they walk through the police station to Padgett's cell.

"What do you mean?" Scully frowns.

Ah, hell. "I mean," he says evenly as they turn the corner, "I didn't like him when he was your secret admirer, and I really don't like him now that he's definitely our killer."

"How did you know, Mulder, that Maggie would be killed in the cemetery?"

There's no mirth as he puts a finger to his forehead, Karnac-style. "I imagined it."

"How the hell did he know," Scully frowns, "how did Padgett contact him from his guarded cell?"

"I don't know how they communicate. This is the only way I can think to catch him," he says grimly, then forces himself to act humble, as well as a little embarrassed as he opens Padgett's cell. Handing over the plastic wrapped manuscript, Mulder says, "Mr. Padgett...you can go. We apologize for our mistake. You're free to finish your book."

"Thank you," Padgett says, leaving the cell, then turns back to the couple. "I made a mistake myself."

"What's that, Mr. Padgett?" Mulder asks almost congenially, swallowing the bile that threatens to choke him.

Padgett smiles. "In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully escaped a life of drudgery, but that's obviously impossible." He looks at Mulder, who already wants to kill him for saying that. "None of us can escape our fates."

After they watch him go, Scully turns to him. "Mulder, are you sure I can't kill him for saying that?"

He grins. "Only if you beat me to him."

* * *

Thanks to FBI-sanctioned surveillance (Scully insisted, since they were officially back on the X-Files, everything should be accounted for), they watch from the comfort of their living room as Padgett walks around, stares at nothing in particular, then starts typing. "This is boring," Luke declares, and leads the kids to the guest room past their host bearing glasses of water.

Mulder shrugs at the nanny, who shrugs back as she follows the kids. Then he looks over at the laptop and comments, "This is the most exciting thing this guy's done so far." He hands his wife a glass, and she takes a sip before holding the headphones up to her ear. The two agents watch the monitor as Padgett pulls the paper out of the typewriter. Then he picks up the entire manuscript and walks out of frame.

"Now what?" Scully squints, putting her glass of water down. She watches as Mulder taps some keys, then another, to get views of different rooms. "Anything?"

The living room is empty, and Mulder barely misses one camera's view of a closing door. They look at each other, "Which one is it?" Mulder frowns.

"The back door," Scully stares at the view, then she pulls out her gun, "Look after the kids!"

"Scully, it's not safe!" Mulder puts a hand on her arm. "You're the one he's after, lock the doors!"

"I'm gonna kill that bastard!" she glares, her own hand restraining Mulder's arm.

Mulder stares at her. "Right now, you're the primary target, and he might try to get at the kids," he says, knowing he's striking a low blow using the "kids as victims" card. "If you hear any gunshots, call for backup, okay?" Her jaw is set and her hand hasn't lifted from his arm, so he repeats, "Okay?"

"If I hear gunshots, I'm definitely killing him," is all she says before letting go.

He nods, then runs out the door, praying that this time, she'll be okay. It doesn't take long before he crashes through the hedge dividing their property, and finds the so-called Romeo clutching his manuscript to his skinny chest. "Padgett!" he hollers, pulling his gun out. "Freeze!"

The goateed man pauses, then stares. However, he's not staring at Mulder, but at something behind him. Oh, shit, Mulder thinks as he turns around. And just like something out of a horror movie, the hooded man grabs Mulder and throws him to the ground. He tries to shoot the assailant, but it's all he can do to hold on to his weapon as the implacable killer thrusts his hand into his chest. "Aaaaugh!" he screams, kneeing the guy in the nuts, but it does no good. The pain is unbelievable, since the would-be dead guy is performing surgery without anesthetic, and he's crying as he manages to aim his weapon properly. "Die, you bastard!" he grits his teeth, shooting the whole damn clip, but to no avail.

Oh, shit, he thinks again, I can't die like this!

* * *

"Dammit," Scully swears as she hangs up. The Metro may be dependable, but it's taking Doggett too long to get there and the cops have yet to show up. Taking the safety off her gun, she looks at the nanny. "Michelle, make sure none of the kids leave this house," she says, and the young woman nods, her eyes wide as saucers. "I love you," she smiles a little at her babies, and tears out of the house like a bat out of hell.

She crashes through the same hole Mulder made to save herself time, and sees a man lying on the grass. Not sure if it's Mulder or Padgett, she keeps her gun aimed at the body, then runs when she sees it's Mulder, his blood staining the grass. "MULDER!" she cries, tearing open his shirt to find the source of the wound, to stop the blood loss, to find a heartbeat that has mysteriously disappeared. "NOOOOOO!" Desperately, she puts her hand over his chest, but there's no apparent incision, nothing to indicate the extraction of the organ that seems to have vanished, and he coughs up blood.

The redhead looks around wildly, but can find no sign of the goateed bastard that did this to her husband. "Mulder," she sobs, fear constricting her throat, "please. Mulder... I can't..." She cradles him, her arms wrapped around his limp, bloody body so that it looks as if she's bleeding to death, too. "Don't leave me," she whispers, even as his life drains from his body with every drop.

Suddenly, Mulder's eyes fly open, and he thrashes around. Scully continues to hang on until he realizes who's holding him. He stares at her, then hugs her back tightly, gasping shallowly, "Scully." She nods, tears still running down her face, and he buries his face into her chest, shuddering with shock.

Neither of them notice the house behind them is in flames until the fire truck's bells and alarms ring loudly. They continue to cling to each other, even as they're taken away by ambulance, watched by their children, the nanny, and Doggett's children.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Mulder says, lying in the hospital. Even though he was, for the most part, unbelievably healthy, they were still keeping him in one night for observation. His family surrounding him, his friends beside him, lying here instead of Scully, he knows he's incredibly lucky.

"Are all your cases like this?" Doggett frowns. "Weird, and ending up wid one a you in tha hospital?"

"Yes," Skinner says, with something of a grin on his face.

"No!" Mulder shoots back, trying to sit up.

"Not always," Scully puts a hand on his chest, and he subsides. "Well, sometimes," she amends.

"Sometimes?" Doggett stares at the couple. "I may've been NYPD, but I didn't see the inside of a hospital more'n a couple times," he glances at his son, who nods.

"Usually, FBI agents aren't as," Scully pauses, "busy as we are, but then again, neither do they work on the kinds of cases we do." After another pause, not looking at her boss, she adds, "For instance, even though Mulder was drugged, we were okay against the vampires-"

"Maybe lay-duh," Doggett interrupts her as Luke gets wide-eyed. "We'd bettah get the kids home, they had an exciting day."

"Yeah," Mulder says, and hugs each one of his healthy kids. "Hug April for me."

Doggett smiles. "Now that she an' Hannah're gettin' bettah, they're gonna be up gigglin' all night. Bedtime's seven, right?" He grins as the man on the bed gives him a thumbs up, Luke starts whining, and Scully rolls her eyes. "Get bettah soon, Fox," he adds as he and Skinner lead the small herd of children out.

* * *

Scully smiles as her husband scrunches his face at the use of his first name. "You scared the hell out of me," she says, when the last of the small crowd is gone.

"How do you think I feel?" Mulder smiles weakly. He takes her hand in his IV-attached one, and the smile gets bigger. "Finding you in Padgett's bedroom, reading his sick love story..."

"And winding up here," she finishes. "Doggett's right. The nurses know us by name."

He chuckles. "At least they call you 'Doctor.' Me, they call 'Fox'," he wrinkles his nose.

She rubs her thumb inside his palm and smiles. "Well, maybe you'll get a good night's sleep with all the drugs," she says, then a guilty thought hits her.

"Or maybe once you empty the bed of all that chick porn, I mean, trashy romance novels, I mean, ow!" he pouts, making a show of rubbing his arm.

"Shut up, Mulder," she glares, but it's not a proper glare, so the effect is wasted.

He sighs. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I was acting like an ass, and that was before what's-his-face showed up. It's just that," he exhales heavily again and frowns, not sure what to say or how to say it. Hell with it. "It's just that guys still go after you, even if you're married with five, soon to be six, kids. And it pisses me off."

"Jealous?"

"No." Now he looks up at her. "Okay, maybe a little. But mostly it pisses me off because nobody respects that we're already taken. Like being married means nothing and it doesn't matter if you're a psycho or a celebrity, you can do whatever the hell you want. I almost wish it was the olden days, when you stayed married forever and ever unless the guy was a cheating crook."

Scully chuckles and brushes his bangs away from his forehead. "I know. But then again, in this day and age, I get to be a mommy and a wife and a doctor and an agent. People respect our jobs, even if they might not always understand our relationship or, well, unusual cases," she smiles. He smiles back reluctantly, and she says, "But I promise there won't be any more books under the mattress that aren't mine," and his smile gets wider, "they'll be sent to the library or Goodwill."

Mulder shakes his head slightly. "Well, I kinda figured Page was a bright girl, but not that precocious." Before she smothers him, he adds quickly, "Before that happens, mind reading me a slutty bedtime story? I know there's at least one in your purse." He gives her the full-on puppy dog eyes, and she laughs.

"Only if you're a good boy and stay in bed," she raises one eyebrow.

Damn, I *am* lucky, he thinks. "I'll be good in bed," he grins, lowering the bed and pulling the sheet up to his chin.

Scully raps his head lightly with the paperback, but smiles anyway. "The Runaway and the Rapscallion, by Carla Prospera," she reads, and casts an almost schoolmarm-like look over her reading glasses, almost daring him to interrupt. When he doesn't, she proceeds to read the titillating tale of a bodice-ripping, petticoat-tearing scoundrel who ravishes the previously prim heroine, and their exploits in and out of bed makes Mulder think all those tapes and magazines that weren't his lacked something in the imagination department before he fades into sleep.


	74. Three Of A Kind

April 1999

Mulder picks up the phone in mid-ring, not even opening his eyes. "Mulder."

"Good," the masked voice says, "I need you on the next flight to Las Vegas."

The Gunmen, he almost groans aloud, but knows how damn paranoid they can be if he even breathes their group name. "Why?"

"It's something big," the voice says, and Mulder can't be sure which

crackpot it is.

"Duh," Mulder says, and now he has to open his eyes to roll them.

"Who's that?" Scully mutters, not bothering to move or open her eyes.

"Gunmen," he tells her, only to get shushed, sworn at and scolded by all

three conspiracy theorists. "Sorry. Anyways, what's in Vegas that can't be

done here?"

"Look, I can't talk over an unsecured line. Please just get here. It's an

emergency," the disguised Gunman says.

Mulder sighs. "She's gonna kick our asses when she wakes up," he mutters as

his beloved wife lets out a snore. "Why not both of us?"

"Then the whole munchkin patrol comes with, and then what?" the voice says,

and now he recognizes Langly. "She's preggers, right? Look, dude, get her

some free munchies and we're all good."

"And that's why you'll never get married," Mulder says, "see you in a few."

After he hangs up, he kisses his wife's forehead lightly, only to be

rewarded with another snore. "Guess I'll find out exactly what happened to

you in Vegas," he says in a low voice. Then he drags his tired-ass body out

of bed and starts to scribble a note for her before packing and grabbing a

flight.

* * *

"It's so nice of you boys to think of Scully's welfare," Mulder drawls when the trio greets him in the Vegas hotel lobby. He's grateful things have slowed down casefile-wise, or he wouldn't have left Scully back in DC by herself. It's funny, but knowing Doggett earlier, as an agent-in-training and recently-divorced dad, has kinda made him trust the guy around his wife - at least this time, he has a choice, rather than being abducted out of the picture only to find some super-skeptic barging into *his* division. "Anyways, where were we...?" he asks, already taking in his hectic surroundings with a deceptive nonchalant air.

"Let me bring you up to speed," Byers says quickly, nervously. He's about to go on, when four people pass by walking quickly, a female manager, a security guard and two paramedics. The Gunmen stare blatantly as the mad procession goes past, Mulder seemingly more low-key as they listen in.

Langly looks at his friends as he blurts out, "Aw, man, Jimmy!"

It doesn't take long for them to follow the emergency crew outside, joined by three guards, to a stopped bus. The bus driver is just standing there, looking distraught. "He just jumped; no warning, no nothing. He just, just dived right out in front of me."

Now the crew backs away to formulate how to remove the jumper, and Mulder and the Gunmen can clearly see the bloody human smear. "Oh God, that is Jimmy." The blonde Gunman looking severely grossed out rather than sad.

The bus driver continues to babble, "It's not my fault. He was just standing there, and then he just dives under the bus."

"This wasn't suicide," Byers says solemnly, and they all start walking away.

"No, really, what the hell is going on?" Mulder asks, staring at the body before joining them.

* * *

Clark County Morgue

"You're absolutely sure you wanna be here for this?" Mulder looks at the blonde Gunman with some concern.

Langly nods quickly, not wanting to wuss out on either man in front of him. "Oh yeah," he says a little nervously, "I'm cool. Let's just find out what killed him."

Mulder shares a look with the middle-aged ME, who looks equally dubious. "Okay." The only reason he's there is to make sure his friend doesn't pass out on the dead body.

The heavyset examiner glances up at the two tall men, and Mulder can see him mentally debating if they're gay. He doesn't care, really, but when the ME uncovers the body, Langly looks horrified. Uh-oh, the FBI agent thinks, as the older man obliviously clicks on the overhead microphone and begins the autopsy. "James Bellmont, age 29," he says in a thick voice tinged by years of smoking. "Visual exam reveals injuries consistent with massive trauma. Multiple rib fractures with concomgent hemorrhaging, both internal and external. His spine is fractured and partially exposed."

Langly says in a low voice to Mulder, "What if 'they' did something to him? You know, to make him pancake himself?"

The ME looks up at them curiously. "Who's 'they'?"

Before Mulder has a chance to respond with a smart-aleck remark, the Gunman says seriously, "You know," he pauses, "'them'."

The examiner looks at the blonde man, then the brunette, his expression clearly saying, Damn nutjobs. "I'll begin with the Y-incision," he says, invoking one of Mulder favorite Scully phrases. The middle-aged man pulls the surgical mask over his nose and mouth, puts on a pair of goggles and proceeds to slice the torso skin in an obvious "Y" pattern.

As he penetrates the flesh, Langly looks around uncomfortably, not unnoticed by his federal compatriot. When the incision is finished, the ME peels back the first flap of skin, at which point Langly looks away. While the sight of blood and exposed ribs doesn't faze Mulder much these days, he sees his friend is less sanguine, as he can't stop shaking. As the ME proceeds, Langly looks more and more ready to vomit.

"Mr. FBI, while you're here, mind passing me the striker saw please, it's right there on the counter," the examiner asks, startling Langly.

Mulder does so, but when he turns around with the saw, Langly's finally lost it, rushing out through the double doors to throw up in the next room. "Sorry about that," he shrugs, but the older man sighs.

"Shoulda known," the ME says, going into the other room, "he might puke all over evidence. Don't touch anything, okay?"

Mulder nods, holding his hands up. He watches with some curiosity as the older man slaps the younger man's back and pulls his hair from his face. He absently remembers he's still got the saw in his hand, so he tries to put it down on the tool table, "try" being the operative word. "Aw, man," he mutters, picking up the small tool from the floor and hopes he didn't break it. As he stands up, he notices a small needle-puncture wound behind Jimmy's right ear. "What the hell," he murmurs, squinting at the mark.

He's about to call the ME back when a hand clamps over his mouth, and something small and sharp is jabbed into his neck. "Ow," he groans, his eyes rolling before he tumbles to the floor.

* * *

"Now what?" the ME grumbles when he hears a thud in the autopsy room. At least the blond guy has pretty much heaved everything out, and the water just runs, washing everything down the drain and some of the smell from the room. "Mr. FBI?" he asks, walking quickly back into the autopsy room.

Langly stumbles after him, only to find Mulder unconscious on the floor. He hurries to him and slaps the guy's face lightly. "Dude, Mulder. Wake up. Are you okay?" He hauls the guy up as best he can to something like a seated position.

"What happened?" Mulder groans, wondering who the big old guy is and why Langly's holding him like a little girl.

"I'm thinking that you got a little queasy and took a header. You know blood and guts can bother some people," Langly says, with no sense of irony whatsoever.

Mulder's trying to keep the room from moving, and crossing his eyes a little does the trick. For now, that's all that matters. "Yeah, I guess."

"You gonna be all right?"

The federal agent swivels his head to look at the old guy, who snorts and goes back to work on the body, then to the blond guy. "Sure, Cutie."

Langly's taken aback and quickly scoots away. Mulder struggles back to his feet, swaying slightly. He grabs some of the sheet covering Jimmy's body as he stands, then quickly covers the body while the ME swears.

"So...you're done with Jimmy?" the blond man wonders.

"Hell, no," the old man says, pushing the suddenly-tipsy FBI man away from the body. "If you're lucky, we'll find some pavement on this guy's back."

Then he scowls at the still-weaving agent, and wonders if the guy's self-prescribed a drink to chase away nausea. Wouldn't be the first, but he's tired of people heaving around his workspace. "Mind taking your friend outta here?" he asks the nerdy-looking blond guy.

Langly nods, looking less queasy but more panicked. "Uhhhm, Mulder? You okay to move?"

Mulder nods, tries to come to a semblance of a dignified stance, but loses his footing and slips, falling to the floor again.

"Dammit," the ME grouses as Langly tries to haul his friend to his feet and out of the autopsy room.

* * *

Frohike's on a losing streak, but the interruption by his buddy isn't welcome. "What?" he asks tersely, dropping more tokens into the machine.

Langly isn't offended by the shorter man's attitude, merely shoving his hands in his pockets. "Dude, I dumped Mulder in his room not too long ago, so check on him before you head back to our room, okay?"

"What's wrong with him?" Frohike asks, not looking at him as he yanks the crank.

The blond man shrugs. "We tried staying for the autopsy, but Mulder got really dizzy and hit the floor," Langly replies. "The ME will ring Mulder with the results as soon as he's done."

Now Frohike turns and sees his pal fidgeting. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Memorial game for Jimmy," Langly answers, "we grieve for the man, but Lord Manhammer's gonna kick some ass."

"Uh-huh," Frohike snorts and turns back to his slot machine as Langly leaves. A few more losing rounds at the machine and he's ready to kick the damn thing when his attention is caught by a familiar laugh. He crosses the floor to find Mulder surrounded by a horde of loud men and empty beer mugs, looking for all the world like some mini-sports bar crowd. "Mulder?"

"Aw, hey! Long time, no see!" Mulder yells exuberantly, clapping the shorter man on the back so hard he tumbles. The man to Mulder's right leans in and whispers something in his ear. Mulder guffaws, but shakes his head. "Naw, man, I like Melvin. Melvin's the man!" he says, rubbing a scowling Frohike's head, messing up what little hair the Gunman has left. He raises his mug of beer. "To Melvin!"

A cheer goes around for "Mel-VIN! Mel-VIN!" One of the men in the crowd, a tall, slightly heavy blond guy in a suit, also joins in the cheer.

When Mulder sees him, however, he flips out. "You!" he yells, grabbing the other man by the collar. His eyes bulge, and so does the other man's, but for entirely different reasons. "You fucking asshole! You screwed my wife!"

"I think I'd remember that," the blond man chokes out, to the amusement of everyone except Frohike.

"That's it." The short man tries to haul him off, but no go. Time to enlist some patriotic help. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI. If you don't help me separate these two, you may be committing a federal offense!"

It's clear nobody believes his bluff, but some guys are helpful enough to pull the homicidal agent off the shaken suit. "Thanks," he mutters to the guys who salute him with a "Mel-VIN!" In a low voice, he tells his clearly inebriated pal, "Come on, before you kill someone else."

There are some "awws", but as Mulder gamely waves his newfound friends goodbye, the balding blond guy makes the mistake of shaking out his lapels and huffing, "As if I'd ever come near your stupid wife."

"Dammit!" Frohike glares, as Mulder swiftly spins out of his friend's grasp, takes a couple of steps forward, and lands a solid punch on the other man's face. There are some whoops and cheers as the blond guy reels but remains standing, so Mulder hauls off and swings with his left fist, landing a decent uppercut. "TKO," the short man mutters, part of him insanely glad Mulder knocked that sonufabitch out for dissing Scully. "Come on, frat boy, let's go."

Mulder raises his hands like Rocky as he's led away, and somebody even hollers the Rocky theme, joined by more claps and cheers for the self-declared middleweight champion.

* * *

Frohike throws the hotel room door open, allowing a stumbling Mulder to flop in, "singing" the Rocky theme. "Hey, guys," he grins a wide, goofy grin.

As the others stare at the giddy agent, Frohike mutters, "Settle down, man, come on." It takes some doing, but eventually he gets Mulder to sit down on the bed.

Unfortunately, he's still throwing shadow punches, even while laughing and grinning. "I'm gonna knock you out," he sing-songs, "Scully said knock you out!"

The short man explains, for the benefit of his friend and the Mata Hari he's with, "Agent Mulder nearly killed a perfect," he ducks another shadow punch, "stranger down there!"

The bearded man frowns. "I've never seen him this drunk before..."

The thin blonde woman checks Mulder's eyes. "God, this can't be," she breathes.

As Modeski tries to check Mulder's hair and head for a needle puncture, Mulder pouts and swats at her ineffectually. "Hey, only Scully can check me out," he argues.

Modeski gives the Gunmen a look, and Byers says, "Mulder, Susanne is a friend. She's a doctor, like Scully, okay?"

Mulder squints, then nods. "Okay." Then he grins up at the blonde woman, and she blinks. "But if Scully finds out, she's gonna kick your ass."

"I'll take my chances." The blonde woman finds herself smiling back, but the smile fades when she finds a needle puncture just behind his right ear. "He's not drunk, look at this," she tells the two Gunmen. As they step in for a closer look, she explains, "That was made by an injector gun."

Frohike looks aghast. Geez, how many times is this guy gonna get drugged whenever Susanne Modeski's involved? "Well, what the hell was he injected with?"

"P-funk, baby, that puts a dip in yo' hip and a glide in yo' stride, baby," Mulder intones in something like a George Clinton cadence, surprising everyone.

Recovering, Modeski explains in a more serious tone, "It's derivative of AH gas. AH, anoitic histamine, my latest creation." Ignoring the drugged man's "shpooky" response, she goes on. "I could have developed it years ago, but I held off. I wasn't about to let those bastards I work for get their hands on it," she says bitterly. "Grant thought that if we secretly developed a small batch, and then destroyed the notes, that we would have the proof we needed to go public. We'd also have a weapon we could use against them."

"Who else has access to this anoitic histamine?" Byers asks.

"Grant and I are the only two people that ha...," her voice trails off as she realizes what this means, "...that have the samples."

Mulder is oblivious to any life-shattering implications, his bottom lip jutting out and head bobbing back and forth in a white man's groove to music only he can hear.

* * *

"Well," Frohike looks at his blissfully oblivious friend, then to the blonde woman and demands, "do something."

Modeski nods, then fills a syringe with some chemical. Nobody turns around when Langly enters the room. "This will counteract the anoitic effect," she says.

Belatedly, Mulder notices his blonde friend and grins, "Hi, cutie." When Modeski injects him, he pouts, "You poked me..." Then he promptly passes out.

Langly raises his eyebrows over the black rims of his glasses. "Bad trip?"

The blonde woman shakes her head, "No, he'll be fine. He just needs to sleep it off."

Frohike frowns at the unconscious agent. "I don't understand, why would the government want to turn Mulder into a frat boy?"

"That's just a potential side-effect," Modeski replies as Mulder lets out a buzzsaw snore. "Anoitic histamine impedes higher brain functions. It promotes suggestibility."

"Mind control," Byers looks at his friends as if he's found the Holy Grail. "Brainwashing."

The short man nods. "That explains Jimmy. They told him to commit suicide."

"And Mulder," the bearded man nods. "They made him delay the autopsy findings. But what is their larger purpose? What are they planning?"

"Well, whatever it is, we better find out fast," Frohike comments.

* * *

Saguaro Room

10:05 a.m.

The conference speaker, a nondescript older man in a suit, declares, "This brings us to the notion of acceptable risk. Of course, risk is defined as exposure, during both utilization and post-project evaluation. Now in a secure proving-ground, i.e. a domestic engagement, we have had great success. Now off-shore utilizations can afford a more comprehensive definition of acceptable risk. Proper target appraisal can provide a risk-free trial environment. A combination of political instability and lack of efficient infrastructure can offer a, uh, target area of nearly-zero risk potential."

A bespectacled blonde man in a black track jacket slowly scans the room, only to settles his gaze on Susanne Modeski and Grant Ellis seated at the speakers table. After smiling tightly at something Ellis says, Modeski checks her watch. The time is 10:13. She looks impatient. Outside the Saguaro Room, Mulder approaches the door.

The security guard looks bored as he says, "Authorized attendees only."

Mulder flips open his badge. "I'm an FBI agent."

The guard's eyes barely flicker as he repeats, "Authorized attendees."

Mulder shoves his badge back into his coat. ::Why am I not surprised::, he thinks, surreptitiously checking his watch.

Meanwhile, Langly checks his watch and then Ellis checks his own as the speaker drones on, "Of course, risk management goes hand-in-hand with operational preparedness, and that happens to be our topic for the remainder of the session..."

"Al, I think this would be a good time to take a break, shall we?" Ellis smoothly interrupts.

The older man blinks, then nods. "Oh, yeah. Let's take five everybody. Smoke 'em if ya got 'em."

As everyone rises to leave for their break, Langly stands and casually walks toward the front of the room. Modeski is at the front of the room, shaking hands with attendees, and ignoring the Gunman. In what seems like minutes rather than seconds, Langly pulls the gun from his jacket and aims at Modeski, firing three rounds, each hitting her chest. The last one splatters blood on his glasses.

"Oh my God," Ellis says, staring in horror as Langly simply replaces the gun in his jacket and walks out.

Someone in the room cries out, "Somebody help her...somebody...!"

The suavely-dressed Ellis cradles the bleeding woman in a showy display of grief, "Susanne..."

Mulder swiftly sidesteps the security guard into the room, followed by him as he approaches Modeski. "Federal agent," he flashes his badge to anyone who cares. To the guard, he snaps, "Call for help."

The big man nods, and talks into his walkie-talkie, "Winston Warbler, we need an ambulance, a woman's been shot. She's bleeding, hurry."

Ellis is crouched over Modeski. "Who did this?" he stares at Mulder. "Who did this!"

Mulder puts on his best expressionless FBI man face. "Shooter got away," he says tersely. Looking up at the security guard, he says, "Detain this man, get him outta here."

Frohike and Byers arrive in their paramedic guises as Ellis is taken away. In a low voice, Frohike murmurs, "Good work, frat boy."

Mulder frowns for a second before following Ellis. Frohike and Byers load Modeski onto the stretcher and wheel her out of the room smoothly, as if they've been doing this for years.

* * *

An elevator door opens, and Mulder, Ellis and the security guard take a step forward. Mulder puts a hand on the guard's arm. "I'll take him from here," he says, taking out his gun. The guard nods, and steps back into the elevator, and Ellis' eyes look panicked as the door slides shut.

"Wait a minute, where...where...where're you taking me?" he asks. He exhales with a sigh of relief when he sees it's his room, but when he sees the look in the FBI agent's eyes, that relief is short-lived. He starts when the door opens, and a bearded man walks inside, followed by - "Susanne?"

The blonde woman, still looking as if she's bleeding copiously from three mortal wounds, turns to the three men. "Can we have a moment, alone, please? I'll be fine."

Mulder, Byers and Frohike look at each other, then at her. "We'll be right down the hall," Byers says firmly.

She nods. "Okay."

As Frohike passes Ellis, he holds up the black chip he gave him. The short man smirks, "Thanks for the tip."

"Okay, now what?" Mulder asks when they come to his room right next to theirs. He unlocks the door and only resumes speaking when the door's locked behind them. "I'm guessing Grant's either gonna be hunted by his organization when they learn he's failed," he says, taking off his fake blood-stained tie, "or they're gonna try finish the job with Susanne before taking care of him."

"Sorry, man," Frohike says from behind him.

"Sorry for what?" Mulder asks, digging his cell phone out to call Scully.

"For this," his friend says, and for the third time, Mulder gets drugged.

"Are you certain it's safe to keep injecting him like this?" Mulder vaguely hears Byers' worried voice.

"Your girlfriend said it was okay," Frohike's voice seems to float across a great distance.

Hey, guys, I'm right here, he wants to say, but the world is fading out just as Byers replies, "She's not my, never mind."

* * *

Later that night, Mulder wakes up to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He blindly flails around, his hand hitting a button, only to turn the TV on. "Police confirm an arrest has been made, this man, Timothy Landau of Aldonaberta, New Mexico, has confessed to the murders of Grant Ellis and Susanne Modeski," a female reporter declares. "Both victims were government employees attending a conference in Las Vegas."

Why does that sound familiar, Mulder squints as the phone keeps ringing shrilly, the pounding in his head being matched by a nasty dead mouse taste in his mouth. "Yeah, yeah," he finally locates his cell phone, which happens to be inside his coat pocket. Even as he takes in the realization that he's lying in a hotel bed fully clothed with a raging headache, several bad scenarios come to mind. "Mulder," he answers, even as the TV blares on.

"Mulder, where are you?" his wife says as if from a great distance.

"Good question," he says, sitting up and groaning. "I'm in," he locates the TV remote and shuts it off, "some kind of hotel."

"In Las Vegas? Why did the Gunmen want you there?" she asks.

"The Gunmen are here?" He frowns, trying as hard as hell to remember.

There's a pause, and then Scully says, "Oh man, I am gonna kick their asses. And when you get home, I'm gonna kick yours."

"Don't bother," he grumbles, thankful when it's apparent those idiots haven't tampered with his overnight bag or his wallet, as far as he can tell. "I'm gonna kill them, and then this hangover's gonna kill me."

"Hangover? Mulder, what the hell's going on?"

He sits down, then wishes he hadn't sat down so hard as the room's starting to wobble. "As soon as I find them, I'm going to ask them," he says, trying to enunciate since it feels like consonants and vowels are slipping out of his control. "Then I'm going to kill them. Then the hangover's gonna kill me. Or you could kill me, whichever comes first. God, I feel like hell."

Scully snorts, then says, "I love you, Mulder, but if I find out that there's even a strip club involved-"

"Death, instant, immediate and irrevocable death," he supplies, "I love you, too, Scully." She snorts again, and hangs up. Mulder sighs, closes his eyes, and groans. If this damn hangover keeps up, the boys will be lucky to escape with a simple maiming rather than death, but right now, it feels like all the Yankees who ever lived are doing warm-ups in his skull. "Ugh, kill me now."


	75. The Unnatural

Three Days Before Easter

"Agent Reyes! I wasn't expecting you," Mulder says in surprise after opening the door one afternoon. Behind her, he can see Gibson. The boy looks tense.

He opens the door and lets them both in. Just as they walk in, Hannah barrels into the room. "Hi," the little girl says shyly.

"Is this your daughter?" Reyes asks, peering down at the child. "She looks...nothing like you."

The little girl scowls, making Mulder grin. "No, Scully and her mom have ours for pictures with the Easter Bunny. This is Hannah. She, her brother, and Dad are staying with us."

"Hannah?" Doggett's voice proceeds him. "Muldah, is Hannah with you?"

Doggett's daughter throws herself at her father's knees when he comes in the room. "Oh. Uh hi." His cheeks pink when he notices other people in the room.

"John Doggett, agent Monica Reyes," Mulder introduces them, then gestures towards the silent boy. "And this is Gibson Praise."

"Nice to meet you. Gibson, you're about twelve or thirteen, aren't you?" Doggett asks, apparently sizing the visitors up.

"Yes," Gibson replies as shyly as Hannah.

"My son is about your age, then. Why don't we see if he wants to play a video game while the feds talk?"

Gibson takes things in stride as usual. "Okay."

"You haven't said why you dropped by," Mulder reminds Reyes.

The serious look on Reyes' face worries him. "Gibson is pretty sure that they know where he is. One of the kids must have said something to exactly the wrong person...He doesn't want to admit it, but he's scared to death. I'm not sure what to do, besides not send him back to that school."

"We'll work something out," Mulder assures her. ::I guess it's about time to sweet-talk the people at the school for the deaf.::

"I...I was wondering if I should adopt him."

He gives her a pained smile. "That's a noble aspiration, but it's a hard row to hoe. A friend of mine once tried to adopt a special needs child...they didn't want to approve the adoption because she was a single woman who had a dangerous job - FBI agent."

"You said they 'didn't want to'. So what did happen?"

"The child died before a decision was made either way."

"That's terrible. I don't know, maybe my idea is dumb anyway. Gibson said that they don't seem to suspect a connection between him and I, so maybe doing this would be making it obvious."

"I'd like to tell you that you're being silly but..." He puts up his hands helplessly. "These men are ruthless."

"Yes...I just feel so bad for him. He doesn't have anyone. I know how happy I am that people who cared adopted me when I was orphaned."

Mulder nods knowingly. "You know that Gibson reads minds. You don't need to adopt him in order to prove to him that you care about what happens to him." Even as he says it, Mulder is careful to remind himself never to think about his other past in the boy's presence.

"I know but..." Reyes wrings her hands. "You don't know what it's like to have no idea what life would have been like if you stayed with your real parents. I was fortunate. I was adopted by people who really loved me. Gibson doesn't have that."

He frowns. "I'm not trying to say that's not something important, but his safety is even more important right now. Maybe someday..."

"Yeah," Reyes says heavily. Doggett reappears just then.

"Why don't I go make a few calls to see if I can find a safe place for him," Mulder says, giving Doggett a sidelong look.

"Sure," Reyes replies, not really looking up at him.

As Mulder is leaving the room, he hears Doggett ask "Agent Reyes, would you like some coffee?"

* * *

It takes Mulder about twenty minutes to convince the school for the deaf to take Gibson in. He never told Scully the first time around, but the school was founded by an old NICAP friend of Max Fenig's so it wasn't hard to find a sympathetic ear...given that the friend was not deaf.

His next step is to poke his head into the room where the boys are playing video games. "Hey, Gibson. Let's go talk to Monica."

"Yeah, okay."

"Aww, does he have to go now?" Luke asks. "We're in the middle of a game!"

"Sorry, Luke, this is important." The boy grimaces, but he nods resignedly.

Downstairs, Doggett and Reyes are in the middle of a pleasant conversation. Mulder isn't sure what it's about, exactly, but he suspects that from what he caught that Doggett's been grilling her on what it's like to work for the FBI in the Big Easy.

"So," Mulder announces to get their attention. They look up sheepishly. "I've found a school out west that will take Gibson in, no questions asked. I've booked two plane tickets for this evening. And here's how to get there once your flight lands."

"Good." Reyes sounds relieved. She holds out her hands for the directions Mulder has printed out for her.

Gibson just nods.

Mulder turns to him. "I'm confident that you'll be safe there, because no one will be able to tell your secrets. All of the other students, and some of the staff, are deaf."

To Mulder's surprise, Gibson grins. "So they won't know my secrets, but I'll be able to know theirs."

"I guess so," Mulder agrees. "I'm sorry that it didn't work out where you are now."

"It's okay. I didn't make too many friends anyway." Gibson tells him without self-pity. "I think a lot of kids thought I was spooky."

"Yeah... they used to call me 'Spooky Mulder' around the Hoover building, so I can relate."

"But not often since you got married."

Mulder blinks. "That's right."

"Speaking of your wife, tell her I'm sorry I missed her," Reyes says, standing.

"I will. But I'm sure you'll see her yourself at some point or another."

"Fate you mean?" Reyes asks with a teasing smile.

"I was thinking of inevitably working together on another case, but if you want to chalk it up to fate..."

Before she and Gibson leave, she shakes Doggett's hand. "It was really nice to meet you, John. Who knows, maybe fate will force us to cross paths again too."

"I think I'd like that," Doggett says, sounding a bit star-struck.

Mulder couldn't fail to notice this, so it comes to no surprise when Doggett asks him later that night if Reyes is married. "No. I think she's waiting for 'The One'," Mulder tells him, and has to stifle the urge to match-make.

"I don't blame her," Doggett says, then whistles as he wanders off to do homework. Mulder can only shake his head and smile.

* * *

April 1999

I'm blessed  
God knows I'm blessed  
As I look all around me  
I realize, I'm blessed

FBI Headquarters

Scully groans, her arms filled to the brim with large files, and carefully negotiates her way down the stairs. The janitor jerks his head away from the TV as she passes, and she shakes her head at his unspoken offer to help. Almost there, she thinks, waddling into the office and drops the large books onto Mulder's desk with a satisfying thud. Mulder, to her gratification, jumps a little as he looks up at her, pushing his reading glasses up his nose in a stereotypical scholarly fashion before going back to reading the record book. She makes a face, steps up on the boxes stacked against the back wall and gazes wistfully out the window. "Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. We could be playing with the kids in the park, or taking a drive, or doing something *normal* for a change."

His nose still looking at the record book, Mulder replies distantly, "Normal can be overrated." The sound of a paper bag being opened catches his attention, and he grins expectantly at the dessert. "Did you bring enough ice cream to share with the rest of the class?"

She looks like the marmalade bobtail cat as she manages to both lick the ice cream and be smug about it. "It's not ice cream," she says between licks. "It's a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle."

He makes a grossed out face, going back to his book. "Ugh," he says, not knowing how much of a nerd he looks like as he buries himself behind the large tome. "Bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that. You sure know how to live it up, Scully."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Oh, you're Mr. Live-it-up, Mulder, you're really Mr. Squeeze-every-last-drop-out-of-this-sweet-life aren't you? On this precious Saturday you've got us grabbing life by the testes stealing reference books from the FBI library in order to go through New Mexico newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949 and for what joyful purpose?"

He blinks behind his reading glasses. "Looking for anomalies, Scully," he answers in an oh-so-reasonable tone. "Do you know how many so-called 'flying disc' reports there were in New Mexico in the 1940s?"

She indulges herself in a huge sigh. "I don't care," she says simply, before indulging in another large bite of her frozen dessert. "Mulder, this is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie," she waves a free hand dramatically.

He grins, taking off his reading glasses. I love you, he thinks, even as he says aloud, "No, I won't sit idly by as you hurl cliches at me. Preparation is the father of inspiration."

"Necessity is the mother of invention," she shoots back.

"The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom."

"Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die," Scully says, taking another bite.

"Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die," Scully says, taking another bite.

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles," Mulder says as he lunges for the dreamsicle, taking an obnoxiously large bite. The cone breaks and pieces of the dessert splatter, not on the book, but on her black tank top. "Uh-oh."

"'Uh-oh' is right," she frowns, scooping what she can salvage off her dark top, but her efforts causes some of the dessert to fall inside her cleavage rather than her mouth. "Ohhh, no..."

Mulder watches the journey of the leftover dreamsicle with great interest, until he can't take it anymore and grabs his wife. Ignoring her squeals, he bares her right breast and licks the remains of the fat-free dessert, his tongue trailing to her exposed nipple and sucking on it.

"Mulder," she weakly protests, but her eyes are closed, "the door's unlocked."

"Mm-hm," he mutters against her breast, and she groans. He doesn't want her other breast to feel neglected, so he reaches under her black top and fondles that, too, until she's rocking against his chest. With his free right hand, he unzips her slacks, curious to see if she's wet for him, and grazes the bottom of her panties. When she gasps his name sharply, he smiles against her nipple, finding she's very wet, and slips his hand inside, his fingers rubbing against and inside her clit until she cries out-

"Mulder!" A hand snaps in front of his face. When snaps out of his daydream, he sees his wife looking amused. "I'm guessing you weren't thinking about an X-File for those few seconds," she says dryly, futilely wiping at her black top with a paper towel, her breasts very well covered and her slacks still on, unfortunately.

It may have been a daydream of a few short seconds, but he's managed to build up a bit of wood with his active imagination. Baseball, he thinks, falling on the diversionary cliché, gotta stick to baseball. "Uh, no," he grins, then grabs the record book and pretends to be studiously reading it like the good agent he's supposed to be.

"Yeah, right," she says, grabbing the book from him, and since he forgets to turn the page, she finds his true reading assignment - baseball. Scully tries for righteous indignation, but either it's the pregnancy hormones or the fake dairy that's got her in a ridiculously good mood in spite of herself. "Mulder! You cheat! I can't believe that you've been reading about *baseball* this whole time."

* * *

Taking advantage of her good mood, he smiles, not apologizing in the least. "Reading the box scores, Scully. You'd like it. It's like the Pythagorean Theorem for jocks. It distills all the chaos and action of any game in the history of all baseball games into one tiny, perfect, rectangular sequence of numbers," he says, pointing on the page. "I can look at this box and I can recreate exactly what happened on some sunny summer day back in 1947." He looks back at her. "It's like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me. They tell me that even though lots of things can change some things do remain the same. It's..."

She interrupts him, on cue. "Boring," Scully says, still smiling at him. "Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course not," he says, pouting down at the record book.

Scully's smile shifts into a smirk. "Did your mother ever tell you to go outside and play?" She tilts her head as he seems to stare at something on the page that has nothing to do with baseball or ice cream. She's seen that look before, and she realizes that, whether she likes it or not, he's got himself hooked on some kind of alien - or conspiracy-related clue. "Mulder?"

Wiping away the ice cream, Mulder looks down at a picture of two white men and one black man in a baseball jersey standing in front of an old bus with "Roswell Grays" on the side. One of the white men is the ever-present ABH, his square jaw and nonexistent neck distinct features for an alien. The headline reads, "Local Roswell police officer Arthur Dales chats with Diamond Star Josh Exley." Mulder smiles as he murmurs, "Arthur Dales, huh?"

"Mulder?" Scully repeats.

"Ah...Choo!" Mulder pulls off the worst fake sneeze, ripping the page out of the book.

His wife stares at him in disbelief. "You just defaced property of the U.S. Government," she says as if he didn't know. Carrying the torn page, Mulder grabs his leather jacket, gives her a quick peck on the cheek, and runs out of the office. As she watches him go, she has a slight smile on her face. "You rebel," she says, shaking her head before pulling out her cell phone. If Mulder's confident enough to go chasing down who-knows-what without her or the Gunmen, it can only mean it's a relatively small clue, and she can spend time with the kids without worrying too much. "Hi, Page," she smiles when her oldest child answers. "Mommy's coming home soon. No, but I think Daddy will be home in time for supper. Yes, I'll bring something home, okay? Love you."

* * *

Washington, DC

Here we go again, Mulder thinks as he walks down the hall of an old apartment building that seems to have gotten crappier since the last time he visited. He steps over an unconscious drunk and knocks at one of the doors. A balding, round old man answers, barely opening the door as he snaps, "What in hell took you so long?"

Despite knowing who this guy is, there's something about him that puts him off, just like the guy's brother. "I'm-I'm sorry, sir, I'm-I'm looking for Arthur Dales," he stutters like a novice.

"I'm Arthur Dales," the man's jowls become more pronounced as he scowls.

Mulder fights back his impulse to laugh as he retorts, "No, you're not."

The old man stares at him levelly. "Don't be a wiseass, son."

The agent shakes his head mulishly, "No, I-I'm sorry, sir, I know Arthur Dales and you're not Arthur Dales."

Now the old man gives him a magnanimous, if condescending, gaze. "Arthur Dales is my brother. My name also happens to be Arthur Dales," he intones in a manner reminiscent of W. C. Fields. "It's the same name, different guy. The other Arthur, he moved to Florida, the lucky bastard. Now, our parents weren't exactly big in the imagination department when it came to names. If it would help you wrapping your little head around this stupefying mystery, Agent Mulder, we had a sister named Arthur, too, and a goldfish."

Mulder stares at him suspiciously, only because it's expected. "How do you know my name?"

He allows the old fart to smirk. "My brother told me all about you. He said you were the biggest jackass in the Bureau since he retired. Yeah, we're big fans," Dales says sarcastically. "Sometimes we'd stay awake hours at night just talking about you. Just fascinating. Now, unless you're hiding some Chinese food, let's call it a day."

Mulder barely blinks as Dales shuts the door in his face. He waits a moment, then unfolds the paper he took from the office and hollers at the door. "Mr. Dales, I have a, uh...I have a photo here of your brother. Maybe it's you. It's from many years ago and you're, you're standing in Roswell, New Mexico."

"Roswell," Dales says from behind the door. "That's me. I was a cop once in Roswell."

Mulder allows himself to smile, since he knows what's going to happen. And even though the discovery is fifty years too late to change things, he figures spending the afternoon with someone who had a close encounter of the fourth kind is a pretty cool. "Okay, and you're standing with Negro League legend Josh Exley, who disappeared without a trace during a season in which he reportedly hit 60 home runs," he continues.

"Sixty-one," the old man corrects him.

"61 home runs in 1948," Mulder nods.

"Forty-seven," Dales retorts from behind the door.

Mulder folds the torn newspaper and shoves it into his jacket. "'47, whatever, I don't really care about the baseball, so much, sir," he shouts, knowing it'll piss the old guy off. "What I care about is this man in the picture with you, I believe to be an alien bounty hunter."

As expected, the old fart, that is, Dales, opens the door a crack, glaring. "Of course you don't care about the baseball, Mr. Mulder," he says in his impeccable drawl. "You only bothered my brother about the important things like government conspiracies and alien bounty hunters and the truth with a capital 'T.'"

"Wait a minute," the younger man furrows his eyebrows as he smiles, sensing a challenge. "I like baseball."

It's obvious Dales doesn't believe him. "You like baseball, huh?"

Mulder facially shrugs. "Yeah."

"How many home runs did Mickey Mantle hit?" Dales questions.

After a beat, Mulder replies, "A hundred and sixty-three." As the old man snorts and starts to close the door, Mulder pushes it back open with a smirk. "Righty. 373 lefty. 536 total."

* * *

Now the old man grudgingly gives him props and allows him into his cluttered apartment. It isn't long before Mulder seats himself on the couch, the only safe place to sit, while Dales goes through drawers and boxes. "What you fail to understand in your joyless myopia is that baseball is the key to life - the Rosetta Stone, if you will," he says in his droll tone. "If you just understood baseball better, all your other questions your, your...the, uh...the aliens, the conspiracies they would all, in their way be answered by the baseball gods."

I've got a bad feeling this is what the Gunmen or I could've turned into had we veered into the baseball card-side of things, Mulder thinks. Then again, it was probably healthier for this Dales to get into baseball rather than the X-Files like his brother. Still, he plows on. "Yes, sir, that may be true," he says, falling into an odd sort of politeness rarely seen outside his family. "I'm thinking that your experience in Roswell could be germane to a conspiracy between men in our government and these shape-shifting alien beings."

The old man, however, dismisses both politeness and theory. "Oh, don't bore me, son. My brother Arthur started the X-Files with the Federal Bureau of Obfuscation before you were born. He was working for the FBI hunting for aliens when you were watching My Best Friend's Martians. You say 'shape-shifting.'" His pale, baggy eyes bore into the hazel eyes of the agent. "Agent Mulder, do you believe that love can make a man shape-shift?"

"I guess...women change men all the time," he smiles, thinking of Scully.

Dales snorts. "I'm not talking about women. I'm talking about love. Passion." He smirks, "Like the passion you have for proving extra-terrestrial life. Do you believe that that passion can change your very nature? Can make you shape-shift from a man into something other than a man?"

Again, even though he knows better, Mulder gets paranoid and defensive. "What exactly has your brother told you about me?" As before, this Dales keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on the mess he calls a home. "Mr. Dales, if you and your brother have really known about this bounty hunter and plans for colonization for the last 50 years, why the hell wouldn't you have told anybody?"

"Nobody'd believe me."

Mulder frowns. "I would have believed you."

Dales pauses in his search. "You weren't...ripe."

As before, Mulder's caught between wanting to strangle him and hit his own head against the wall. Instead, he leaps to his feet. "Not ripe?" He gets in the old man's face. "Let me tell you something - I have been ripe for years! I am way past ripe! I'm so ripe, I'm fucking rotten! This cuts to the very heart of the mystery of what I've been doing with my life for the past ten years!" Okay, a little histrionic, but he doesn't feel like killing the old bastard any more. At least, not yet.

Dales takes the rant in stride. "Oh, the heart of the mystery, the heart of the mystery. Ah, there you are," he beams as he holds up a model of a kneeling baseball player, an old child's toy bank in disguise. "Mr. Mulder - maybe you'd better start paying a little less attention to the heart of the mystery and a little more attention to the mystery of the heart. You got a dime?"

"What is this?" Mulder squints, wondering if the thing would be durable enough to withstand Sammy's inquisitive hands.

"This little fellow goes by the name of Pete Rosebud," Dales replies, showing off the bank. "If you keep pumping coffee money into him, he'll tell you a story about baseball and aliens and bounty hunters."

As he puts a dime into the toy, Mulder mumbles, "Isn't this a little childish?"

"Sometimes you need a fresh pair of eyes, a child's eyes, to look at things the right way," Dales says as the toy batter begins the windup. "Now, the first thing you got to know about baseball is...it keeps you forever young."

* * *

Later as Mulder gets a bottle of mustard out of a refrigerator that contains only beer, liquor, and condiments, he smirks. "I've got to give it to you, Arthur. Calling a Negro league team from Roswell the Grays is pretty clever. E.T. steal home, E.T. steal home," he does a bad imitation of the Spielberg creature. Then he squeezes the mustard onto the two hotdogs the other Dales is holding, taking one of them.

The heavy old man scowls at him. "I didn't make that up."

I know you didn't, the agent thinks, but hell, free hotdog, pizza and beer and a good story? Like I'd pass that up. Outwardly, however, his demeanor is, oddly enough, skeptical. "You seriously want me to believe that Josh Exley, maybe one of the greatest ballplayers of all times, was an alien?"

"They're all aliens, Agent Mulder," the old man intones in his W.C. Fields delivery, "all the great ones."

"Babe Ruth was an alien?"

The old man beams. "Yeah."

"Joe DiMaggio?" Mulder mumbles around his hot dog.

"Sure."

"Willie Mays?" Mulder prompts.

A snort. "Well, obviously."

"Mantle? Koufax? Gibson?"

"Bob or Kirk?" This Dales doesn't wait for a response as he plows on. "See, none of the great ones fit in - not in this world, not in any other world." Someone knocks at the door and Dales walks over to get it. "They're all aliens, Mulder, until they step between the white chalk lines - until they step on the outfield grass." The old man opens the door for a little boy in overalls, carrying what looks like a liquor bottle in a paper bag. "Like clockwork. Poor boy with my medicine," he grins, walking away with the bag, then nods at the agent. "Give the kid a tip, will ya?"

I hope our kids never have to resort to delivering liquor to reclusive old theorists, Mulder thinks, digging into his pocket. "So I assume you're speaking metaphorically?"

Dales snorts again, pulling his "medicine" from the bag. "Speaking metaphorically is for young men like you, Agent MacGyver. I don't have time for that. I only have time to speak the truth."

Mulder finally frees his hands, holding the hotdog in his mouth, and hands the kid a dollar.

The kid squints at the dollar, much as Mulder would've if he were the same age now rather than in the late '60's. "You're a regular Rockefeller, ain't ya?" Before Mulder can retort 'How do you even know who Rockefeller is?', the kid's running down the hallway and jumping over the drunk in the hallway.

* * *

Neither man pays attention to the black and white commercial on TV, as they are more wrapped up in the story unfolding from the old man's lips. They are sitting on the couch, surrounded by the bachelor's décor of empty pizza and Chinese takeout boxes. As Dales drinks his beer, Mulder says, "Let me get this straight: a free-spirited alien fell in love with baseball and ran away from the other non-fun-having aliens and made himself black, because that would prevent him from getting to the majors where his unspeakable secret might be discovered by an intrusive press and public and you're also implying that..."

Dales looks at him wryly. "You certainly have a knack for turning chicken salad into chicken shit," he remarks after a large swig of beer.

Mulder plows on. "You're also implying that this baseball-playing alien has something to do with the famous Roswell UFO crash of July '47, aren't you?"

Now the heavyset old man chuckles. "You're just dying to connect the dots aren't you, son? Look, I give you some wood and I ask you for a cabinet. You build me a cathedral. I don't want a cathedral. I like where I live. I just want a place to put my TV. Understand my drift?"

The agent blinks, then nods. "Drift it is, sir," Mulder says, still oddly polite.

Dales grins. "Trust the tale, Agent MacGyver not the teller. That which fascinates us is by definition true. Speaking metaphorically, of course."

"Okay, so was Ex a man who was metaphorically an alien or an alien who was metaphorically a man or a something in between that was literally an alien-human hybrid?" Mulder asks. The old man frowns, then hands him a pint of liquor. Mulder takes it and grins. "It's official. I am a horse's ass," he toasts, and he's fairly certain that, if Scully were there, she'd agree, but not drink the beer.

"What is it to be a human, Fox?" Dales asks, and Mulder has to control his wince at the casual use of his first name. Hell, "Agent MacGuyver" is preferable to his name. "Is it to have the chemistry of a man? In the universal scheme of things a dog's chemistry is nearly identical to that of a man. But is a dog like a man?"

"Well, I have noticed over the course of time, a man and his dog will often start to look like one another," Mulder grins again, thinking of how Scully and Queequeg resembled each other, although she'd kick his ass if he said that out loud.

"Of course not," Dales says. "To be a man is to have the heart of a man. Integrity, decency, sympathy: these are the things that make a man a man and Ex had them all had them all, more than you or I." Even as he returned to the story, Mulder notes his eyes soften again. As the previous time, he wonders, Will this be me in the future, holding on to past brushes with the incredible things I've seen and done, unable to face the present clearly and the future hopefully?

* * *

Mulder's got the hugest shit-eating grin on his face as he pulls up to the driveway. This is gonna be fun. Or painful. Whichever comes first. Like a dream, his wife comes out, with David and Jared on each hip and a quizzical smile on her face. "So, uh...I get this message marked "urgent" on our answering service from one Fox *Mantle*," and his grin gets wider, "telling me to get the kids in their grungiest clothes for my very special surprise. And, Mulder...I don't see any nicely wrapped presents lying around, so what gives?"

"You've never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?"

"No, I guess I have, uh...found more necessary things to do with my time than," she raises an eyebrow when he hauls a large duffel bag from the back of the minivan, "slap a piece of horsehide with a stick."

"That's about to change," he says as their more mobile kids join Scully at the front door. He leads them around to the backyard, where they're less likely to hit balls into a neighbor's window, or worse, into the street. Fortunately, because of his paranoia of folks sneaking through an unlit area around the house, the backyard is lit better than some ballparks. Then he grins at Luke, tossing him a catcher's mitt. "You're on ball duty."

"Aw, man," the tow-headed boy grumbles, but it's a good-natured grumble.

Scully would cross her arms if they weren't full. "This my very special surprise, Mulder? You shouldn't have," she says flatly.

"'Course I do," he says lightly, "I love you." As she rolls her eyes, he hands Luke a Wiffle ball and Page a Wiffle bat. "I'm guessing your dad taught you the finer points of the game, but for her sake," and Mulder nods vaguely in both Page's and Scully's direction, "go easy on her." As the boy grins, he walks over to his daughter and nods at Sammy and April. "Now you guys watch carefully, 'cause you'll be next." As they stare in frank curiosity, Mulder kneels on the ground and hunches over. "Okay, honey, when you see the ball coming at you, whack it." He positions his daughter's arms so that they swing the bat effectively. "Just like a piñata," he adds.

He isn't sure whether that was the right thing or the wrong thing to say, because when Luke tosses it, Page swings so hard she spins around, nearly beheading him in the process. As Scully and Luke laugh, Mulder can only give a shaky grin and silent thanks that it's only a Wiffle bat and not a real one. "Page?" he says, making sure to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah, Daddy?" she asks innocently, even as she brandishes the foam bat like a weapon of death.

::My God, I love you so much, sweetie,:: he thinks, and now, even more than ever, does he realize that, unlike either Arthur Dales, he's not going to end up alone and drunk and despairing of the future. It's Scully, and Page, and everyone else in his life, that saves him from that. Out loud, however, he says, "Page, honey, try to hit the ball, not Daddy's head."

"Okay!" she says brightly. Then she adopts what can only be called Scully's Stance of Death, and her proud mommy doesn't bother to hide a snigger at the expense of her hapless daddy.

Mulder suppresses a shudder. "All right. We're going to wait on the pitch. We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just going to make contact, I mean, hit that sucker." To his surprise and sudden pride, his little girl swings and hits the ball. "Yes! High-five!" After she triumphantly does so, he hugs her. "Who's next?"

* * *

It isn't long before Luke becomes the pitcher to not only Mulder's kids, but for his sister as well, and everyone is cheering, whether or not they hit the ball. Mulder joins his wife and two youngest sons on the door stoop, and as he wraps his arms around her, she leans into him. "So, Mr. Mantle, what brought this on?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes, when you concentrate on hitting that little ball...The rest of the world just fades away - all your everyday, nagging concerns." Scully giggles as Sammy does a little football touchdown dance, irregardless of hitting the ball. "Having to spend more sleepless nights for our upcoming child of looooooooove." This time, Hannah hits the ball, and they clap for her, even as he's sure Scully wants to roll her eyes at him. "How you probably couldn't afford that nice, new suede coat on a G-Woman's salary, but sure as hell look good in it." She shakes her head, smiling. "How you threw away a promising career in medicine," he lowers his voice as he murmurs into her ear, "to hunt aliens with a crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner and husband." Now she snorts and he sports a mock-wounded look. "Getting into the heart of a global conspiracy. Wondering how soon I can bed my favorite redhead - Oh, I...I'm sorry, Scully. Those last two problems are mine, not yours." She elbows him, and he rubs his arm. "Ow."

There's no sympathy on her face as she hands him the twins with a big smile. "Shut up, Mulder. I'm gonna play baseball."

He pouts, then sits David and Jared near the door. "You guys aren't gonna run away, are you?" he asks, pulling off his jacket. "Daddy's gonna shag Mommy, I mean shag some balls... Why am I explaining to you?" he asks, putting one drooling boy on his leather jacket, then the other before joining his wife.

"Mulder?" Scully raises The Eyebrow as he pulls a regulation bat and ball from the bag.

"Catch," he says, tossing her the bat. She does so, and he pulls another mitt from the bag. "Ready to take a whack at horsehide with a stick?"

"Bring it on," she smiles back, and now the kids pause in their game to cheer her on.

"Go, Mommy!"

"Hit it, Mrs. M.!"

"You can do it!"

There's a song in Mulder's heart as that smile nearly blinds him. "Okay, Scully, hips before hands!" He throws her some easy ones, most of which she misses, and she pouts. He wishes he could give her that up close and personal lesson he did before, but now, he's afraid that he'd end up dry humping her in front of their children, so he sucks it up and gets ready for another toss. He curls two fingers and stretches his right arm way back as if to give her a vicious curveball, but the delivery's surprisingly soft and as she swings, she connects.

Scully laughs with delight, and everyone cheers and claps. She bows deeply and repeatedly, "Thank you, thank you!"

Mulder chuckles, "Okay, my turn."

"But I wanna keep going!" Scully pouts.

"I never got a crack at that nice piece of ash," he points out, "the bat, Scully, the bat."

Her eyebrow's raised, but she hands it over. As he takes it, he hears a familiar voice call out, "Hey, is this a closed game, or can anyone play?"

They turn to see Doggett wearing an FBI trainee polo shirt and slacks, the weariness dropping off his face when he sees what's going on. "Dad!" his son says, and Mulder's again surprised to see how young this guy looks as his eyes brighten.

Mulder tosses the ball to the other man. "Go easy on me, John," he says, walking over to the unofficial "plate."

"Hell, no." Doggett grins, and as Mulder groans loudly, the kids laugh. "Ready?"

Mulder winks at his wife, then gets comfortable with the bat. "Bring it on."

"Uh-oh," Luke says, and isn't surprised when Mulder misses, the ball bounces off the door, hits the garbage can, and lands in David's lap. "Nice catch."

Scully giggles as she picks up the ball from her baby boy's chubby hands. "Your worries fading away yet, Mulder?" she asks, then tosses the ball back to Doggett.

"Hell, no," he grimaces, and Doggett laughs. It was gonna be a long night.

* * *

I made many mistakes and I haven't done right all the time  
But the Lord keeps on blessing me  
Not by my goodness, you may not understand  
The Lord keeps on blessing me  
I can't explain it, it's so amazing  
(The Lord keeps on blessing me)  
I can't explain it, it's so amazing  
(The Lord keeps on blessing me)

"We played baseball until our arms fell off," Mulder yawns, staggering into the bedroom, "so why was it still so hard to put five kids to bed?"

Standing on the bed, Scully kisses her husband after chuckling. "I love you, Mulder." She smiles.

He smiles back. "What was that for?"

"At the end of the day, even after talking aliens and drinking beer with a strange old man, you still manage to come home and play with the kids." Her smile becomes reflective as he pulls his shirt off. "Come here, you."

His slightly confused expression melts into an "oh, yeah" one when she takes off his jeans. "Someone's getting lucky tonight."

She snorts, dragging him down to a sitting position on the bed. "Luck has nothing to do with it," she says briskly.

His smile becomes lazy as he remarks, "How about fate? Destiny? Or what about reincarnation?"

*edited, see my profile for link to unedited nc17 version of chapter 75*

Blessing me (Blessing me)  
Blessing me (Blessing me)  
The Lord woke me up this morning  
Started me on my way  
So I got on my knees  
And gave God the praise

_"I'm Blessed" by Chicago Mass Choir_


	76. A Parting Shot

June 1999

It's a beautiful day in DC, and thankfully, an ocean breeze is there to cool off the attendants and participants of this occasion. Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best, some more comfortably than others, and more than a few fans are flapping as speech after speech drones on. Mulder and Scully are doing their best to ensure that their children behave, while Luke and Hannah are trying not to yawn as it's their father's big day. "Did you see Daddy graduate from cop school?" Hannah asks her older brother as another old man verbally meanders onstage. She's sitting with April, who, as usual, is sitting quietly.

Luke grins, the same face-splitting grin his father has. "Dad was always a cop when I was growing up. I guess this way, he gets to be a supercop all over the U.S. instead of just New York."

Page, sitting between her parents, looks up at her mother. "You and Daddy are supercops?"

Scully smiles. "I've never thought of it that way, but that's one way of putting it."

Mulder leans over Page and Sammy to whisper in his wife's ear, "We'll play 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' later." She reaches around them to swat her husband, shaking her head when their children ask what's going on.

Name after name is called, and each graduate is handed a certificate and shakes hands with the FBI director. People clap politely for other graduates but make more noise for their own, as is the tradition for most graduations. However, when John Jay Doggett's name is called out and he walks down the stage, he wants to hide. In the audience, his kids are making a lot of noise and standing on their chairs, as is Mulder and some of his kids. Scully, however, is clapping politely and pretending she doesn't notice the obnoxious people she knows or is related to. Doggett's grateful to the FBI couple for putting his family up, but honestly, he's glad he's never met Mulder before New York.

"Hey, congrats," Mulder waves when the man leaves the stage with the other graduates, clapping Doggett's shoulder. He's got the twins squooshed in his left arm, and he frees them slightly by holding them out to the newly-certified agent. "David, Jared, congratulate your Uncle John," and they dutifully slobber on the poor graduate, who dutifully grimaces and wipes it off. "Wow, after that first night, I thought we'd have to wrap you up like a mummy before sending you back out."

"Hah, hah." Doggett smiles ruefully as he's mobbed by the rest of Mulder's family as well as his own. "Glad you could make it," he tells a slightly older man with the same build but with a lighter complexion and darker hair marked with streaks of silver.

"It's a good idea to make federal connections," Doggett's older brother drawls. Like a lot of people in attendance, he's dressed in a suit and tie, but unlike his younger brother, he actually appears comfortable in it. He turns his professionally congenial smile onto Mulder and Scully. "I'm Joseph, John's older brother. You must be the nice couple who took him in, Mueller, was it?"

* * *

Scully, likewise, turns a social smile to the tall man. "I'm Scully, this is my husband and partner Mulder." Page takes her cue from her mother, also smiling politely, while Sammy runs with April and Hannah around Luke.

"Ah," Joseph Doggett says, but manages to convey a wealth of disapproval with that one word.

"Stray dogs get taken in, Joey," Doggett butts in, "these're friends."

The elder Doggett's winces slightly at the contraction of his name, but nods. "It's nice that you've got friends to watch over your young ones."

Putting a restraining hand on his wife's shoulder, Mulder says blandly, "So, Joey, what do you do?"

"It's Joseph," the other man says, nettled, "I'm in real estate. If you're ever in the Georgia area, look me up." He passes them a card, then shakes his younger brother's hand. "We'll be seeing you at home?" The question was phrased in something like a command.

Doggett gives a noncommittal grunt, and Joseph Doggett walks away. Once he's gone, Luke rolls his eyes. "Jeez, Dad, he's still as stuck-up as ever."

"Don't talk about your uncle like that," he scolds, but it's a half-hearted one at that.

"All right, old man," Mulder wraps an arm around the guy's neck, "now that you're officially an FBI agent, it's time to hit the house for one last par-tay!"

"I'm *not* an old man." Doggett glares at his so-called friend. "I'm less'n a year older than you, remember?"

"Hey," Mulder grins, "the fact that you slipped past the bureau's mandatory cutoff age thanks to military duty only endears you to me, you rebel, you."

Now Doggett shrugs out of the man's grasp. "You've just slipped from 'Spooky' to plain creepy," he makes a face, looking more like his son than his brother.

Scully laughs. "Mulder, behave." She doesn't say anything about Doggett's brother, who's already left the premises, but she can't help but feel a little sad for the guy. Instead, she focuses her energy on getting everyone, stray children and husband, loaded into the minivan, without killing anyone in the process.

* * *

The party at Mulder and Scully's house is, for the most part, a festive event, in no small part to Frohike's food preparation and Melissa's, well, interesting taste in decorations. The Lone Gunmen had expressed curiosity at the new agent, while Melissa and Emily enjoyed the excuse to have a party with family. "You shouldn't have," Doggett murmured, and Mulder merely grins.

A piñata, being the head of a green-skinned alien with its long arms outstretched, hung from the basketball hoop with a sign saying, "Don't forget us." Of course, they proceeded to whack the everliving heck out of the piñata, and lots of unhealthy goodies came spilling out of the "alien," much to the kids' and at least one Gunman's delight.

"It's too bad that doesn't happen in real life," Mulder sighs deeply, while Doggett rolls his eyes.

Nobody really touched on why Doggett's older brother had left, nor any other troublesome issues. Today is a day for rejoicing, and they do a lot of it over burritos, soda, and other food Scully would have had a problem with had not Frohike also offered alternative, or rather, healthier fare as well. The TV plays lots of kiddie VHS tapes, while the adults share stories and good-natured jibes with each other.

Being a lovely summer day in DC, it isn't long before an impromptu baseball game erupts in the backyard, and with a mishmash of adult and child players, both standard and Whiffle equipment are used with great aplomb. Even Langly joins in, to Mulder's delight and the shock of his fellow Gunmen, albeit with a Whiffle bat. Frohike and Byers declare themselves unofficial scorekeepers, while Melissa is content to be a cheerleader for all sides, and Doggett and Mulder keep up their not-so-secret rivalry on the mound. Of course, both men declare themselves the winner, but then Mulder concedes defeat, "only," he says, "because it's John's graduation day." Whereupon the graduate makes a face, everyone claps, and his children earnestly declare him "the real winner."

It's well past dark by the time the game, and the party, wraps up, and, for the most part, a good time is had by all, young and old alike.

* * *

Of course, it took Mulder and Scully at least four more hours, dinner, and mild bribery to get everyone in bed early. "Uncle John's leaving early in the morning, so you need to sleep now," Scully had told each child at least fifteen times that night. By the time she reached her bedroom, however, she yawned a monster yawn. "Tell me again why John wanted to go back to New York."

"Your brother's a better briber than we are," Mulder replies around a mouth of toothpaste.

"I think you just scared him off with the X-Files," she retorts, "and goodness knows, he's going to be a more-than-capable agent in any division."

Rinsing out his mouth, Mulder makes a face at his wife, then steps behind her as she takes off her bra. "We both know it's for Luke and Hannah's sake. They've got friends, school, a familiar life. Besides, should he ever change his mind," he murmurs, his hands fondling her breasts, "the basement office is open for new recruits."

Scully smiles up at him, yanking his sweatpants off to find him going commando. Of course. "You sure you want to let a skeptic like him on the team?"

He's nuzzling her neck, but chuckles, and the vibrations along her skin makes her ticklish. "He's hardworking, intelligent, and able to deal with any kind of crap life throws at him. And he's my friend. He's a good man, even if he doesn't believe in aliens yet."

"Are you sure you're going to bed with the right person?" she leans against him, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.

He snorts as he drops her pants. "Never let it be said I don't appreciate a ruggedly handsome man," he declares, making her chuckle, "but the only person I've ever wanted to make love to is you."

"Good," Scully declares, twisting around so that her entire naked body is facing his. "Because I've waited all day to do this."

And Mulder is awash in appreciation for his wife as she simultaneously kisses him hard and fondles him expertly. Whatever regret he has about John Doggett leaving is now forgotten as his glorious wife ravishes him with an energy he wasn't sure she had after tucking the kids in. ::Ooh, I'm definitely awake,:: he thinks, as they stagger towards the bed. ::No sleep for either of us tonight.::

* * *

Late July 1999

"What do you think of the name Christopher?" Mulder asks his wife one lazy summer afternoon.

Scully, who is lying draped across his lap while the kids play in the back yard, looks up at him. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. And I know the perfect middle name too. Reeve."

Mulder gives her a suspicious look. "It's not nice to tease like that, Scully."

"Who says that I'm teasing?" she asks.

"So if they ask me to fill out the birth certificate, and I write 'Christopher Reeve Mulder', you won't be mad at me?"

"Nope."

"Hmm," Mulder says, easing her off his lap. "I'll be back in a minute."

"I'll be here."

When he comes back he's carrying a piece of paper and a pen. "Page, come here!" he calls.

Page runs over. "What, Daddy?"

"Mommy wants to know too," Scully remarks, twisting to try to see what he wrote.

Mulder hands Scully the pen, then bends a little to address Page. "While you watch, Mommy is going to sign her name. Then you'll print your name on the bottom."

"Okay," the little girl agrees.

A smile plays on Scully's lips as she reads what's written on the paper. Instead of asking if it's necessary, she takes the pen and signs her name with a flourish.

When she hands the pen to Page, Mulder points to where she signs. Page wrinkles her nose. "What's wit-n-ess?"

"Witness. It means you watched Mommy sign."

"Okay." It takes Page three times as long to print her name because she's concentrating.

Mulder kisses them both on their cheeks. "I need a frame for this."

Scully smiles and shakes her head. Only her husband would want to notarize an agreement about what to call a baby. "Maybe we can get her made a justice of the peace when she's ten."

"That could have all sorts of uses," Mulder says gleefully.

* * *

August 14th, 1999

Sammy looks up at his father while they walk down the hallway. A couple of steps ahead Page is leading their sister by the hand, and Mulder has Jared and David in front and back baby carriers, which they're close to outgrowing.

When Mulder doesn't notice his stare, Sammy stops dead in his tracks. "Da-ddy!"

"What, Sammy?"

"A boy baby, right? A little brother."

"Sisters are nice too, you know," Mulder tells his son. ::Four boys. Five when William comes in 2001. Whoa. What have we gotten ourselves into?::

"Daddy!" Sammy squawks impatiently.

"Yes, you have a baby brother. Haven't we talked about that a dozen times since this morning?"

"Yes, but I wanted to know if you're sure!" Sammy says earnestly.

"I'm 100% sure, Sammy. I changed his first diaper before I came to get you."

"Okay," Sammy says sunnily, and they proceed to Scully's room without any further delay.

"Mommy!" the kids shout when they see Scully. Mulder gives the nurses talking in the hallway a sheepish look before following his kids.

Sammy and Page are already clamoring for their mother's attention, but quiet little April looks confused. Seeing this, Mulder picks her up and stands her on the chair by Scully's bed.

Her eyes widen when she notices the blond infant nestled in the crook of Scully's arm. "Oh," April says. "A baby."

Mulder tries to get David and Jared's attention, but they're too little to have much of an interest in what's going on. Giving up, he smiles at April, Page and Sammy instead. "This little boy is your new brother, Christopher."

"Hi Christopher," they chorus as if on cue.

Before Mulder gathers them to go, they've each given their mother a dozen kisses and told her how much they like the baby (because it's a boy, Sammy can't help but add.) She looks misty, and Mulder is sure that she misses them for some reason.

"Love you." Mulder kisses her goodbye. "Enjoy your last 36 hours of quiet."

Scully looks down at the baby and laughs softly. "You can't think that's true."

He shrugs. "Compared to these five missing their mom, it will be. I'll be back to visit tonight." He looks at the older kids. "a-l-o-n-e."

"See you then," Scully says. "And you kids behave for your father."

"Okay, Mommy," they agree before Mulder leads them out.

On the drive home Mulder wonders what it will be like now that they have six children. And if he can get the five of them in the back of his car to take a nap, since he needs one. He's been awake since he and Scully headed to the hospital late the night before. Looking into the mirror at the excited little faces, he decides that the answer is probably no.

* * *

August 17th, 1999

"Come on, Scully," Mulder tells her, while gently shaking her arm to wake her up. "We've got an appointment."

Yawning, Scully sits up. "For what?" She couldn't imagine where he wanted to go the day after bringing their newest son home from the hospital.

"To have pictures taken."

"A family portrait?"

"Okay, sure," he says a bit vaguely. "Everyone's dressed and fed but you, including Christopher, who I gave a bottle of the milk you put in the fridge. I'll have everyone in the car. I picked out clothes for you."

"Oh really?" she asks, but he's already wandering off somewhere else in the house.

His taste isn't too bad, she decides as she pulls on the blouse and skirt that seem to match the shirt and slacks Mulder has on. When she gets into the minivan, she looks over the kids and sees that they're wearing similar outfits. Even the twins are wearing tiny slacks and button down shirts.

* * *

Scully gives the building they pull up in front of a dismayed look. "Here's our first stop," Mulder announces.

"Mulder, I thought we were going to get a family portrait done."

"We are. Our appointment is at 11:30. We just need to stop off here really quick too."

The conversation ceases as Mulder does most of the work getting the kids out of the minivan. Once Christopher's in her arms, and Mulder is wrangling David and Jared, she gives him a suspicious look. "This is a place to have passport photos done."

"I realize that."

"But we have passports."

"Yes, we do. They don't." He moves his head to nod at the children.

"Why do they need passports?"

"Because we're going on vacation before Page starts kindergarten," Mulder announces. "Surprise."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I think it's a great idea. We'll go some place nice for Labor Day weekend, and the kids will have a blast. I haven't made travel arrangements yet, but I'm hoping to find some place with great fish," Mulder tells her, and she knows that he's thinking of Jared and David's fascination with their fish tank.

"Okay, what the hell," Scully says. Then she and Mulder watch as their antsy children are photographed, with the promise that the passports will be ready in seven days to twelve days.

"Seven to twelve days?" Scully asks on the way out the door.

"The guy who runs this place is a friend of the gunmen's, and he insisted on giving us preferential treatment," Mulder tells her with a slight shrug of his shoulders, which is barely perceptible under toddler weight leaning on them.

"So he wants to get on your good side if he ever runs into trouble," she guesses.

"Either that or he really takes the whole 'any friend of whoevers is a friend of mine' thing to heart."

"You take shameless advantage, Mulder."

"Hey, he volunteered, I didn't suggest anything. Let's get the crew into the van before we're late for our appointment."

Getting everyone back into booster and car seats, she couldn't help but wonder if she was being hypocritical. In his shoes, she probably wouldn't have waved off special treatment, either, if it benefited their children.

* * *

August 30th, 1999

5:55 a.m.

Christopher blinks bright blue eyes as he lays sleepily cradled in his mother's arms. Scully uses her foot to slowly rock the chair. With everyone else sleeping, she can pretend that her newborn is her only concern, as if he was firstborn like Page. Not sixth.

Sixth! It should be six times harder to raise six kids than one, but somehow it's not that hard. Probably, she decides while stroking Christopher's downy blond head, because she wanted every one of her children. They are living proof that something good could be born into what is often a scary world.

Each child is hope for the future that she and Mulder bestow upon the world. As she thinks this she smiles to herself. Put that way it sounds so selfless, the way Mulder once teased her about doing their duty to balance out dumb people by creating a bunch of smart ones. Potentially. But the older kids already display precociousness that promises brilliance...at least in her opinion.

No, though it probably does the world good to have the young Mulders in it, the simple truth is that she loves having babies. The pregnancies are a mixed bag, but once the babies are there it's mostly forgotten. At least enough to hope that each baby is not the last addition to their family.

The doorbell rings, and she hears Mulder's footsteps as he heads for the door. Still rocking, Scully hopes he'll send whoever it is away, then go back to bed himself. She's not ready for her quiet time with the baby to be interrupted.

But raised voices below shatter that hope. Holding Christopher close, she goes to see what has Mulder so upset. When she sees, she wishes that she'd left the baby upstairs.

Standing on the doorstep, Diana casts her an arrogant look. "I see the other baby is blond too. You must have a lot of blonds in your family tree, Fox."

Scully's mind tunes out everything after the words 'other baby' because she notices that Diana is holding a baby carrier in her right hand. The baby in it is also new, wrinkled and blond. "Diana, you have a baby," Scully says, surprised.

The nasty triumphant look the other woman gives her makes her feel a hot pit in her stomach. "Yes, we do."

"We?"

"Scully, she's lying!" Mulder yelps. "I've never been unfaithful."

"This suggests otherwise." Diana hisses, thrusting the baby carrier at him. He refuses to take it.

"That is not my baby," he says firmly.

Without saying a word, Scully turns and carries Christopher back to his room, where she locks the door. Rocking and crying, she ignores Mulder's demand that she come out.

* * *

Finally giving up, Mulder slumps up against the wall. At least Fowley left. At least the argument didn't wake the kids.

His ex-girlfriend is out of her mind. There's no way that baby is his. It's completely impossible. He hasn't laid a finger on her since she left him in 1992. If she'd shown up with a seven-year-old it would have been a nasty surprise, but plausible. This, on the other hand, is completely crazy.

But he hasn't failed to realize that the infant that she showed up with is very close in age to his lastborn son. If Morris had no qualms against using his body to have sex with Scully, how could he be sure that the man hadn't used him to sleep with Diana too?

The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. Of all the women Morris could pick to use his body to commit adultery with...::But how would he ever met her? She took off as soon as she was released from the hospital, months before Morris crash-landed into my life. She's lying. She has to be.::

If he'd of known that Fowley would be doing her best to fuck up his life now, he would have let the baby aliens have her instead of rescuing her. Maybe.

He's not sure how long he leans against the wall, wallowing in his misery. Eventually he hears the lock to the door release, which make him look up. Scully stares at him with an unreadable expression.

"You wouldn't cheat," she says finally.

"No," Mulder agrees. "I haven't and I wouldn't."

"I believe you," she says, pulling him out of hell. But then she plunges him back in. "But that doesn't mean that the baby isn't yours."

"How could it be mine?"

"Don't be naïve, Mulder. Have you spoken to Missy and Krycek about Emily?"

"What about her, in particular?" he asks cautiously.

"About how Krycek's genetic contribution came about."

"No."

"It was procured when he was comatose all those years ago."

"Ah."

"If they'd do something like that to someone on their side..."

"But I haven't been comatose," he points out. ::Yet::

"Maybe not, but you're been both unconscious and in the hospital several times." Scully points out. He can't argue with that, unfortunately.

* * *

Four Days Later

Scully slams a folder onto the table. "This is some kind of game."

Mulder looks around the kitchen, glad that the kids aren't up yet. "How so?"

"These are the DNA results for the baby. It's definitely not yours. It's not even Fowley's."

"Then whose baby is it?"

"I just don't know."

* * *

That Afternoon

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mulder shouts at Fowley. "You know damn well that she's not ours, not even yours. Whose baby is this, Diana? Did you kidnap her?"

Fowley gives him a look that is partly smug, and a bit pitying, but not at all sorry. "She's nobody's baby. An experiment like your wife's niece...one that failed in a different way. They think she's too human. I wanted to get her out, and using her to complicate your life was the only way I was going to get approval."

"Why didn't you just come to us and ask for our help instead of tormenting us?"

She shrugs. "Your reactions were more genuine this way. And I don't like your wife."

"Dammit, Diana..." Mulder growls. "Why do you care about this baby enough to get involved anyway?"

"I don't. I saw her and knew that I couldn't let her grow up to be my competition."

"Your competition?"

"Don't be naïve, Fox," Fowley says, fully unaware that she's the second person to tell him that in less than a week. "The syndicate has a philosophy about waste similar to that of ancient Native American tribes: there is nothing that can't have a use found for it. Little ones who are too human can be raised to take the reins thirty years from now."

"Are you going to hand her over to them now?" Mulder asks.

"Of course. I wasn't able to slip her into your nest, so back she goes."

Feeling a pang of guilt, Mulder says, "That's sad."

"That's life."


	77. Biogenesis

Mid-September, 1999

FBI Headquarters

Washington, DC

"How are agent Scully and the baby, agent Mulder?" Skinner asks one afternoon.

"Good, sir. Christopher is already sleeping through the night, and Scully refuses to believe that means we came home with the wrong baby, though," Mulder says with a naughty little boy's grin. "I think she's looking forward to getting back to work in a couple of weeks, but also enjoying her time at home with him."

Skinner nods. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Probably not," Mulder allows.

"I know that your wife is Catholic...are you two practicing the rhythm method?"

Mulder nearly chokes on his tongue, but recovers himself. "No, it's hard to explain if religion does or does not play into our family planning but... how about 'my wife loves babies and we can afford them' as an explanation?"

"I suppose both of those things are true," Skinner agrees. "And she does miss very little time, all things considered."

"Given that I spend almost as much time in the hospital as she does..." Mulder trails off.

"Ha, yes. Let's talk about a new case that's been sent my way."

* * *

That Night

"Daddy!" Page shrieks when she sees her father come through the door. He winces a little, because his head aches already. "Lookit what I made in school!" She thrusts a piece of painted on paper into his hands.

"What's this?" he asks, though he's got a good idea what it is. A stick figure man holds hands with a stick figure woman holding a baby, and six smaller stick figures roam across the page.

"Us. You and Mommy, me, Sammy, April and the babies," Page says, touching the appropriate stick figures as she explains.

"Who is this, though?" Mulder asks, touching a tiny figure off to the side. It's about the size of the baby stick figure that Stick-Scully is holding.

Page shrugs. "Don't know yet. But there's always more babies."

"You sound like my boss," Mulder tells her, and she smiles at him despite not understanding the joke. "Where's your mom?"

"In the living room," Page announces then skips off.

He finds her sitting on the floor with Christopher on her lap, and the twins nearby playing with large foam blocks. "Hey, Scully. How's everyone doing?"

"Fine. What's your new case?" she demands to know, affirming his suspicion that she feels almost ready to go back to work.

"A murder. A professor, Dr. Solomon Merkmallen, who was a biology professor at the University of Ivory Coast, arrived at the American University yesterday, and was promptly murderer. At least that's the assumption given the amount of blood found in the lab of one doctor Steven Sandoz, also a Professor of Biology."

"What's their connection?" Scully asks, looking interested.

"Both men espouse a fringe theory called "Panspermia. It's the belief that life originated elsewhere in the universe."

"I know, Mulder. It's the idea that Mars or other planets were habitable long before Earth and that, uh, cosmic collisions on these planets blasted microbes into our solar system - some of which landed and flourished here. You don't think this has anything to do with his death, do you?"

"Yes and no," he tells her, taking the rubbing out of his pocket. "Dr. Merkmallen found an artifact in his country. This is a rubbing of that artifact. According to Skinner Merkmallen claimed it contained a message— one that not only lend credence to his Mars theories, but also helped to explain mysteries here on Earth."

"Right."

"Fringe theory or no, that's the connection between the two biologists. Doctor Sandoz made a nearly identical claim in a science journal about another artifact of a similar nature."

"Maybe the murder was inspired by professional jealousy," Scully suggests. "Has anyone questioned Sandoz yet?"

Mulder rolls balls back to Jared and David, then waits for their squeals of delight to die off before answering his wife. "No. At the moment he's missing."

"Why does Skinner want you on the case, Mulder? It sounds like a garden variety murder with the murderer skipping town, afterwards. That's the sort of thing the police can handle."

"I don't know, Scully. He must have his reasons," Mulder says, reaching up to rub his temple. It took longer, but it's clear that he's still not immune to the effect of the drawing. Without saying anything, he gets to his feet and goes into the kitchen. Once the piece of paper is folded and stuffed into a drawer, he feels better.

* * *

The next night, after Mulder had visited the acerbic doctor Barnes alone, Scully finds her husband sitting at the table and staring at the drawing he'd shown her. His eyes are glassy, so it worries her.

"Mulder, are you okay?" she asks.

He doesn't look up. "Barnes said that Sandoz was convinced that the writing on the artifact is alien in nature."

"By alien you mean strange?"

"By alien I mean little gray men."

"Well, that shoots Sandoz's credibility to he-" Trailing off, she gives Mulder a startled look. Whether he's aware of it or not, he's grimacing in pain. "Mulder, are you okay?"

"I don't know. In my head. It's, uh...a hollow noise. The same thing that happened to me at work in the elevator earlier today after showing this to Barnes. "

"Are you sick? The flu, maybe?"

"No. This is going to sound weird but I think it's that thing." He points to the paper.

"How could a paper make your head hurt?"

He gives her a weak smile. "Never been served papers, huh?" Looking more serious, he says, "My head aches only when I look at that paper."

"It's got to be something else," she insists. He doesn't look convinced, but does look relieved when she's the one to fold up the rubbing and put it away.

Instead of continuing the conversation, he completely changes the subject. "How would you feel about having company before I go into the office tomorrow?"

"What sort of company?"

"An old friend who has been neglected for too long. I'll bring home take-out for breakfast when I get him."

"Okay, Mulder." She kisses his forehead. "Take some aspirin, and if you feel worse, I'll bring you to the ER."

"Yes, Mom, I will," he tells her dryly.

* * *

The Next Morning

The kids are fascinated when their father arrives home less than an hour after he left, this time returning with bags of breakfast food from McDonalds and a man they don't know. The breakfasts don't come with any toys, so it's Daddy's friend they're most interested in. He comes with toys.

Mulder and Chuck Burks set up the projector in the kitchen, so they can supervise breakfast with Scully. Of course, Christopher disrupts that immediately by demanding his breakfast too, so the men are left in charge of getting food into the kids, and keeping food out of the projector.

"Six kids, Mulder. Who would have thought?" Chuck asks, smiling at the older kids who are eagerly eating breakfast before it's time for school. Their sense of time isn't great yet, but they know that Michelle will be taking them in her car soon.

"I think my wife might have," Mulder deadpans.

By now Chuck's gaze has turned to David and Jared, who are both sitting in their high chairs, and picking up pieces of pancake to shove in their mouths. "Are the twins identical?"

Mulder glances at the spikey brown-haired boys, and they look back at him with two sets of hazel eyes. "We haven't had their DNA tested to be 100% sure, but my guess would be yes."

"The Olsen twins aren't identical," Chuck remarks. "They're fraternal."

"If they decide that they want to know, I'm sure they'll be able to talk their mother into getting the test done. For someone scientifically-minded she shows an appalling lack of curiosity about the subject."

"I heard that, Mulder," Scully says, and he turns so she can glare at him. "Chuck, it's nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too, agent Scully."

Before the adults can get anything accomplished, Michelle collects Page and Sammy to cart them off to preschool and kindergarten. This requires a lot of the kids going to their parents for hugs, and reminders not to forget their snacks.

Finally the dust settles, and Scully shows Chuck the rubbing. Taking it, he nods. "I recognize the ideography."

"Mulder feels that this is causing his headaches," Scully tells him.

"You know me. This is right up my twisted little alley. So, uh...what exactly are you experiencing, Mulder?"

"Noise. Aural dissonance. It comes and it goes."

"Is it happening right now?" Scully asks.

"No, but it was a minute ago."

"And it's only affecting you, triggered by the rubbing. Wow. That blows me away."

"Why?"

"Because the rubbing is a fake and I'm not the first one to say so," Scully says. "Being at home has given me time to do some research of my own."

"The writing is Cree—phonetic Navaho—but no literal interpretation makes any sense."

"And the fact that it was found in Africa makes it all the mores suspicious as a fabrication."

"Suspicious of what?" Mulder asks.

"Do you know what a Magic Square is?" Chuck asks him.

"Yeah. It has to do with the occult."

"Very cool. They first appear in the ninth century in history but, uh...When you talked to me last night I got a few slides I thought might be relevant." Chuck changes the image on the projector to show a Magic Square. "As the story goes God himself instructed Adam in their use and then handed down the secret to all his saints and prophets and wise men as a way of trapping and storing potential power to the person whose name or numerical correlative exercises that power."

"That's what this thing is?" Mulder says.

"Well," Scully says dismissively. "That's what someone would have you believe this is."

"How do you know that?"

"Look what I found in the library." Scully shows him a magazine. "You mentioned a science journal, so it didn't take long to find it." The article was written by Doctor Barnes. "Science Update – God Spelled Backward – Manufacturing Religious Artifacts for Fun and Profit." "Barnes documented Sandoz's fakery once before. You said he was blunt about his colleague when you met him, in here, but in here he is downright brutal."

"Does he back any of that up?" Mulder asks, knowing it's futile.

"Well, it's quite scholarly, actually."

"I looked Barnes up when you said you spoke to him, too. Barnes has made something of a career exposing science and religious fraud." Chuck says, putting up another article about Barnes onto the projector. "Name your wonder of the world—he's been there, debunked that."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be in his great interest to hide something that he couldn't disprove with his scholarship?" Mulder protests.

"Mulder, if it were real then why would an American Indian artifact be fused in rock on the west coast of the African continent?"

"In 1996, a rock from Mars was found in Antarctica. How did it get there?"

"It was from outer space," Scully says, and Mulder gives her a triumphant look.

"Begs the question, doesn't it?" Chuck asks. "Why produce a fraud with Navaho writing...in Africa?" Chuck stabs the rubbing with his finger.

When Mulder looks down at it, the noise fills his head again, and he throws his hands over his ears. This time his pain is witnessed not only by his wife, younger daughter and Chuck, but by his little sons. The look on their daddy's face scares the twins, and they begin to fuss. To their surprise and outrage, no one comes to comfort them immediately.

Instead, both Scully and Chuck are absorbed with Mulder's condition. "You look like you're in real pain, Buddy." Chuck says nervously.

This time he doesn't try to deny it. Let someone else make the horrible discovery at Sandoz's house. "Yeah. Feels like razors in my brain."

"I'm calling an ambulance," Scully tells him, and she looks at Chuck. "You don't have to stay."

"I think I'd rather."

She makes her call quickly, then returns to Mulder's side. He grabs her wrist. "You've got to tell Skinner. I think I know what's causing this and I know what happened to those two professors and that artifact. I got a sense of it yesterday when I met that man Barnes."

"You had a sense of it?"

"Yes. This man Solomon Merkmallen is definitely dead. Barnes knows it. He killed him—killed him in that lab."

"Okay, I'll tell him."

The ambulance arrives, and Scully and Chuck follow along in Scully's car.

* * *

Scully decides that she loves Chuck when he volunteers to look after April and the older babies so she can watch Mulder's MRI. "I think they like me, anyway." Chuck tells her, and it looks to be true. Neither boy has taken their eyes off of Chuck since they got to the hospital, and April has been unabashedly studying him too.

No one minds that she has Christopher with her, because he's sleeping peacefully, strapped to her chest.

In the next room Mulder lays as still as death, and Scully's anxious eyes cross from looking at him through the glass to looking at the monitor with the technician. She has better than a layman's knowledge of brain scans, but it doesn't stop her from asking, "Do you see any sign of a tumor?"

The technician shakes his head and she nearly yells out in relief. "There's no sign of a tumor, but there is some strange electrical activity in his brain."

"Strange how?" she asks, peering at the monitor.

"See these lights?" He points at small bursts of yellow and red. "People's brains don't usually show activity in those sections of the brain concurrently."

"Is it dangerous?"

"To be honest, I don't know. I'm a technician, so I'm not supposed to diagnose. We'll have to see what his doctor thinks of the scans."

In the end the doctor decides that the scans don't mean much, and she sends them home with a prescription for migraines.

* * *

Washington, DC

Mulder leaves Scully sleeping in bed, and heads into the office before she wakes up. He decides that asking for forgiveness is easier than asking permission, and he doesn't feel he should have to ask anyone if he's allowed to go to work anyway.

As soon as he's in Skinner tells him all about the gruesome discovery that other agents made the day before. The AD assumes that he must be okay if Scully approved of him coming in, and Mulder doesn't bother to rebuke the assumption.

"So you think Dr. Sandoz is innocent?" Skinner asks.

"He's afraid for his life because of what he knows and what he has."

Skinner pushes the rubbing towards him. "This."

"Put that away!" Mulder barks, and Skinner is so startled that he does. "Sandoz has the genuine artifact—one of several pieces of an unknown whole. Dr. Barnes has one now, too. That's why he killed Solomon Merkmallen."

"The way his body was disposed of..." Skinner trails off meaningfully.

"It was to incriminate Sandoz, to make him look like the killer. It's also to hide something. Something that no one would think to look for."

"Which is what? His identity? They didn't do a good job of that, because they left his head."

Mulder shakes his. "Not his identity. The body parts taken would retain telltale traces of radiation. If you do tissue samples you'll see that I'm right, since all tissue will retain some traces."

"Radiation from what?" Skinner wants to know.

"The artifact. It's giving off C.G.R. radiation. Cosmic Galactic Radiation. It's a kind of radiation that's found only outside our solar system."

"How would proving that there's this sort of radiation help us make an arrest?"

"Oh, forget the arrest. We've got to find these artifacts," Mulder says.

"Agent Mulder-"

"I know where to look."

When Mulder rushes out of the office, Skinner picks up his phone to warn Scully that Mulder's behavior has become more questionable, and that she should keep him from going off on a hunt for the artifacts on his own.

She thanks him for the information, but Mulder doesn't come home to pack to go anywhere. He just doesn't come home.

* * *

Southwestern General Hospital

Gallup, New Mexico

Before entering the room, Mulder watches as an unconscious Albert Hosteen is wheeled out of it by several orderlies. Once in the room Mulder finds another rubbing of the artifact on the bedside table and, fighting his instinct to recoil from it, eventually picks it up. On the back of the paper is a crudely handwritten copy of Genesis I:28

A concerned looking nurse comes in, obviously troubled that there's someone in the empty room. "Is there something you're looking for?"

"I've come to speak to Albert Hosteen, but he's not here."

"Mr. Hosteen cannot accept any visitors at this time."

"Yes, I understand. I saw him taken away. Can you tell me what's wrong with him?"

"I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information."

"I'm sure that he wouldn't mind you telling me," Mulder says, flashing his badge. "Mr. Hosteen has been working with the FBI for years, on and off. He's our Navaho expert."

The nurse gives him a sad look. "I think you'll soon need another. Albert has cancer. He's suffering from its effects...To be perfectly truthful, he's dying."

* * *

Hours Later

Doctor Sandoz is startled to find that he's not the first person to welcome Albert back to his room. Mulder is standing in the shadows, and his gun is drawn.

"Are you here to arrest me?" Sandoz asks raggedly.

"No, I think we can just settle for talking, as long as you don't plan to run off before they conversation is done."

"Yeah, okay," Sandoz agrees. He shuts the door most of the way and sits in one of the room's two chairs. Mulder hostlers his gun and sits in the other.

"Why are you here?" Mulder asks the doctor.

"Albert was the only translator who didn't dismiss me out of hand. When I showed him the original artifact he sensed immediately its power and importance. The trouble was, it was only one fragment—not enough to read. But then other pieces surfaced. Dr. Merkmallen found two more in the tidal shallows. He sent me a rubbing. Suddenly, Albert was able to make a real translation."

"Why do the aliens have text to our bible?" Mulder asks, leaning forward on his knees.

"They gave it to us. The text came from them. I can prove it. It's written here. I'm sure of it." He pulls another fragment out of his pocket. As soon as he does, Mulder grabs his head. "Are you okay?"

"No," Mulder says through gritted teeth. "Go on. But hurry."

"Albert was working to translate another section when his health turned." Sandoz says quickly. He looks alarmed because Mulder is starting to sweat, and his eyes are watering.

"What does it say?" Mulder asks thickly.

Sandoz shrugs in apology. "I don't know. So far it's just random letters to me."

Mulder's mouth opens and says the last thing his brain wants it to. "I need to take a rubbing of that too."

"Okay," Sandoz agrees, completely unaware that the illness he thinks Mulder has is caused by that very artifact. "Maybe you should see a nurse while you're here."

"No. Don't worry about me. Just a headache."

When Sandoz completes the rubbing, he takes his hand off of it. It begins to spin itself around, making him exchange a puzzled and horrified look with Mulder.

* * *

Ramada Inn

New Mexico

The cell phone in Mulder's discarded suit jacket buzzes angrily. He stumbles out of bed and gropes for it. On the second try he manages to open it.

"Hello?"

"Mulder! I've been trying to reach you for hours. Where are you?"

"New Mexico."

"Why the hell are you in New Mexico?"

"I came to see Albert Hosteen. And found doctor Sandoz here too."

"Okay, so why are the both of you there to see Albert?"

"He was translating the writing on the artifacts. The one Sandoz has with him has a biblical passage on it. From Genesis. A space artifact with part of our bible written on it."

"Mulder, it can't be both real and from space."

"Do you have any idea how this could change everything we know?"

"It's not real. It wouldn't mean anything or change anything."

"No, it would mean that our progenitors were alien, that our genesis was alien, that we're here because of them; that they put us here."

"Mulder, that is science fiction. It doesn't hold a drop of water."

"You're wrong. It holds everything. Don't you see? All the mysteries of science everything we can't understand or won't explain, every human behaviorism - cosmology, psychology, everything in the X-Files—it all owes to them. It's from them."

"Mulder, I will not accept that. It is just not possible."

"Well, then, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully."

"Come home, Mulder."

"I'm coming. Tomorrow." Mulder flips the phone closed, and crawls back into bed. Before he closes his eyes, he gives his suitcase a hateful stare. That's where the voices are coming from.

* * *

Washington, DC

When the phone rings early the next morning, Scully snags it, expecting to hear her husband's voice on the other end. "Scully."

To her disappointment, it's not. "It's Skinner. I'm calling with some bad news. Mulder's in serious condition here."

"Where's here?" she asks, sitting up in her chair.

"A hospital in Georgetown."

"What happened to him?"

"Nobody knows, Agent Scully. He was found like this at the airport about an hour ago. I'm sorry that no one called you first, but he didn't have his wallet with him, just his badge. You should do whatever you can to get here as soon as possible."

"I will. Don't let anything happen to him before I can get there."

"I'll do my best, agent Scully."

As soon as she hangs up she goes to wake up the nanny to let her know that she's leaving the house for an indefinite amount of time.

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

Washington, DC

Skinner looks up from his hallway vigil as an angry-looking Scully approaches him at full speed. "They just told me he's in the special psychiatric unit."

"I told you on the phone..."

"No, you said that there was bad news. You didn't tell me what was wrong."

Skinner hangs his head. "I don't know what to do, Dana. No one else does, either. I knew you'd want to be here to see him, to talk to the doctors." After a long tense pause, he alarms her more by taking her hand.

The fact that he used her given name gives her a nasty jolt, and she's afraid to ask Mulder's condition, but she has to. "What? What is it?"

Scully and Skinner enter a room where a doctor is standing in front of several monitors of patients in psychiatric cells. One of the patients is Mulder, pacing the small area. He is wearing a hospital gown.

The doctor doesn't look up. "You really shouldn't be in here."

"This is agent Mulder's wife," Skinner says sternly, and the doctor doesn't argue.

"What's wrong with him?" Mulder chooses that moment to face the camera in his room and scream Scully's name. She flinches.

The doctor looks chagrined. "We don't know what's wrong with him and we don't know what to do for him. He's got extremely abnormal brain function but there are no signs of stroke. We're waiting to run more tests. "

"Waiting for what?"

"He's extremely violent. With what we've given him he should be in a barbiturate coma but there's brain activity in areas we've never seen before."

"That's what a doctor said earlier this week, too, but she didn't think it was anything to worry about. Obviously she was wrong." Scully sighs. "I want to talk to him."

"No, I won't allow that. Right now he's a danger to everyone."

"Not to me," Scully declares. The doctor gives her a doubtful look. She turns and gives Skinner an accusing look. "This is your fault."

Skinner takes her arm, and she shrugs it off, but follows him into the hallway like he wants. "My fault how?" he demands to know.

"You assigned him to work on this case, his problems are related to the case, ergo this is your fault."

"That's not really fair," Skinner grumbles. "And this case is now closed. The X-File was a fraud."

"So what, Skinner? Declaring it closed doesn't fix Mulder!" A sea of heads turn in their direction when she shouts.

"Keep your voice down, Agent Scully," Skinner demands. "We'll resolve Mulder's problems too."

Staring at him, she wonders how he dares to make a promise like that.

* * *

It's not an easy night. The older children whine and demand to see their father when Scully tells them that he's sick, and they aren't put off by the explanation that they're too young to visit that particular hospital. Out of sorts, Sammy and Page squabble with each other, and hurt April's feelings by ignoring her. And the younger ones sense the discord too, which makes them cry inconsolably.

By the end of the night Scully is a bundle of frayed nerves herself. To top it all off, she's just gotten the kids to bed when the phone rings, demanding her attention too. Since she doesn't dare ignore it in case it's news about Mulder's condition, she has to answer it.

Before she can say hello, the man on the other end begins to speak. "Agent Mulder, Dr. Sandoz. I'm sorry, I didn't know how else to reach you. There's something-"

"Doctor Sandoz, this is Dana Scully. My husband is in the hospital."

"Oh dear. I had something to tell him of vital importance." The man sounds fretful. "Could you pass along my message?"

Instead of bothering to mention that he's not well enough to receive any message, she lets her curiosity get the best of her. "Okay, sure."

"Your husband and I were speaking of what Albert was trying to translate for me. I realized something a bit ago. The letters Albert translated on the artifact...I know what they are."

"What they are?"

"Yes. They're coordinates, Agent Scully."

"For what?"

"For genes. They're symbols for gene clusters - the human genome." Scully lets a pause grow and stretch out. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah."

"I think it's all here. The map to our human genetic makeup every gene on every chromosome—proof of what I've been saying. If only we could find more pieces." He trails off then adds brightly, "But there's supposed to be more here in Africa. Perhaps if your husband feels better, we could look for it together."

After his burble, there's an even longer silence. Scully wonders if he's still there. "Doctor Sandoz? Hello?" Then she hears something over the phone that sounds like a gunshot. Then there's just dial tone.

* * *

Washington, DC

Morning

As she waits for someone to talk to her, Scully wraps the cord to the phone around her fingers, letting it coil and uncoil. Eventually the insipid 80s adult contemporary song cuts off abruptly, and a chipper voice asks what they can help her with. "Hi, I need a flight to Africa. I'll be traveling with a one-month-old...yes, he'll have his passport and shots...one of the perks of being a federal agent, you can get a rush put in on these things...I'd like to leave within the next two days...Thank you."

When she hangs up, she begins to cry without realizing it. No part of her wants to drag a newborn halfway around the world, but she can't bear to leave him behind. And even less of her wants to leave the rest of her children, but she owes it to them to do the best that she can to find help for their father. Even if it means running off and leaving them behind.

It may be a long shot, but it's the only one she has.

* * *

Ivory Coast

36 Hours Later

An African man is speaking Swahili and showing the rubbing of the artifact to several other African men. They answer him and he turns to Scully. She's shading her infant from the startlingly bright sun overhead.

"It's the same," the man who spoke to the group explains. "I'll take you, but they are afraid."

The men lead Scully down to the water's edge, but stop well short of it. The spokesman takes her to a certain spot, then leaves her, himself retreating. She kneels down and brushes the sand away from a much larger metal plate with inscriptions on it. She looks around and slowly stands. It stretches under the water as far as the eye can see.


	78. The Sixth Extinction

Late September 1999

Ivory Coast, West Africa

A soft yellow glow illuminates the inside of Scully's tent near the ocean. Christopher sleeps peacefully in a mosquito-netted cradle that sits just a few feet from his mother's side.

Scully glances at the baby, again, and once she's satisfied that he's sound asleep, she goes back to looking at the rubbing of the artifact which first affected Mulder. Putting it aside, she bends her head over a letter she's writing.

_My dear babies,_

_I hope your Grandma will read this to you. I know that you are too small to understand why I'm not with you...all you know is that Daddy is sick and Mommy is gone. I'd much rather be at home with you, but I'm looking for a way to make Daddy better._

_I came in search of something I did not believe existed. I've stayed on now, in spite of myself. In spite of everything I've ever held to be true. I will continue here as long as I can...as long as your father is beset by the haunting illness which I saw consume his beautiful mind. What is this discovery I've made? How can I reconcile what I see with what I know? I feel this was meant not for me to find but for him ... to make sense of - make the connections which can't be ignored...connections which, for me, deny all logic and reason._

_What is this source of power I hold in my hand - this rubbing - a simple impression taken from the surface of the craft? I watched this rubbing take its undeniable hold on your Daddy, saw him succumb to its terrible effect."_

_Scully takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose, yawning. The children won't understand most of what she's writing, but she's mostly writing for her own sake anyway. An insect with large wings lands on the rubbing. She picks up her pen once more._

_"Now I must work to uncover what his illness prevents him from finding. In the source of every illness lies its cure. I promise you all that I'm doing everything I can to find a way to make your father better. I miss you._

_Love,_

_Mommy_

She folds the letter, then notices that the lamp is attracting the bugs, so she turns it down. When she turns to check on the baby, she sees a native man holding a primitive staff standing at the opening of her tent, but when she spins to confront him, he's gone.

"Who's there? Who's there?" Scully calls, not daring to leave Christopher's side to investigate.

Nothing responds but the crash of the surf. She picks up a near by machete, turns the light off all together, and settles in a chair next to her son. Hours pass uncomfortably, but the native man does not return.

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

Washington, DC

When Mulder's miniature form on the monitor curls into the fetal position, Skinner has to look away.

Doctor Harriman looks saddened as well. "He's been quiet for the last 36 hours, but he doesn't sleep. There's activity in the temporal lobe we've just never seen. It won't allow his brain to rest or shut down, manifesting in episodes of aggression ... sometimes against himself."

"You can't sedate him?" Skinner asks.

"Yes. We slow him down for short periods and put him in the neuro ward. It's the only way we're able to run tests. But over time...his brain is going to just die."

"He can't die!" Skinner says brusquely. "He and his wife have just had their sixth child."

Harriman gives him a helpless look, but Skinner has an idea.

* * *

A short time later Maggie arrives with Page and Sammy at Skinner's request. Both children quietly hold onto their grandmother's hands, and peer about, obviously hoping to catch sight of their father.

Maggie gives Skinner a wary look when he meets her in Mulder's ward. "Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"No," he says bluntly. "But if anything will snap him out of this, it's going to be his kids."

"What exactly is it that you think my grandchildren can do for him?" Maggie looks skeptical.

"Motivate him to try and get past this. A lot of healing has to do with will."

"You sound like my daughter Melissa."

He lets this pass without comment. "Wait here, and if I get permission, I'll come back for the kids."

"Okay," Maggie agrees. She settles Page and Sammy into chairs in the hallway, but Sammy climbs up onto her lap only a few seconds later. Not minding that, she wraps her arms around his small waist.

"We're going to see Daddy?" Page asks, her blue eyes filled with puzzlement.

"I think so, Baby. We'll wait until Mr. Skinner gets us."

"Mommy and Daddy's boss is helping Daddy," Sammy declares.

"He's trying to," Maggie agrees.

* * *

Down the hall Skinner waits while the door to Mulder's padded cell is unlocked so he can enter it. Mulder is sitting on the floor, staring into space.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner says softly. When there's no response, he kneels down next to him. "Agent Mulder, can you hear me?" Mulder stares at him for a moment, then drops his gaze to his fingers, two of which are bandaged. Skinner tries again. "Do you know who I am? It's Skinner, Walter Skinner."

Mulder doesn't respond.

Skinner sighs and stands. Turning to Doctor Harriman he asks, "Can we get him out of here and get him some fresh air, at least? Maybe it would do him some good to spend a few minutes with his oldest kids and his mother-in-law-"

Without warning, Mulder suddenly lunges at Skinner and grabs him by the throat and begins choking him against the wall. As he chokes his boss, Mulder's face remains calm and impassive. He doesn't seem to even notice when Doctor Harriman attempts to restrain him. "Let him go! He can't breathe!"

Mulder pushes Skinner to the floor, maintaining the choke-hold. Meanwhile Dr. Harriman runs out of the room and rings an alarm on the wall. Mulder still has Skinner pinned to the floor.

"Let go, Mulder. I don't want to hurt you," Skinner whispers harshly. Something flickers in Mulder's eyes that suggest that both men know that Skinner could hurt him, if necessary. His grip on Skinner's throat slackens.

Harriman returns with two orderlies who pull Mulder away from Skinner and shove him up against the wall. No one seems to realize that another person has followed them into the room until Sammy screams "Don't hurt my Daddy!" and launches himself at the nearest orderly and pounds at the man's leg with his small fists.

The orderly looks down at the little boy, obviously nonplused to be attacked by a four-year-old. Skinner, now that he can breathe, picks the child up and holds him tight. "It's okay, Sammy. They're not hurting him."

"Yes they are!" Sammy sobs. Maggie arrives a second later, white-faced and holding tightly to Page's hand.

"I'm sorry," Skinner apologizes as he passes Sammy to his grandmother. It's not clear who Skinner is apologizing to - Sammy or Maggie.

Maggie shoots Skinner a disgusted look, then walks off without another word. Sammy's crying fades from hearing as she pulls the kids down the hallway, but from the doorway Skinner clearly sees Page turn her head and look back at him before hurrying to keep up with her grandmother.

He remembers Mulder when he hears the doctor angrily order, "Five milligrams of Haloperidol IM! I want him in five-point restraints!"

Mulder gives him a hopeless look that mirrors how he feels about the situation.

"Let's keep him locked down all night," Harriman tells the orderlies before looking at Skinner. "I don't think you should see him again tonight."

"No." Skinner agrees and leaves. While still in range to hear the alarm and the voices, Skinner feels something in his breast pocket and pulls it out to find a small square of fabric from Mulder's hospital gown. The bandages on Mulder's fingers are explained, because written in blood are the words, "Help Me." Skinner looks back at Mulder's room, too.

* * *

Ivory Coast, West Africa

Scully stands at the mouth of the tent, staring out at the beach. Two trucks full of men have just reached Scully's camping site. Already, they're exited the vehicles and are running toward the ocean and the buried craft.

Two people have lingered at the trucks, one of them a tall, dark woman. Scully doesn't react when the young woman walks to her.

The other woman, upon seeing the infant slung across Scully's chest, does. "That's a very little baby." She pauses, considering, when Scully doesn't reply. "They said you speak English."

Scully is gruff, which covers her curiosity as to what other language choices seemed likely to the locals. "What do you want?"

"I am sorry. You must wonder who I am. I am Amina Ngebe. I've come to see your discovery."

"I asked that no one be told about it...nor that I'm here."

"Yes. Well, uh, it is still a secret but a well-known one, I'm afraid. Dr. Merkmallen called it the African Internet, God rest him." Amina grins.

"You knew Dr. Merkmallen?" Scully asks, not really looking at the other woman. Instead she's peering down at Christopher, wondering if he's going to cry, or just yawning.

"I, too, am a professor of biology at the university but, uh, hardly one qualified to say what must have gone on here."

"Here? Nothing has happened here," Scully protests, then blushes when she notices that Amina's eyes are riveted to the machete still propped against her chair. "Uh, I saw a man who vanished...and it seemed best to be armed."

"You must not let the men know what happened to you last night - the vanishing man, none of it." Amina says, but she's looking around the tent, perhaps for more signs that something odd happened.

"Why?"

"They'll take this as a sign to leave what you have found alone, a bad omen."

"Caused by the ship out there?"

"Mm. Caused by God...who will be much less helpful than those men if we are to continue this work."

Scully thinks to protest this, but decides against it. If God is guiding her steps, he's doing so quietly.

Outside, the men are working in the water to uncover more of the craft. One of the men begins screaming for help. Amina gives Scully a startled look. "He says the water is boiling!" Both of them dash outside.

The screaming man splashes around as if in agony, like people in movies about shark attacks. The other men exit the water, followed by the man in pain. They reach him just as he's able to flail his way to the shore and fall out onto the sandy beach. One look at him reveals that he's is covered in second and third degree burns.

"Let's get him in the truck! He's got to get to a hospital! Hospital!" Scully waves her arms, but doesn't try to lift him, because she's scared that Christopher will be squashed. Two men quickly, but gently, lift him into the back of the truck. Scully taps on the side of the truck. "Okay! Go!"

As they drive away, Amina gives her a disquieting look. "You see? Another warning."

Scully watches the truck kick up sand as it drives off towards the hospital.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Residence

Maggie watches as David takes a few steps, and tries to remember when her daughter called to tell her that both of the twins had taken their first steps. It had been after Christopher was born, so it had to have been within just the last couple or three weeks. It seems like longer ago to her.

The kids seem to be getting big so fast that it sometimes scares her. Even little April has just started clamoring not to be left behind when her older brother and sister go to school. Mulder says that it's going "fine" when she finally does go the next year but Dana recently confided that it worries her that the girl is so quiet, how will she cope in a classroom setting? Maggie tried to tell her a lot can change in a year, but she's not sure her daughter listened.

Right now April is very carefully using a plastic watering can on a trio of potted plants set at a height above her little brothers' heads. This means that she's standing on tip-toe to make the reach. Drops of water roll of the leaves and splatter the dark potting soil below.

"Those are pretty flowers, April," Maggie remarks.

"Yup. This one violet."

And that's the thing that grabs Maggie's attention about her granddaughter's vocabulary. She uses big and little words indiscriminately, which probably means she knows a lot of them. "Violet means purple, just like the flowers are."

April nods. "Leaves is green, though."

"Yes they are." Maggie bends to pick David up when he trips over his own feet.

"Gramma? Daddy listens," April tells her.

"To what, Sweetie?"

"The people. Talking in his head."

This alarms Maggie so much that she asks her, "You mean he's hearing voices that aren't there?" As if a child of two and a half understands why that's bad.

"No. He hears us," April says calmly, and lets the conversation drop.

Still confused, Maggie pats her on the head. "Can you ask everyone to come down so we can go to dinner?" She's planned with Michelle to take the kids out since neither of them feels much like cooking given how upset Sammy still is about his visit to his father.

"Yup, okay." April runs off, and Maggie wonders what exactly the girl was trying to tell her.

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

11:32 p.m.

Skinner moves furtively down the corridor, and doesn't realize that he's more noticeable than if he wasn't trying to avoid detection. Mulder's room is empty when he pokes his head in, so he slips in quickly and shuts the door most of the way. Mulder's lying rigidly on the bed, and the sight of his uncovered bare feet fill Skinner with unexpected pity.

He approaches the bed and speaks softly, hoping no one else will hear. "I want to help you. I don't know what to do. I don't have much time." Mulder taps the bed with his bound right hand impatiently. Seeing this, Skinner asks, "Can you write?"

Mulder nods minutely, so Skinner gives him a pen and helps him hold it. Mulder slowly and carefully writes down what looks like a name. Puzzled, Skinner looks at it once Mulder finishes writing. "I recognize this name, but I'm not sure where from. It's someone from an X-File, right?" Mulder nods again. "I'll figure it out. Try to hold on, Mulder."

Mulder doesn't seem to notice when he leaves the room a minute later.

* * *

The Beach

Night

The tent is a yellowish color, turned gray by the moonlight. Lying on her back, Scully stares at the ceiling. Nearby Christopher and Amina sleep peacefully.

The sound of an engine and a glimpse of lights through the tent wall have Scully bolting out of bed. She shakes Amina's shoulder, and then points to the sleeping baby when the half-awake woman gives her a questioning look. Scully hesitates only long enough to pick up her machete before going out to see what's going on.

There's a truck parked a hundred yards away, and the driver gets out and begins to speak to her. Scully listens to him for a moment, then gives it up as a lost cause. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't speak your language."

Undeterred, he waves his flashlight in the direction of the water and takes a few steps towards the submerged craft. She makes no move to follow him.

"Perhaps you need an interpreter," a voice says behind her.

Turning quickly, she finds doctor Barnes standing behind her, and recognizes him from the photos Mulder and Chuck showed her at the house. She holds up the machete warningly, "I know who you are! Stay away from me!"

"Are you going to hack me up in front of my driver? Word is you're under suspicion already." He nods towards the local man who is now inching his way towards the craft.

"You're the murderer here."

"Murderer of who?" Amina calls from the mouth of the tent. Christopher is in her arms. Scully motions for her not to bring him closer.

"Dr. Merkmallen!" Scully calls to her.

"I murdered no one but I won't be sent away from here. I know what we've got. This craft that's come ashore? It's extraterrestrial origins?"

"You don't even believe in that," Scully accuses.

"Nor do you. But here we are."

"I'm here only to help my husband."

"I realize that. You don't strike me as the type to haul a newborn out of the country on a less desperate mission. Let me help you...to read it. I've spent my life looking for what's out there ... the answer to what theologians have pondered for millennia...the key to everything...to life itself. I've already been threatened by men in Washington about what I know. How long would your secret keep if you were to send me away?"

At the water's edge, Dr. Barnes' driver calls to them, beckoning them to the shore.

"What is it?" Scully asks, peering into the darkness.

A sudden light illuminates the water, and Scully realizes that Amina has gone back into the tent for a powerful flashlight. A horrified awe fills her voice. "It is a sea of blood."

Barnes and Scully walk towards the driver and find that it's true. The water around the craft has turned blood red. She wants to believe that it's a trick of the light, but she knows that it is not. Behind them, Christopher begins to cry.

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

The nurses' station is curiously abandoned as Skinner walks by it with Michael Kirchgau. It had taken him longer than he wanted to figure out where he'd seen the name before, and the man gave him a less than welcome reception when he arrived to bring him to the hospital.

"No nurses. There must be a problem elsewhere on the floor." Kirchgau remarks. "They don't hire many for this time of night."

Instead of replying, Skinner ushers him into Mulder's room. Mulder is still restrained, and his blank eyes aren't looking at anything in particular. A nearby monitor registers his brain activity.

Kritschgau stares at Mulder. "Can he even recognize me?"

"To be honest, I don't know. He wrote out your name, so he still knows who you are, anyway." He turns to Mulder. "Agent Mulder?" The monitor notes that Mulder's heard him, but he doesn't move.

Sighing, Skinner points to the monitor. "I got a crash course in neurology from his doctors. His brain is on constant redline. They've got him on Haloperidol just to keep him on the monitors."

"Haloperidol?" Kritschgau asks with raised eyebrows.

"He becomes violently agitated. He just won't speak or sleep even when he's medicated. There's activity in part of his brain they've never seen before."

"Was his..." Kritschgau stops speaking and flicks his eyes towards the read out on the monitor.

"Was his what?"

"I started to ask you a question about his prior mental state but he anticipated it. Second time. Agent Mulder?" The monitor records more activity.

"He claimed to be hearing something. Babbling voices."

Kritschgau nods and sighs. "I might know why Agent Mulder asked for me. Doesn't mean I can do anything for him."

"What just happened?"

"I think he responded to a question...I didn't ask."

* * *

Later on Skinner feels like a felon. He's just pushed an unresponsive Mulder down the hall, and now in a deserted lab, is watching Kirtschgau pick a lock on a cabinet.

"I don't know how long we can keep him out of that unit. We can be held responsible," Skinner says anxiously.

"You asked me to come down here. You better be prepared to accept the responsibility Mr. Skinner." Kritschgau finally pops the lock and begins to ready a syringe.

"You're going to inject him with something?"

"No. You are. With a thousand milligrams of Phenytoin."

"I'm not injecting him with anything, not now and not till after I've talked to his doctor," Skinner says firmly.

"He's being given the wrong treatment."

"You're not a doctor."

"No, but I've seen his condition. Who do you want to trust?"

"Seen it where?" Skinner demands to know.

"In a study. There's something like E.S.P. called 'remote viewing.'"

"Whose study?"

"The company's - the CIA, Mr. Skinner. Extreme subjects would go into arrest their minds working harder than their bodies could sustain. They became, in effect, all brain. Phenytoin was the only thing that could slow the electrical impulses to a normal rate."

"Agent Mulder knew about this. That's why he asked for you." Skinner reluctantly holds out his hand, and injects the syringe into Mulder's IV line. Instantly, Mulder's body starts to relax.

Mulder stares up at Skinner and rasps. "They're coming."

* * *

Skinner goes alone to return Mulder, and sees an angry Fowley lurking in the room. Tried of theatrics, he orders her out of the room after commenting that he'd just found Mulder wandering the hallway. The nurse, spooked by the subtle complain, evaporates too.

"She knows," Mulder says as Skinner helps him back into bed.

Skinner blinks, surprised. "You can read her mind?"

"Yeah. We got to act fast."

"The doctor's on his way."

"No doctors. Get me Scully."

"I can't Mulder. She's not here."

"Look...I know you've been compromised. I know Krycek is threatening your life...Blackmailing you. You don't think I can trust you but it's not you that I need."

"Then who?" Mulder looks towards the door, where Kritschgau is lingering.

"Him. Kritschgau. Ask him to prove it."

"Prove what?" Kritschgau asks.

"What's causing this."

"It's a brain abnormality. It's how you're able to read minds."

"What's causing this is alien. That's why my doctors can't help me."

"I don't believe in aliens, Agent Mulder. I think you know that."

"I do. That's why I need you."

* * *

The Beach

The Following Day

Scully and Amina sit on the floor of the tent and move around pieces of paper. Each piece is covered with rubbings that they've made of craft.

When Barnes enters, Amina looks up at him, then glances at Scully. "Now that you're both here I have something to show you...more pieces of the puzzle. I couldn't believe it. I thought I was making it up in my head, that it could not be true."

"What?"

Amina points at the papers in front of her. "What this is. What the symbols spell out is a passage from the Koran." She speaks an Arabic word, which she then translates for them. 'The day of final judgment.' On a spacecraft? Teachings of the ancient prophet Mohammed?"

"I found more, too," Scully says, leaning over carefully so she doesn't disturb the baby in his sling. She touches rubbings that she's pushed together. "24 panels...One for each human chromosome. A map of their makeup - maybe a map of our entire genetic makeup..." She sighs, sounding overwhelmed by the wonder of it. "A complete human genome. I mean, it's like...it's the most beautiful...intricate work of art."

"It is the Word of God," Amina says reverently.

"You're wrong." Barnes objects. "There is no God. What's out there on the water...is only what we call 'God'...What we call 'creation' - the spark that ignited the fire that cooked the old primordial soup...made animate from inanimate...made us."

Amina glances at Scully. "I believe he is mad from the sun."

Barnes snorts. "Mad? I'm perfectly sane...because today I understand everything beginning and end, alpha and omega, everything in between. It's all been written. But the word is 'extraterrestrial.'"

Scully begins to feel concerned, finally realizing that Amina was not be sarcastic. "You're sick, Dr. Barnes. You need to get off your feet, lie down."

Dr. Barnes picks up Scully's machete and holds it threateningly. "You think you're going to take the credit? This is my discovery. "

"I'm only here to help my husband."

"You can't help him. You're wasting your time reading it."

Amina glances towards the baby. "Have a care, Doctor Barnes. You're speaking about that child's father."

"It has power ," Scully insists, ignoring the inner voice that has also told her she's wasting time.

"It is power...the ultimate power. Your husband just got too close. " He stalks across the tent and sits in front of the opening. "No one leaves here before me."

Scully and Amina Ngebe exchange glances and watch him nervously.

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

Mulder's Hospital Room

Mulder watches with interest as Kirtschgau sets up three laptops in front of, but facing away from him.

Looking to Skinner, Kritschgau explains, "We developed this to test remote-viewing capabilities. It works much like a card trick. You tap the monitor where the saucer image appears when it appears or when you think it does. Okay?"

"Who ya gonna call?" Mulder asks, but the joke falls flat. After Kritschgau tells him to begin, he touches the top of the monitors one after another. "Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now."

Skinner gives Kritschgau a look: most of the attempts are wrong.

"All right, Agent Mulder, fine. You're at about five percent accuracy," Kritschgau says.

"I'm assuming that's low?" Skinner asks.

"Yeah. At the CIA a high degree of ability was 20%. 25% was extraordinary."

"But I see them in my head," Mulder protests.

"You saw his ability earlier. It was you who pointed it out," Skinner says.

"Well, our tests showed that some people have psychic abilities, sure. I mean, E.S.P. clairvoyance, remote viewing but it was never attributed to aliens."

"You don't want to believe," Mulder says. "You're not looking hard enough."

When Kritschgau starts to turn off the monitors, Skinner stops him. "One more time, faster."

He does, but there's a doubtful look on his face. Mulder taps each of the speeded up images at exactly the right time.

Kritschgau stares at Mulder in awe. "He's ahead of the images. He's anticipating."

* * *

The Beach

Night

Scully and Amina Ngebelie sit on their the cots, awake. Doctor Barnes is still manic-still holding the machete-still guarding their only exit. Everything begins to shake without warning, and the sound of clinking glass fills the tent. The bag in Doctor Barnes' lap begins to writher, and he looks in it with an amazed expression on his face. He reaches into the bag and extracts a handful of live fish.

"They've come back. They were dead. They've come back to life! The ship - it brought them back to life!"

He's so consumed by surprise that he doesn't notice the chair in Scully's hands until it's impacting with his skull. He tumbles over backwards, knocked out.

Scully and Amina pause only long enough to grab the baby and the rubbings. Then they race out to the truck, throw themselves in it, and speed away.

"We have to get to the police," Scully tells Amina.

Amina nods without taking her eyes off the road. "That is where I'm going. This is the road to Abidjan."

Just ahead of them, in the middle of the road, Scully sees the Native man who bothered her once before. He makes no attempt to get out of the way, so Scully shouts, "Stop!"

Amina stomps the brakes, and tires squeal as if being tortured. They brace themselves for an impact that never happens. When Scully looks back, the man is gone, as if he was never there. "That was him," she insists. "That was the man I saw in the tent...in the road."

Scully turns back to Amina Ngebe, but in the woman's seat, she sees the native man glaring back at her. "Some truths are not for you," he intones in a voice filled with power. Before she can shy away, taps her on the face, and she freezes up, as if paralyzed.

Then, just a moment later, Amina is back behind the driver's seat. She touches Scully's face, making her flinch. "Are you all right?"

Scully gasps loudly, her hands automatically touching her baby to make sure he's okay. He howls at the indignity of being woken up. "Oh, God. What were you doing?" Scully asks Amina.

"You were cold. I was just feeling to see if you were still alive."

"What happened to you?"

"To me?" Amina gives her the same look she gave Barnes when she declared him sun-sick.

"You slammed on the brakes. There was a man."

"That's right - in the road."

"No. He was right there - sitting right where you are in your seat."

Amina shakes her head. "The men were right. This is a bad sign. A sign to give up." She starts the engine and pulls back onto the road.

"Turn us around, please." Scully begs.

"Not back to the beach."

"No... I'm going home."

* * *

Georgetown Memorial Hospital

Mulder's Hospital Room

If Mulder realizes that he's not alone in the room, he gives no sign of it. Skinner puts his hand on Mulder's forehead, trying to get his attention. "Agent Mulder, I don't know if you can hear me but we're going to try to get you out of here." Mulder doesn't react as Skinner undoes the restraints holding down his arms.

Kritschgau bursts into the room looking agitated. "a.m. nurse is on in five minutes. We got to move."

"I don't think he's in any shape," Skinner protests.

Kritschgau pulls a bottle and syringe out of his pocket. "I'm going to hit him pretty hard. Maybe we can get him on his feet."

"What are you doing?" Skinner barks. "I know what you're doing."

"I'm trying to help him."

"No, this isn't about him - it's about you, it's about revenge against the government for trying to destroy your life."

"I was destroyed to protect what Mulder knew all along. Now he's the proof- - he's the X-File." Kritschgau declares in what is obviously meant to be a reasonable tone.

"We can't just keep shooting him full of drugs." Skinner pulls the needle away from him. "It's gone too far."

"How far should it go? How far would Mulder go?"

After a moment of staring at Mulder, hands the drug back to Kritschgau. Monitors begin to beep as frantically as toy breed dogs announcing the presence of an invader. Kritschgau is still pushing the plunger when Fowley, nurses, and doctor Harriman swarm into the room.

Doctor Harriman looks angry and alarmed. "Hey! What's going on here?"

"Let me see your hands. Hands!" Fowley yells at Kritschgau. Skinner is idly wondering if she'll pull a gun on him when he finally complies, holding up empty hands. "Step away."

"Agent Fowley, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Skinner asks.

"What am I doing? What are you doing, Sir, with this?" She waves the used syringe that had fallen to the bed. She turns to the other man. "I want you to face the wall. Do you hear me? Face the wall."

"Let me explain," Skinner says, but no one listens.

"What was this man given? What was in this syringe?" Harriman asks.

"Phenytoin," Fowley reads.

Skinner tries again. "Let me tell you what it does."

Harriman sounds even angrier. "How much did you give him? What dosage was this?"

"Let me tell you why we did it-" Skinner begins, but the monitors attached to Mulder begin a siren song as he goes into convulsions.

"He's going into seizure." Harriman tells a nurse, who is swooping in to assist. "Watch his head. Mr. Mulder? Can you hear me? Hold him. Hold him."

Skinner steps away, completely forgotten about. He doesn't really mind.

* * *

Airport

An Hour Later

It seems like people are speaking a thousand different languages as Scully waits impatiently for her plane. Mostly, it's just that the words of a hundred different conversations in just a handful of languages have melted into the sounds that remind her strongly of the ocean waves on the beach. Sighing, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, determined to add to the din.

"Skinner, it's me, agent Scully," she says as he answers on the second ring.

"Where have you been?" He sounds almost angry, which fills her with a nameless dread.

"I'm in Africa. We're waiting for our flight home. Is Mulder still at Georgetown Memorial?"

"He's in the neuro-psych ward but it's not good, Agent Scully."

"How not good?" she demands to know. "I'm going to be on the plane for twenty-two hours. I need to know what I'm coming back to."

"He's not in immediate risk of dying, so I'm sorry to panic you. It's just that you should know what you're going to see if you can even get on the ward. There's been some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I got this man, Kritschgau, involved. It's a long story, but it ended badly. They've got Mulder under security now around the clock. I take full responsibility."

"Responsibility for what?"

"He can't even communicate, Agent Scully. They won't treat him because they don't know what's wrong with him. They said he was dying sooner than later. I had to do something."

"He's not dying," Scully says calmly.

"I'm afraid it's true."

"He's not dying. He is more alive than he has ever been. He's more alive than his body can withstand and what's causing it may be extraterrestrial in origin."

"I know. But there's nothing to be done about it. When you get here, I'm afraid that they're going to deny you access."

"Maybe as his partner...but not as his doctor. Not as his wife." She pauses. "Are you there in the room with him?"

"Yes, why?" he asks, sounding cautious.

"Give him the phone."

"He can't hold it," Skinner protests. He doesn't want to say that Fowley and Harrison are now supervising each of his visits. Both of them are glaring at him.

"Then hold it to his ear!" she snaps.

"Okay. I'm doing it now."

After a moment of moving noises, she begins to speak to her husband, not caring if Skinner can hear what she says. "Mulder, it's me. I know that you can hear me. If you can just give me some sign." She listens hard, but hears nothing but the faint sound of breathing. "I want you to know where I've been...what I found. I think that, if you know, that you could find a way to hold on. I need you to hold on. I found a key...the key...to every question that has ever been asked. It's a puzzle..." Her voice begins to break. "But the pieces are there for us to put together and I know that they can save you if you can just hold on. Mulder...please. Hold on."

After a minute Skinner takes the phone back. "Have a safe flight, agent Scully. I'll do what I can for him until you get here."

"Thank you," Scully says, then snaps her phone closed. An announcement has just listed her plane for boarding.


	79. The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati

October 1999

A distant voice drones, "We've exhausted all medical and scientific evidence. By that I mean nothing we can find - no disease, no hint of disease, only symptoms. The brute fact is he's experiencing so much activity in his temporal lobe that it is effectively destroying his brain."

"Enough. There's only so much bluntness a mother can take," Tenna Mulder says, before wiping an errant tear away. "I shouldn't even be the one making decisions. That's what wives are for...but his is chasing some quack cure, dragging my month-old grandson with her."

"I'm realize this is difficult, Mrs. Mulder. I just..."

"All you do is sedate him. You're turning him...into a zombie," she accuses, stroking Mulder's cheek. "I know you can hear me, Fox. Can you give me a sign?"

"I can hear you, Mom," Mulder replies.

"Fox. Come on now. Your family needs you." She pauses. "I need you too." She shakes her head lightly. "I even called your dad, and you know how unusual it is for us to talk. He hopes you'll hurry up and get better as well."

"Mom, I can hear you. I'm here," he tells her, puzzled by her refusal to hear him.

She bends down and kisses his forehead like she'd done when he was young and too sick for school. "I love you, my darling boy." Then she shakes her head again, this time sadly, and walks away.

"Mom, where you going? Mom! Mom! Come back, Mom! Mom! What did you mean about Scully? Please come back, I need you! Mom! Mom!" Exhausted from his futile screaming, Mulder doesn't fight the darkness when it rolls in.

Eventually it lifts. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. Ah, but your mummy will still love you. All a mother wants is to shield her boy from pain and danger. Safe in the world as he was once in the womb. But maybe we think a father demands more than mere survival. Maybe we're afraid a father demands worldly adulation success, heroism..." The smoking man whispers in Mulder's ear. "I know you can hear me."

Looking up at his biological father, Mulder tells him, "I could always hear you. Even when my mind is jammed with a thousand voices I can hear you like a snake hissing underneath. How the hell did you get in here?"

Giving no indication that he heard Mulder's response, the smoking man busies himself filling a syringe from a bottle. "How does anything I do surprise you now? Aren't you expecting me to sprout vampire fangs?"

"You've come to kill me," Mulder accuses.

"It would be better than living like a zombie, wouldn't it?" The smoking man asks as he delivers the injection into Mulder's temple. Mulder gasps and grimaces in pain. A bolt pierces his brain. "I'm giving you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Life or death. Your account is squared-with me, with God, with the IRS, with the FBI. Rise out of your bed and come with me."

"I'm dying, you idiot. If I could get up, I'd kick your ass," Mulder croaks.

"Don't be so dramatic. Only part of you is dying. The part that played the hero. You've suffered enough - for the X-Files, for your partner, for the world. You're not Christ. You're not Prince Hamlet. You're not even Ralph Nader. You can walk out of this hospital and the world will forget you. Arise."

Mulder startles himself by sitting up with ease. "Wh...wh...what the hell are you doing to me?"

"I'm showing you how to take the road not taken. Take my hand."

"Why should I take your hand?"

The old man gives him a faintly surprised look. "You can't read my mind?"

"No..." Mulder realizes with relief. "I can't. All the voices are gone."

"Take my hand, Fox. You have to take the first step. Take my hand. I am your father."

"I guess that makes me Luke Skywalker," Mulder says, but he does take the man's hand.

* * *

Hours Later

Washington National Airport

Scully and Christopher are swept along a tide of fellow passengers disembarking from the plane. As they head towards the baggage area, the crowd thins enough to allow Scully to escape the press of bodies. She's about to grab her bag when she hears a shout:

"Agent Scully!"

Looking over her shoulder, she catches sight of Skinner, and to her surprise, Michael Kritschgau.

"What's going on?" Scully asks, suddenly compelled to shift her sleeping son closer to her chest.

Skinner's expression is anything but reassuring. "Thank God you're back. Agent Scully, you need to go to the hospital with us right now."

"Why? What happened?"

"Mulder's gone. He's disappeared," Kritschgau says, and Skinner nods in grim agreement.

"If you don't have any objections, Kritschgau will ride with you, and fill you in. I'll follow in my car."

"Uh, okay," Scully agrees off-hand.

Kritschgau watches while she straps Christopher into his car seat, then climbs into the car with her. Once she starts the car, she glances at her passenger. "I take it you 'filling me in' was your idea?"

He nods, and glances back at the baby. "As his wife, you are the only one with access to Mulder. I need you to use it wisely."

"Like you?" She hisses. "Almost killing him by shooting him full of Phenytoin for a few moments of lucidity."

"Skinner's kept you informed," Kritschgau says sardonically. "It's what Agent Mulder wanted. He knows what's wrong. What he wants now is to prove it. It's why he asked for me, not you."

"I don't believe that."

"Close to three years ago your husband was infected with a virus he claimed was alien. A virus reactivated in him by exposure to a source of energy also alien. Agent Mulder is living proof of what he tried so long to substantiate: the existence of alien life."

"Well, whatever it is, it's killing him. And we have to get it out of him."

He leans close, threateningly. "You destroy this and I'll destroy you."

"Threaten me again and I might accidentally discharge my firearm," Scully growls, and shoves him back towards the passenger door with one hand. "I'll do what's best for my husband, not you."

Neither of them say another word to each other until they rejoin Skinner at the hospital and are informed that it seems that Mrs. Mulder checked Mulder out of the hospital.

* * *

That Night

It's rainy and dark when Mulder wakes up and discovers that he's in his hospital gown still, and handcuffed. The smoking man doesn't react when he realizes that his passenger is awake. "You've been asleep quite a while. I expect it'll be some time before your sleep patterns return to normal. Would you like an explanation?"

"I'm not sure," Mulder admits.

"While you were lying unconscious in the hospital this afternoon my doctors worked on you."

"Why?"

"At some point I realized that if the Syndicate didn't kill you the FBI would. If the FBI didn't kill you your own misguided heroism would. There's really no way out for you. There's no way for you to cheat death except by disappearing." The smoking man explains.

"A man can't just disappear," Mulder protests. "Specifically I can't just disappear. I have responsibilities, a wife and children."

"Oh, we've made entire cultures disappear. Surely you learned about Roanoke in school. Like me, now, you'll...you'll become a man without a name. But even while you miss your former identity, you'll learn to love life's simpler pleasures." The smoking man tells him.

Mulder holds up his cuffed hands. "Well, that'll be kind of tough with these on."

"When you no longer want to run, those will come off. How do you feel?"

"I feel better than I did." Mulder sighs. "I've got to tell Scully that I'm better. I've got to tell her."

"If you do have contact with her you'll put her in danger. You're entering a kind of, uh witness protection program, for want of a better term." The smoking man lights a cigarettes in his mouth.

"What about my kids?" Mulder asks plaintively.

"You said that twice now." The smoking man gives him a puzzled look before turning his eyes back to the road. "What children?"

* * *

Meanwhile

The house is quiet when Scully arrives. Sighing wearily, she drops her keys on the kitchen table, sets Christopher's carrier on the floor, and goes to the fridge for a drink. There's a gurgle behind her, and she turns expecting to see Michelle holding one of the twins. Instead Michelle there's a man holding Jared. Alarmed, she gropes for the gun at her waist and wishes that she'd thought to turn on the light.

"Don't move. Who's there?"

He steps into the light, and she knows him. "I don't mean to frighten you. Albert Hosteen." Unalarmed, Jared waves at his mother, excited to see her.

Scully takes her son from the elderly man, and gives him a look of disbelief. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"A young woman let me in. I'm sorry to surprise you."

"Surprise? That you're standing here... The last time I saw you was in New Mexico, when Mulder took ill years ago."

"I was hoping to see your partner," Albert says. "He came to see me in the hospital, but I wasn't well enough to speak to him, then."

"He's missing," Scully replies heavily.

"You must save him."

"He's very ill," she says, and then adds. "I'm trying."

"You must find him before something happens not only for his sake - for the sake of us all." Albert casts a meaningful look at the child cradled in Scully's arms. "You don't want him growing up in the world that will follow if you fail."

Scully gives him a confused look, but he lets himself out of the house without elaborating further.

* * *

Meanwhile

"What do you mean, 'what children'? I have six kids!" Mulder yelps.

"That's news to me." The smoking man gives him a long look. "There's one boy, William, but I don't know of any others. I'm sure they'll be fine with their mothers."

"Mother," Mulder snaps. "I'm not the man you are, to have children with whatever women catch my eye. They all have the same mother. Scully."

"Oh?" The old man asks. "I'm sure that would be news to her. To me too, since we didn't authorize any more births from her ova after the disaster the first time."

Bewildered, Mulder falls into a dismayed silence until the smoking man brings the car to a stop. He pulls up in front of a nice house.

"Where are we?"

"Home. This is your new life."

The smoking man holds out a key. Eventually Mulder takes it.

"I don't understand."

The smoking man gets out of the car, and when Mulder doesn't he leans against the open window. He points a finger at the car's key, still in the ignition. "You can drive away right now. Drive back to Scully and your X-Files and imminent death, and look for your imaginary children if it brings you comfort. And I wouldn't be surprised if you did drive off now but I think you should take a look around. I mean, why leave something behind until you...until you know what it is you're leaving?"

Without another word, he turns and walks off down the street. Considering the man's words, Mulder looks up at the house.

* * *

Not long after Albert Hosten's visit, Scully tucks the kids into bed, lets Michelle know she's leaving and heads back to the hospital to see if there are any new clues about her husband's whereabouts. There seems to be a development and Agent Flagler shows her a security tape.

"Mulder was taken out of the hospital at just before 2:00 a.m. His mother's signature's on the hospital documents. It's her handwriting, she checked him out a.m.a; against medical advice. It's all legitimate, until you go to surveillance. This is the camera in the hall outside Mulder's room." He points out black paint sprayed on other camera lens in the hallway, blinding them. "Here's inside his room. And two other cameras on the ward. We're guesstimating there were at least three others involved. Check this out. Where's Waldo? She's talking to someone."

In the tiny bit of one frame not covered with the black paint they watch Teena Mulder talk to a man who is smoking a cigarette. "Yeah. I know who that is," Scully says, silently fuming.

* * *

Mulder's Home

Late Night

There's no one in the house, as best as Mulder can tell. He only takes a cursorily look, however. As soon as he's through the door he's overwhelmed by a sudden lassitude. Telling himself that it's just the effects of having been so ill, he wanders the ground floor until he finds the bedroom.

The bed is ice cold, and he misses Scully's smaller, warm presence beside him. It's also too quiet, and the noise that six kids, even asleep, produce is completely lacking. Somewhere in the dark a clock ticks, and a few self-pitying tears roll down his cheeks as he sleepily vows to get back home.

* * *

X-Files Office

Obscenely Early

The last thing Scully did before tearing out of the house was to speak to April, since she was the only one of the kids awake. The little girl had looked up at her with curious brown eyes, but hadn't asked her any questions – not that Scully really expected her to. She explained anyway. "I'm looking for your daddy. Don't you worry, baby, I'm going to find him." April had looked like she believed her, which was the only reason she could bear to go into the office rather than stay with the kids, and hold them close so they didn't disappear on her too.

Phone calls to Mulder's parents are her first order of business, and she only feels a little bad to have woken Bill Mulder. He sounds worried too, and he promises "If I hear anything I'll call you immediately. Teena told me that he's quite ill, so I'm concerned about him too." Feeling a bit bitter about that declaration, Scully momentarily wishes that she could douse her worries in alcohol, the way Bill surely does. Even if she did drink, it wouldn't be good for Christopher, so she squelches the impulse.

Teena Mulder isn't even home, or at least not answering her phone, because her cool message plays in Scully's ear. "This is Teena Mulder. I'm not in to take your call. Please leave your message."

"Teena? This is Dana." She pauses when an office courier enters the room and hands her a large envelope. "As before, you can reach me at our office at the FBI. I plan to go home at four, and you know that number, obviously. Thank you."

Scully hangs up and opens the envelope. Inside is a large book. "Native American Beliefs and Practices." The envelope pretends to have originated from interoffice mail, but there's nothing on the envelope to indicate the sender.

Flipping the book over, she sees that there is writing on the cover that matches the panel of the ship she'd encountered in Africa. Skimming the table of contents, she sees that chapter three is called "The Anasazi - An Entire Native American Indian Culture Vanishes Without a Trace - History as Myth and end of the world symbolism. Apocalypse and The Sixth Extinction." That gives her chills. She reads the chapter, and feels chills of a different kind.

Picking up her phone once more, she calls Skinner. "Sir, did you send me this book?"

"Excuse me?"

"This book. It explains everything that I found in Africa...using the same symbols that I found on the ship."

"Agent Scully, I asked you not to involve me in this."

She ignores the comment. "It's all here, sir - a foretelling of mass extinction; a myth about a man who can save us from it. That's why they took Mulder. They think that his illness is a gift - protection against the coming plague." Skinner hangs up on her rather abruptly.

Annoyed, she goes up to his office, and his assistant tries to bar the way. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. The Assistant Director has given me express orders not to let you in."

Scully side skirts her and opens the door in time to see a man run out the other door, leaving Skinner slumped over his desk in pain. Scully runs to his side when he groans.

"Sir...Are you hurt? Are you cut?" Scully looks up to see his alarmed assistant peering into the office. "Get on the phone."

As soon as the other woman nods, Scully skitters out into the hallway after the assailant. He moves so quickly that she has trouble keeping up with him.

"Hey! Stop that man!"

Without missing a beat the man pulls the fire alarm and gets lost in the crowd.

* * *

Mulder's New House

Morning

When Mulder wakes up in the morning there's a woman sitting at his kitchen table, sipping a mug of coffee. He stares at her, because he knows who she is, and wishes that she wasn't there.

Lowering the mug, she gives him a long look, piercing him with green eyes. "Fox."

"Elsbeth," he replies shakily. "I didn't expect-"

"No, I'm sure you didn't," she says evenly.

"Um...why are you here?"

"You screwed up."

He's suddenly alarmed. "Where are Scully and the kids?"

"Gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'?" Mulder demands to know.

"Scully's dead."

"What? What happened to her? I heard my mother say she'd gone off somewhere, taking Christopher with her. Was there an accident? Oh God, what about the baby?" Mulder babbles.

Elsbeth shakes her head. "You know how she died, Fox. As for Christopher, he doesn't exist."

"What do you mean? Christopher exists. He was born in August."

"No."

"Yes! He's my sixth child. How can you say that he doesn't exist?"

"You have a child, one. William. You couldn't get him back, and Scully killed herself."

"No! No! You sent me back to keep her safe!" Mulder wails.

"Did you?" Elsbeth asks. Without another word, she stands and walks away from the table. "Did you keep anyone safe?"

Elsbeth!" Mulder shrieks. "Elsbeth tell me what's going on!"

The short blonde woman never turns to acknowledge his screams.

* * *

Michael Kritschgau 's Apartment.

That Afternoon

After knocking rather insistently on the door, Scully rouses the apartment's occupant, who steps aside to let her in, mostly because she gives him no choice.

"You told someone, didn't you?" she accuses. "You let the information out."

"What are you talking about?"

"A man attacked Skinner in his office."

"For what?" Kritschgau asks.

"For what he knows about Mulder."

"I haven't told anyone."

She's about to accuse him of lying again when she sees a laptop on his table. Lifting the screen, she sees copies of the photos of the inscriptions on the ship in Africa. "What is this? These are mine. You've hacked into my files. What are you doing with these?"

"I was having them analyzed."

"By whom?"

"National Institutes of Health."

"What?" she asks, giving him a blank look.

"The material you have there - encrypted data that describes advanced human genetics - where did you get it?"

"This was not supposed to go public," she announces, then erases the file off his hard drive.

Kritschgau doesn't look as angry as she expects him to. "Wherever you got it that data supports what's happened to Mulder. It proves what he's become - biologically alien." She stares and he stares back. "What are you hiding?"

"It doesn't matter," she says heavily.

"It matters to someone. Whoever it is it sounds like they're looking for Mulder, too."

Once the files are completely gone, Scully leaves.

* * *

Meanwhile

When it's clear that Elsbeth has no intention of returning, Mulder goes upstairs for the first time. The bedroom he slept in was on the ground floor, so he's had no need to go up there the night before.

Now it serves as a necessary distraction. Most of the doors stand open, revealing a couple of closets, a bathroom, a small bedroom and an office. One door is firmly closed.

Trepidation coils in his stomach as he puts his hand on the knob. The office is full of books and office supplies, and their slightly disordered appearance suggests that they've been used. What's behind the closed door? He swings it open.

There's no light, so he reaches out a trembling hand and flicks the switch. The far wall is plastered with news clippings.

**Woman's Body Washes Ashore**

_The body of a drowning victim washed ashore early this morning..._

**Truck Driver Kills One After Falling Asleep At Wheel**

_A Virginia truck driver fell asleep at the wheel yesterday day, and drove into an on-coming car, killing the driver instantly..._

Moaning, Mulder pulls his eyes away, and finds that he's staring at a pair of obituaries instead. Dana Katherine Scully. Died December 23rd, 2003. John Jay Doggett. Died December 17th, 2003. A calendar to the far left is turned to May 2004.

Recoiling in horror, Mulder flees the room and runs into the hall. He covers his eyes with his palms and screams.

* * *

Unknown Location

Mulder's prone body is lying on a metal table. His face is peacefully slack – completely unaware of his surroundings...or his company. He doesn't flinch at all when the smoking man and Fowley speak next to him.

"A father has high hopes for his son but he never dreams his boy's going to change the world. I'm so proud of this man - the depth of his capacity for suffering," the smoking man proclaims.

"Like father, like son," Fowley replies with a sycophant smile. It took some doing to get back into the smoking man's good graces after abducting the baby in order to add tension to Mulder and his wife's relationship, but he seems to have forgiven her.

"They think what he has is killing him but, in actuality, he's never been more alive." His voice holds a note of awe.

Fowley watches the sleeping man twitch for a few seconds. "Do you think he dreams?"

"He flinches and whines. I'd say nightmares."

"About what, I wonder."

He shrugs. "What haunts the sleep of all great me. Our failures. What we could have accomplished if there hadn't be others standing in our way..." The smoking man leans down. "Your path is clear now, my boy."

* * *

Hoover Building

Three Hours Later

Scully sees red when she notices her least favorite agent in the hallway. She hasn't seen hide or hair of her for weeks, and had naively hoped that she'd taken off after the stunt with the baby.

"Bum a cigarette, Agent Fowley?" Scully asks as she comes up behind the other woman.

Fowley notes her unfriendly look "I don't smoke."

"Really? I could swear I smell cigarette smoke on you."

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Fowley suggests.

"Yes. Let's." She leads the other woman into an empty office. "Where's my husband?"

"Maybe before you go around blaming everyone you can find for what's happened to Mulder you could think about what you could've done to prevent it. If you weren't so wrapped up in your children you might have noticed-" She begins, but Scully cuts her off.

"I just want you to think. Think of Mulder when you met him. Think of the promise and the life in front of him. Think of him now. And then try and stand there in front of me, look me in the eye and tell me Mulder wouldn't bust his ass trying to save you." She gives Fowley a long look. "Did, actually, or have you forgotten our little trip to Antarctica?"

"I'm thinking, Agent Scully. I'm always thinking," Fowley says tightly, and then walks past Scully.

Scully lets her go, suddenly convinced for no good reason that she's gotten through to her.

* * *

Location Unknown

Taking a set on a table set near the one holding Mulder, the smoking man rolls up his sleeve so a doctor can insert an IV.

The doctor places the IV, then stares down at Mulder in awe. "It's a chance none of us ever expected...let alone hoped for. After all these years trying to develop a compatible alien-human hybrid and to have one ready-made."

"All these years...all the questioning why...why keep Mulder alive? When it was so simple to remove the threat that he posed?" The look on the smoking man's face is one of gloating.

This makes the doctor frown. "There was no way you could have predicted this."

"The fact remains, he's become our savior. He's immune to the coming viral apocalypse. He's the hero here."

"He may not survive the procedure," the doctor cautions.

"Then he suffers a hero's fate."

* * *

Mulder's House

The sound of laughter out on the street draws Mulder's attention. Groaning, he climbs to his feet and goes to the window. The laughter had sounded happy, but it takes on a sinister tone as he looks out.

Two children are looking up at him. They're both clearly dead. Even in the moonlight it's possible to see the molting of their blue-gray skin...Dirt darkens limp blond hair. Their dead eyes know him, and they're angry. Even from the other side of the glass their hatred of him is palpable.

A voiceless whisper winds around the room. "You let us die."

Mulder stumbles backwards, suddenly sure that they'll come in through the window for him. The glass doesn't break.

Eventually he becomes brave and looks out again. The children are disappearing down the street.

* * *

Mulder's House

Later

After the children came by to scare him, it takes Mulder a while to gather up the courage to go outside and try the car. It's on his mind to drive home to Scully and the kids, but when he tries to start the car, it won't turn over.

Sighing, he gets out of the car, and heads back in. His thought is to call a tow truck, but a noise deep in the house makes him freeze in his track.

"Hello? Anybody there?"

"Agent Mulder."

Turning around, Mulder is startled to see that his visitor is Deep Throat. The unexpected joy at seeing him dies suddenly when the man walks out of the shadows. His skin shares the same deathly pallor as Emily and Luke's. "You're dead."

Deep Throat chuckles, which is a deeply unpleasant sound. "What else did you expect? Your wife saw me die, bleed out on that bridge years ago. One, uh, well-placed bullet..." Deep Throat pulls up his shirt to show a gruesome gash that can't heal in dead tissue. "Ended a lifetime of trying to put things to right."

"I felt responsible for your death," Mulder tells him, sitting down.

"You are. I died for your quest," Deep Throat announces, strangely calm.

Horror-stricken, Mulder stares at him.

"I'm not the only one to fall victim to your crusade for the damnable truth. Scully's sister, your father, Duane Barry...all fell in your wake. Even Scully's cancer, barrenness, and suicide are charges to be laid at your feet. You thought you could control it all if you just tired hard enough, and we suffered for it."

"No...no..." Mulder sputters.

"No? Take some responsibility, Man!" Deep Throat roars, coming to his feet. "Do it before it's too late for your boy, too."

Deep Throat turns and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" Mulder shouts. "Damn you, why won't anyone listen to me?" Deep Throat doesn't respond.

* * *

Washington, DC

It's just after five when Scully arrives home. Though it pained her to do so, she waited until four for Teena to call back, but her mother-in-law never did. A black mood descended on her as she fled the office.

The kids are all very quiet, and no one fusses when Scully and Michelle put them to bed. After closing the door to David and Jared's room, Michelle lingers in the hallway.

"Is there something you wanted to say?" Scully asks when the nanny just silently stares at her.

"Will you be okay if I run out to the store for a while?"

Puzzled, Scully says "I'm glad you helped me get them to bed, but you know that when Mulder or I are home, you're not on duty. You can leave whenever you want."

"I wasn't asking permission," Michelle says softly. "I asked if you'd be okay."

It takes Scully a lot of effort to keep herself from dissolving into tears. "You shouldn't have to worry about something like that."

The nanny shrugs. "I can't help it. You and your husband are good people, so I worry about you."

"Thank you. But I'll be fine, really."

"Okay," Michelle replies. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

After listening to the nanny leave, Scully decides to see if Christopher is awake. It's less than an hour until he needs to be fed, so she tells herself that it wouldn't be too horrible if she woke him up so she had one of her babies to hold. But before she reaches her room, she hears a footstep behind her and turns.

Albert Hosteen is behind her, and he gives her a stern glance. "You're running out of time."

Scully is worn out with worry and on the verge of tears. "Why do you come to me like this? Why? When I can't find him."

"You look, but not in the right place."

"I don't think you're hearing me," Scully snaps.

"You don't know where he is?"

"Even if I did I wouldn't know how to save him. This science makes no sense to me."

"Have you looked for him here?" He points to her chest, right above her heart.

"Are you asking me to pray?"

Instead of answering, he reaches for her hand and gently pulls her to her knees as he drops to his own beside her. "There are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand."

They lower their heads and begin to pray. By the time Michelle returns, Albert has long since let himself out, but Scully is still praying, silently, a desperate mantra running through her head.

* * *

Location Unknown

Mulder and the smoking man are on separate tables, but their heads are nearly as close as those of conjoined twins. Mulder, with a tube shoved down his throat, is obvious to the other man, the pair of doctors, and Fowley. On the other hand, the smoking man is wide awake.

Looking up at Fowley he smiles grimly, saying "I hope you see the poetry in this, Diana."

She doesn't smile back. "You're removing genetic material that may kill your son."

"We're forcing the next step in evolution to save man. We're doing God's work, Diana. Without this immunity, everyone would die. This knowledge is God's blessing. I'll carry on for Mulder from here." He reaches out and squeezes her hand. She takes it, but looks upset.

* * *

The Next Morning

Scully's knees ache when she wakes up the next morning. At some point during the night she'd been fueled by a compulsion to pray on her knees again, as if the ache brought her closer to the god she was praying to, or at least showed that she was serious. Thinking hard, she couldn't remember when she finally crawled into bed.

The only goal she had upon wincingly climbing out of bed, was to head for a glass of water and two aspirin. She was still shuffling towards the kitchen, which for reasons she couldn't fathom, was where she and Mulder kept pain relief, rather than in the much closer medicine cabinet, when she noticed something pushed halfway through the mail slot.

Opening the envelope, she finds a Inside is a keycard for a door in the Department of Defense. Stamped on the front is "MSF 1226 L1."

Three minutes later she's dressed and running for the car, her aches forgotten.

* * *

Unknown Location

Mulder's eyes are open, but they don't see anything in the room while the doctors probe his brain. Instead his sight is focused inwards.

* * *

Mulder's House

He never escapes.

Every time he tries to, something goes wrong. Cars won't start, cabs won't come, and if he actually does make it out of the yard, inclement weather springs up. Once he got about four blocks away before a tree fell and hit his shoulder with a glancing blow. Even so, he thought it might have been broken, and it took weeks before he got full use of it back.

Eventually, he stops trying to get away. Some deep down, defeated part of him comes to accept the fact that Scully is dead, and most of his children were imaginary.

And slowly he grows old.

One quiet afternoon, which is much like the years of quiet afternoons stung out before and behind it, Mulder's tired old eyes open when he hears someone walking in his room. A much younger man, perhaps thirty-five, approaches the side of his bed. For a moment Mulder wonders who he could be, but then he recognizes the longish red hair, bright blue eyes, and a copy of Scully's mouth.

"William! I thought I'd never see you again!"

His son looks at him with hard eyes. "You never looked for me."

"No, that's not true," Mulder protests. "We tried to get you back."

"When I was a baby. I've been grown a long time. Why didn't you try to find me after I grew up?"

"I didn't think you'd want to see me, not after your mother-"

"-killed herself. You let her die."

"William, there was nothing I could do!"

"And you've done nothing. You've let yourself wallow in self-pity, and have scarcely noticed that they've come and taken over." William gestures to the red sky outside. "If you hadn't maybe my life, all our lives, would be worth living now."

"William, why rehash the past now...I'm dying," Mulder snivels.

"If you die now, you kill us all!" William shouts. "You're the only one who can bar the door against the wolves baying outside. Get up and live, dammit."

Before Mulder can react, William has grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him to his feet. Age falls away from Mulder, and he sees Scully standing in the doorway, smiling encouragement at him. "I thought you died," Mulder whispers, forgetting that William is there and taking a step towards her. She holds out her hand in anticipation.

* * *

The heels of Scully's shoes click and echo in the deserted hallway as she rushes towards the room the keycard belongs to. A hint of green light illuminates a few inches of floor in front of the closed door. She almost drops the keycard, but somehow manages to grip it long enough to shove it home.

The room is deserted, except for the man lying on a metal table with his arms out-stretched. She looks around, frantically trying to assess the situation. Has Mulder been abandoned, or are they laying in wait for an opportune moment to jump out at her?

Hand shaking, she reaches out and touches his bandaged head. He doesn't respond, so she leans towards his left ear and speaks softly, hoping not to be overheard. "Mulder. Mulder, you've got to wake up. I've got to get you out of here. Mulder, can you understand me?"

His eyelids flicker slightly, and he lets out a weak moan.

Next to him, his wife begins to cry. "Mulder, you've got to get up. I don't know how much time we have. You've got to get up, Mulder. No one can do it but you, Mulder. Mulder, help me. Please, Mulder."

When tears splatter his face, he opens his eyes, this time really seeing her. "Will...If you...help...me."

So she does.

* * *

One Week Later

When Scully gets home early from the office, she goes to their bedroom and is surprised to see that although he's playing with the twins on the bed, Mulder is dressed. It's only been a little over a day since he was released from the hospital, where he'd spent several days under observation and receiving treatment for a minor infection caused by his impromptu brain surgery.

"Why are you dressed? You look like you were going somewhere."

"Scully, I, um...I was coming down...to work to tell you that Albert Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New Mexico. He'd been in a coma for two weeks. There was...no way he could have been in our house."

"He was there - we...we prayed together. Mulder, I don't believe that. I...I don't believe it. It's impossible."

"Isn't it any more impossible than what you saw in Africa or what you saw in me?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore. Mulder, I was so determined to find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw and now I don't even know...I don't know...I don't know what the truth is ... I don't know who to listen to. I don't know who to trust."

Unexpected tears well in her eyes. "Diana Fowley was found murdered this morning. I never trusted her...but she helped save your life just as much as I did. She gave me that book. It was her key that led me to you. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. I know she was your friend."

"Yes, but not like you. You were my friend, and you told me the truth. Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant...my touchstone."

"And you are mine," Scully tells, him then kisses him until the twins begin to squeal for their parents' attention.

* * *

Later

There's the sound of footsteps, and Scully looks up from writing a report just time to see David run unsteadily into the room wearing only a diaper. Michelle appears seconds later and gives her a sheepish look. "Sorry, he got away from me while I changed Jared."

"It's okay." Scully pauses and gives the young woman a measured look. "I've been meaning to ask you this, but with everything going on it's slipped my mind. A friend of mine, an elderly Navaho code talker Mulder and I worked with, stopped by to visit a couple of times while Mulder was missing. Did you let him in? He was in the house when I got home the first time."

Michelle looks confused. "No. I don't even remember seeing him."

"Ah." Scully looks down at her smiling son, who looks impishly proud of himself, and casts for a change of topic. "You behave for Michelle."

"Ha ha," he declares, clapping gleefully. Mulder's sarcasm is obviously rubbing off on him, too.

Scully shakes her head and watches the nanny take him away. When she's alone a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention. Turning her head, she sees the briefest impression of a figure fading from view.

Perhaps Mulder was right, and Albert hadn't been alive to visit her. Perhaps it wasn't the nanny but one of the resident ghosts that was the "young woman" who let him in that night...but if it was, she'd never admit to her husband that a suspicion to that end had ever crossed her mind.

* * *

A Few Days Later

"Scully, we need to talk."

"About?" she asks.

He gives her a sad smile and then reaches into the drawer of his nightstand. After he fishes a small box out, he hands it to Scully. "I bought these today when I picked up my new prescription for antibiotics." It's the third one they'd put him on since releasing him from the hospital.

"Mulder," she says, giving him an imploring look.

Shaking his head, he says, "We talked about this sort of contingency. Until we know that I'm going to be okay, it'd be foolish to risk another pregnancy. I'm not going to leave you with another baby to look after all by yourself if I die."

"You're not going to die!" She starts to get up, but he puts his hand around her wrist, gently.

"Do you think that you're God, now?"

"Of course not."

"Then you can't know that. You can hope, and you can pray, but you can't know."

"Okay. You win. We'll do this...Right up until you get a clean bill of health."

::Right up until it's time to conceive out seventh and final child.::

* * *

Late October 1999

When Mulder wakes up one morning his head feels too big for his thoughts. Too big for his pillow, too. Because he can't bring himself to explore with his fingers, he lurches out of bed, heading for the bathroom mirror. His unsteady gait makes him dizzy, and he vaguely wonders if the unstable feeling in his belly compares to morning sickness. Maybe he'll ask Scully to compare notes.

As he stares at the image in the mirror, he thinks about movies where someone grows a second head. The lump on the back of his skull does have any facial features but maybe his hair covered them up.

As he shakes Scully awake, words he never expected to say poured out of his mouth: "Something is really wrong with me. I think you need to bring me to hospital."

Scully practically bolts out of bed, and her eyes fill with horror when she sees the knob on the back of his head. "That's where they cut into your brain."

"I realize that," he says tiredly, then lies back down while Scully gets dressed and wakes Michelle.

* * *

Memorial Hospital

The end up admitting him almost immediately. Since Scully is a doctor, the doctors treating him tend to forget that he's not following the conversation that they're having with his wife, and they mostly speak to her.

Once they wander off, Mulder looks up at her. "So what's going on?"

They're going to give you a cat-scan, but the theory is that there's an infection in the bone and tissue around the incision the smoking man's people made."

"So the infection they thought they cleared up before releasing me before-"

"-had just gone into hiding," Scully finishes. "In a way, it's good that you swelled up like this."

Mulder glares at her for being insensitive. "Sure. I always wanted a hideous lump on the back of my head."

"If not for the swelling, we might be talking about more serious things."

"Things like what?"

"A brain abscess."

"Damn." ::Well, this sucks more than last time. I guess I had to realize that not all the changes would be improvements.:: "So what happens next?"

"They do the scan, then probably put you on antibiotics."

"How long will I be here?" he asks plaintively.

"Honestly, I don't know. There are a few things I'd like to throw out to your doctors, but I'm not sure if they'll go for them."

In the end, he goes home after three days, with a far less swollen head and a sheave of instructions for him and Scully to follow...and the fear that it could happen again.

* * *

October 31st, 1999

"I was deep within the woods when suddenly I spied them. I saw a pair of pale green pants with nobody inside them."

Since he isn't yet three months old, Christopher is sleeping in a bassinet parked near the couch. It's a new piece of furniture for the room; unlike their older siblings at their age, the twins are inordinately fascinated with the new baby, and now that they're walking well won't leave him alone when he naps in a baby seat. Both of them fell into the seat twice while admiring their little brother, so Mulder retrieved Sammy's old bassinet from the attic to keep all three of the little ones safe.

At the moment, however, David and Jared aren't causing trouble. Instead they're sharing their father's lap. Also sharing Mulder's lap is one of Doctor Seus' less popular works "What Was I Scared Of?" Sammy loved it so much that Mulder bought him a copy, and the twins decided they like it too.

David seems to enjoy the nearly mono-chromatic illustrations, because he keeps patting the pages, saying "blue." Mulder thinks that some of the pages are more green than blue, but decides that it's not worth interrupting the story to try to teach him a new word.

Jared, on the other hand, has picked up on the fact that the protagonist is frighten and stares wide-eyed at the pictures. At least he does when his brother isn't pounding on them.

The grandfather clock ticks contently in the background as he reads.

"Those spooky empty pants and I were standing face to face! I yelled for help I screamed I shrieked I howled I yowled I cried. 'Oh save me from those pale green pants with nobody inside them!'"

At this point, Mulder closes the book, since of the four of them, he's the only one still awake. Sighing softly, he wonders how long it will be before Scully brings the older kids home from trick or treating.

To his delight, it's just a couple of minutes before he hears the sound of a key in the lock.

With whoops that somehow fail to wake the littler kids, Sammy, April and Page tumble into the room. April looks sleepy and rubs an eye with the hand not clutching her candy in a death grip, but Page and Sammy look wired.

"Scully," He looks up at her. "I think someone snuck some candy on the walk home," he whispers.

She reaches down and plucks each sleeping toddler off his lap. They don't seem to notice that they've been moved to the playpen.

Next she examines the bag suspended from a metal pole above his left arm. "Good timing, the bag's nearly empty."

Mulder holds out his arm as she releases the IV from the small tube stitched into a vein. The process of receiving IV antibiotics has taken nearly two hours, as it has for every day that week.

He would complain, but he realizes that in some perverse way, he's lucky. Not terribly long ago, this sort of treatment would require hospitalization for the duration. That would mean four weeks in the hospital 24/7 rather than a couple hours a day confined to his seat. And if Scully weren't a doctor, he'd be enduring visiting nurses for those hours too.

"You didn't bring them back early for this, did you?"

"No. April was starting to flag, and Sammy and Page seemed to not mind."

"Hmm. How far did you get?"

"About four blocks North. Why?"

"I have a feeling that their not minding is a polite ruse." He looks over at his two oldest children. "Now that I'm done with medicine, does anyone want to do more trick or treating?"

Sammy and Page trade a look. "We do!"

Mulder smiles at them before kissing Scully on the forehead. "My love, you've been had. We'll be back in a while."

"Be careful, guys," Scully says, but she's smiling.

As for Mulder, he's thrilled by the prospect of being free of tubes and pretending that he's as healthy as any other man accompanying costumed children that night.


	80. The Goldberg Variation

Chicago, Illinois

December 1999

9:17 a.m.

It's been four months since little Christopher was born, but four months seems to have flown for Scully as she pays the cab driver before grabbing the baby bag and shifting the sling so her baby won't hit the door as she opens it. She steps out onto a busy street corner, covering Christopher's ears as horns blare and colorful words are exchanged. Sweet home, Chicago, she thinks sarcastically. In four months' time, however, she's starting to get back to a comfortable pre-baby weight, with more than enough curves to fill out her black scoop-necked pant suit.

As she walks across a metal grate on the sidewalk, she pulls out her cell phone out of the baby bag and dials, hoping like hell she doesn't look as stupid as she feels, paying another of Mulder's games. He answers, predictably, with an unhelpful monosyllable. "Hello."

She squints around, trying to find her tall husband among the passersby. "Hey, Mulder, it's me," she says on her cell. "What now?"

Mulder had debated long and hard, but decided to bring the kids with him. As the platform elevator rises through the open sidewalk grate, he bends down and, for the umpteenth time since the phone call, he puts his fingers to his lips to shush his kids. On the phone, however, his voice is improbably calm, nonchalant even. "Are you in Chicago?" Then he claps his hand over Page's mouth when he sees her start to give into a giggle fit like her mommy.

Her back still facing them, Scully projects over the tiny cell, causing Christopher to burble. Yes, I'm in Chicago," she rolls her eyes. "I'm on the northeast corner of 7th and Hunter just like you asked. Only you're not here." She frowns. It would be her luck if Michelle happened to get sick or something and Mulder had to stay home with the kids. "So where are you?"

By this time, Mulder's not only shushing his kids, but the passersby as well, even as Sammy threatens to charge at his mommy and the twins are squirming in their stroller. Page is valiantly clamping down on her giggles, while April calmly holds the stroller. In feeding and dressing the kids this morning, he nearly forgot to dress himself, and made do by throwing on a brownish suit, dark blue shirt, and a dark patterned tie. Not as sexy as Scully, but then, he never thought he was. Keeping up his Academy Award performance, Mulder continues in the same droll tone, "Oh, around."

Yep, he's probably home with the kids, she grumbles inwardly. "Yeah," She sighs.

There's no containing Sammy any longer, and as he hangs up the phone, he calls out, "Hey, sexy momma."

Scully turns to face him, and before she can put her phone away, her redheaded boy slams himself against her legs, followed by Page, while April waves shyly by her daddy. Mulder, for his part, is grinning at her while trying to control their restless twins. Scully smiles and waves back, making her way slowly with a child clamped on each leg. "Hey," she says, wondering whether kids as leg weights would count towards the FBI's physical fitness mandate, "what's down there?"

"Before you check out down there," Mulder says, finally releasing David and Jared only to arm-carry them, "check out up there." He jerks his head towards the top of the tall building. "Top two floors are leased to one Jimmy Cutrona, whose name you might be familiar with."

She blinks. "Organized crime. The Bureau's been trying to build a racketeering case against him for the past few years. Gambling, extortion, murder."

He nods. "Which is why last night there were two agents parked across the street in surveillance. They witnessed a man being thrown from Cutrona's roof at 10:40 p.m. This man fell for thirty floors, plus the distance down this shaft, because these doors just happened to be open - straight through, nothing but net."

"Ouch." She grimaces.

He smirks. "I'm guessing that's what he said. That is, after he got up, climbed out of here and scampered off into the night." They all get on the platform and Mulder is about to push the button to lower them to the basement level, when Sammy starts jumping up and down. "Okay, your turn," he grins, setting David back in the stroller, lifting Sammy, and letting the boy punch in the button.

* * *

Scully hides her smile as Sammy crows about his power over the elevator button, much to the disgust of his older sister. "Mulder, you keep saying 'this man.' Who is this man?" When the elevator touches bottom, she takes out her flashlight and begins looking around.

I could tell you, but then I'd have to wake up and you'd all be gone. No thanks. "No idea," he says aloud, tapping on his own flashlight to give the kids an idea how to use theirs. "He got away. The agents gave chase, but no clear description."

She comes back to them, tickled to find that everybody, including the twins, is playing with flashlights. Well, Sammy's swallowing his, lighting up his mouth, Page is playing Scully Jr., the twins are shaking theirs like rattles, and April is making hand shadows. "Was this basement thoroughly searched?" she asks, pulling the flashlight out of Sammy's mouth. A part of her wants to give the flashlight to Christopher, but he'd probably try to swallow it, too. Or drool on it.

Her husband grins, watching Page continue to snoop around. That's my girl, he wants to shout, but instead replies, "No. Technically, falling 300 feet and surviving isn't a crime."

Scully catches most of it as she tells Sammy about the flashlight, "This is not food." Then she looks up and prompts, "And your theory is?"

"What if this man had some kind of special capability?" he muses, as David scoots out of the stroller and Jared tries to wiggle free from his arms. "Some kind of genetic predisposition towards rapid healing, or tissue regeneration?" He gives up and lets the boys play a sort of laser tag with their flashlights around the stroller and his legs.

She shakes her head as Christopher starts crying, bouncing him around in the sling. "So, basically, we're looking for Wile E. Coyote? You're saying that he is invulnerable, right?" Mulder starts to say "Yeah," but stops when she lifts her shirt and starts breastfeeding their baby, leaving his mouth hanging open. Fortunately for him, she doesn't notice, as her eyes are on her baby, but she remembers something as Christopher pulls at her nipple. "You know, in 1998, there was a British soldier who plummeted 4,500 feet when his parachute failed and he walked away with a broken rib."

He grins, still in awe of her amazing mind housed in that amazing body. "What's your point?"

"My point is that if there's a wind gust, or a sudden updraft and, plus, if he landed in exactly the right way, I mean, I don't know." She looks up and shrugs, causing Christopher to sputter and she coos, replacing her nipple in his mouth. "Maybe he just got lucky," she mumbles.

Mulder snorts as Jared tumbles over David and they start wrestling. He takes away their flashlights before they can use them as weapons, and teases his wife, "What if he got really, really lucky? That's your big scientific explanation, Scully?" Then he laughs as Scully blows a quick raspberry at him. Undaunted, he continues, "I mean, how many thousands of variables would have to convene in just the right mixture for that theory to hold water?"

She makes a face, patting the baby's back. "I don't know."

Keeping an eye on the twins and another on Sammy, he wonders if it's possible to clone himself and his wife if they have even one more child. "Well, thousands," he presses on.

Meanwhile, Page finds something interesting, or at least, something her parents should see. "Mommy?"

"Yeah," Scully turns, and walks over to where her blonde daughter is staring fiercely. "What is it, honey?" she asks, squatting beside her daughter next to the laundry cart marked Grayson's Linen Service.

"It's broken," Page declares. "Is somebody busted?"

"Maybe," Scully says, waving Mulder over. As he joins them in squatting, she says, "Look at this. If this cart were on the platform when he hit, that would explain the condition of these wheels. And what if this whole thing had just enough give to save his life?"

Mulder nods, then briefly squeezes his daughter's shoulder. "Good job, Page."

She beams. "Mommy and Daddy, you gonna find the man who broken this?"

Scully smiles a little. "Yeah, we have to find him." Then she stands, but slowly so as not to dislodge Christopher from his feeding. "Page, why don't you help me look for clues while Daddy looks after the boys," she pats the cart.

He chuckles, and while Page enthusiastically helps Scully sort through the towels by tossing them out, a small round object flips out onto the floor. It's Sammy, however, who pops out of nowhere and scoops it up. Before he can pop it in his mouth, Mulder scoops him up and plucks it from his chubby fingers. Page grosses out when she sees it's a prosthetic eye, while that only ups the cool factor for both father and son. "Scully!" he calls out, holding the fake eyeball aloft. "Looks like maybe we've found part of our mystery man already."

"Goody." She makes a face, mirrored by Page.

* * *

Melrose Park, Illinois

10:23 a.m.

The not-so-little family is standing outside a low rent apartment building. This time, Page is pushing 313's buzzer, while Sammy whines for his turn. Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, Scully says, "I think you're taking a flier here, Mulder. There's got to be at least 600 people with prosthetic eyes in the greater Chicago area."

And yet, I always manage to get lucky, he smirks. "Yeah, but only this one Henry Weems made an appointment this morning to get a new one." Page continues to hit the buzzer again and again.

Now the Eyebrow goes up. "Maybe he can't see his way to the door."

Mulder smiles, and as an elderly lady with a rolling shopping basket comes out of the building, he catches the door before it closes behind her. Then he winks at his partner. "Come on, Scully. I'm feeling lucky."

He isn't surprised to see the heavyset blonde woman stopping them as they get out of the elevator. "Can you help me? It's an emergency."

Scully, being Scully, nods, pulling a reluctant family behind Ms. Lupone's lead. It's only when they see the kitchen sink is spurting water all over the floor. Now the redhead's blue eyes are wide. "Ma'am, we're not plumbers," she says politely.

Lupone snorts. "I didn't say you were. I just want the da - the water turned off so that I can go to work," she says, correcting herself in front of the small kids. Then she hands a plumber's wrench to Mulder. "Look, you've got to be stronger than me, right? Valve's under the sink."

I can do this, he thinks, what're the odds of me screwing up again? He reluctantly goes over to the sink, wrench in hand. "Your building super - Henry Weems - he isn't around?" he asks, gingerly crawling under the sink and debating whether there's a better way to find Weems.

"Mr. Dependable? Might as well wait for Jimmy Hoffa to show up," Lupone scoffs.

A young boy with a dark curly mop of hair walks into the kitchen. "You're turning it the wrong way," he notes.

His mother, however, reacts to his appearance with loving concern. "Hey, Richie sweetheart, back in bed."

"But, Mom..."

Now she has the no-nonsense look Scully often wears when dealing with her children and husband. "'Buts' are for sitting and I want yours back in bed." She herds her son out of the room, then turns back to Mulder who is still turning the joint the wrong way. "He's right, you know. Clockwise."

He nods grimly, still twisting the wrench. "I know that. Clockwise." He pauses to look at his watch for help, then sees it's digital and sighs.

And, just like clockwork, the joint pops open. Now, instead of just having waterworks above the sink, it's happening beneath as well. Well-soaked, Mulder stands up slowly. Scully, his dear sweet wife and the love of his life, is snorting behind her hand, while his children are simply laughing out loud. The floor creaks, and, even though he's expecting it, his eyes still fly open when he crashes through the floor to the room below, with no time to yell.

"Daddy!" Page yells, and it's all Scully can do to keep them from following their father down the hole. Like her children, she peers in, worried. "You okay, Mulder?" She sees him among the ruins and smiles with both relief and amusement.

Always a pleasure to put a funny in your day, he thinks sourly. "Yeah, I'm okay," he calls up. "My ah, butt broke the fall. Guess who I found." He looks over to his left. "Henry Weems, I presume?"

A short, balding man with a black eye patch over the right socket joins him and looks up through the hole.

* * *

Later, Weems, carrying a toolbox, leads the FBI family into his apartment. The living room is full of homemade Rube Goldbergesque machines. As Scully cautions their children not to touch, Weems hands Mulder a towel, and Mulder makes good use of it on his hair, if not the rest of his clothes. "Next time, leave the plumbing to a professional," the manager cautions in a thick nasally accent.

"Uh, yeah," Mulder mutters. "You want to try this on for size, Cinderella?" he asks, holding out the fake eye wrapped in the wet towel. The manager takes it and begins cleaning it off.

"Mr. Weems, why were you hiding in a vacant apartment?" Scully asks.

He doesn't exactly look at them, but at their kids. "Not hiding - avoiding."

Uh, yeah, Scully echoes her husband inwardly. "Avoiding whom?"

"You people," Weems turns away now. "Now that you found me let's just get it over with. No way am I testifying against Jimmy Cutrona."

Either in spite of or because of the infant strapped to her chest, Scully is persistent. "Last night, Cutrona had you thrown off the roof of 1107 Hunter Avenue - is that correct?"

Weems holds up his hands. "You didn't hear it from me. I'm not letting you people move me to Muncie, Indiana, to milk cows."

"You milk cows?" Sammy looks interested.

"No, he doesn't." Mulder grins quickly. Back to the witness, he continues, "More to the point, you survived a, uh...300-foot fall essentially un...," he pauses as Weems squishily puts his fake eyeball back in, "harmed." Part of him observes that most of his children are as curious and grossed out by the gesture, while only Page and Scully have totally averted their eyes during the whole procedure. Another part of him is disconcerted that he still thinks having a fake eyeball is cool, and hopes that it's just another offshoot of his "peg leg" desire.

"I don't know." Weems shrugs, facing them now. It was odd how normal a simple plastic eyeball made the picture. Huh. "Maybe...The wind was just right and I landed on a bunch of towels - no biggie."

Scully's eyebrow goes up. "You got lucky?" she asks, ignoring her partner's slight grin.

"Yeah, I guess, except," he pauses, "you should look at my...bruise." And like their children, he shows off his "owie" on his elbow.

Mulder's not impressed, and neither are his kids, having amassed their share of big bandaids. "Uh-huh."

"Plus, I didn't get to keep my poker winnings."

"So that's what you were doing there last night - playing poker?" Scully prods.

"Cutrona thought I was cheating. I wasn't," Weems adds quickly in front of the kids. "But like I said, you didn't hear it from me."

"Must have been a high-stakes game, I imagine," Mulder notes. "Did you win a lot of money?"

The short man shrugs again. "I don't know...A little." But now his attention is on Sammy, who is poking around one of the machines. "Hey, you like it?"

* * *

The redheaded boy nods. "How do you work this?" Weems points to the lever, and Sammy tugs at it before realizing he should push it down. When he does, the contraption goes through a series of elaborate actions, rolling, hitting, flipping, and finally, the hanging of a little wooden man. "Cool," he grins. While his younger brothers are tugging at various parts of the machine, he asks, "Are you a Gunman, too?"

The manager is taken aback. "What?"

::Hoo boy,:: Mulder thinks, ::maybe our kids shouldn't hang around their godparents too often.:: But Sammy goes on. "My uncles make cool stuff, too. But they won't let me touch it."

Weems is still puzzled by the "gunman" part, but gamely answers, "Yeah, grownups usually don't let kids do that. But this is made of junk, so it's okay." David pulls out the duct tape, while Jared grunts and pulls at one of the "pillars". The manager chuckles when the little boy finally succeeds. "That, and it's easy to put together again."

I can't believe I had my head up my ass for so long about this guy, Mulder thinks, no wonder Weems was being so careful. He loved Maggie and Richie Lupone, but there was no guarantee that if he made them a part of his, well, luck chain reaction, part of his life, that they wouldn't get hurt. But nobody can promise that. He looks at Scully, who tilts her head at him. The sad thing is, I thought the same thing for so many years, before she finally broke me of that idiotic idea. I still can't believe it took us so long... I'm so glad we have us, this, now. To cover for his sentimental musings and recover momentum, he asks, "So, this thing, is it all about cause and effect?"

"What?" Weems blinks.

Mulder waves blandly at the thingamajig before pulling one of the ball bearings out of Sammy's mouth. "Your machine. Or is there some other meaning?"

"There-there's no meaning," the manager stutters, uncomfortable. "So, are-are we done here?"

"Mr. Weems, can I ask you to reconsider testifying against Cutrona?" Scully asks, concerned.

Now the little man is firm. "Nope. No way, Jose."

"Well, it would be in your best interest," she says seriously. "He's tried to kill you once and he will undoubtedly do it again."

"Yeah, we can protect you," Mulder agrees.

Weems looks dubious, and it's obvious he's wondering how a couple saddled with children could protect him. "I'll take my chances," he mutters, dismissing them.

* * *

As they're standing at the elevator, Sammy and Page are pushing each other as well as the down button. "So," Scully states matter-of-factly, separating them and pushing the button herself, "here's the plan, as I see it: we inform the Chicago field office about Weems, leaving it to them to secure his testimony, you change your clothes," Mulder raises his eyebrows, and she smiles, "we fly back to DC by sunset and all is right with the world." She beams optimistically, sensing that there's more amiss between her two elder children than with the situation in Chicago.

Mulder, however, utilizes his puppy-dog eyes. "Come on, Scully, you're going to dump this case just as it's getting interesting."

She's not buying it, in fact, she's rolling her eyes. Darn. "'Interesting,' Mulder, was when we were looking for Wile E. Coyote." She pounds the elevator button. "Come on, Mulder, this guy just got lucky. There's no X-File here."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Maybe his luck is the X-File."

She sighs and steps away from the elevator. "Stairs," Scully declares, hustling their family down the staircase.

As the door closes, immediately the elevator bell dings, but only Mulder, lagging behind, hears it. ::I guess we're already part of Weems' contraption,:: he thinks, as it confirms what's going to happen ever since he fell through the floor.

As they herd their family out the front door, Mulder digs around in his wet pockets, but in no real hurry. C'mon, Weems, do your mojo, he thinks, then turns quickly to try to catch the door before it closes. Of course, he misses. To his wife's questioning look, he explains drily, "Oh...car keys. Must have lost them when I fell."

Mulder reaches up to hit the buzzer, but Page and Sammy start bickering over who gets the honors. Just to be perverse, he lets April do it, ignoring his wife's warning look. When an old lady lets them in, Mulder and Scully hears the gunshot and stare at each other.

They both pull out their guns, but Mulder puts a hand on his wife's forearm and glances at their kids. Her lips flatten but she nods, and he races towards the elevator while she stays back with their children. When he gets to Weems' apartment, his gun is at chest level when he sees the door lying in the frame. Walking carefully, still not sure if Weems made it out or if Bellini is dead, he makes his way into the living room, where a very dead hitman is hanging by one shoelace from the still spinning ceiling fan. Weems, however, is nowhere to be found, and Mulder exhales in relief.

* * *

The police photographer is snapping pictures of the hanging body as well as snapping at Mulder's children for standing too close and gawking at the crime scene. At first, Mulder's proud that his kids can handle such a gruesome scene until Sammy asks, "Can you get candy from that, too?" As he shakes his head and sweeps them away, much to the photographer's relief, he tells himself, no more piñatas even remotely looking humanoid, and joins Scully, who's actually doing some work and getting info from a cop.

Scully smiles at her children, including the one sleeping on her chest, and says, "They've searched the entire building and there's no sign of Henry Weems. I'm guessing that he's on the run."

Joining in the share time, Mulder adds, "The dead man's name is Angelo Bellini a.k.a. 'Angie the Animal.'" As their kids look back at the corpse with interest, he corrects them, "Uh, not like that. It's a nickname. He's an enforcer for the Cutrona family and I don't think his visit was friendly."

"You think that Weems could have killed him in self-defense?" Scully asks.

Mulder grins. "Skinny guy with no depth perception against a man nicknamed 'The Animal'? I don't think so. You and I both know Weems didn't kill anybody. Besides, we were just gone for two minutes. This guy doesn't have a scratch on him. I'm thinking it was a heart attack."

His partner looks around the room, then at him, her expression flat. "What the heck happened here, Mulder?"

"Cause...and effect," he states solemnly.

She's obviously not buying his "I've got a deep theory" act. "Meaning...?"

He grins, and his enthusiasm is as much for the kidlings as it is for Scully. "Okay, so...watch," he says to his family, ready to dust off his acting skills. "So Bellini kicks down the door - whaa gaa! - poised to kill Weems, right?" So far, the older kids look amused by their father's bad Bruce Lee moves, while the younger ones and his wife are nonplussed. "And just as he's about to pull the trigger a noise startles him," he pauses, "the buzzer - when April buzzed to be let back in the apartment." April beams, even if she's not quite sure what's going on. "So when he does pull the trigger, his aim is off, right? And he hits the lamp," he points, and their eyes follow, "which falls over and knocks over the ironing board, so as the bullet ricochets, Weems dives over the sofa. Now, when Bellini goes for him, he trips over the ironing board, bounces off the chair, flips end over end," and he feels as if he's giving a speech in sign language, his arms are flapping around so much, "and his shoelace gets caught in the fan - QED." For the benefit of the little ones, he adds, "The bad guy dies, the end."

The kids clap, and Scully chuckles a little. Then the shoelace breaks and the body hits the floor.

"Cause and effect," he leans in to his wife, "seemingly unrelated and unconnected events and occurrences that appear unrelated and random beforehand but which seem to chain-react in Henry Weems' favor."

There goes the eyebrow again. "Dumb luck?"

Mulder nods. "Yeah, he seems to have tapped into it somehow. He-he won big at poker; he-he survived getting thrown off a skyscraper...and now this."

Nobody notices the brown-haired boy wandering in, probably because Mulder's family already looks like it's swarming the apartment. Page does, wanders over and says, "Hi. Your name's Richie, right?"

Richie looks taken aback, but obviously not threatened. "Yeah."

"I'm Page," the little blonde girl declares, sticking out her hand.

"Hi," he says, shaking it.

Now Scully sees the two and taps Mulder on his forearm. "Give us a minute, okay?" He nods, and she joins Page and Richie. "Hi, I'm Page's mom," she finds herself saying. Immediately, while part of her is indignant at the unfeminist appellation, another part wishing she'd simply introduced herself as Scully, and another part calmly telling the other parts to grow up and be friendly so as to get information and get the boy away from the crime scene, she adds, "Why don't we, uh, head back to your room? I'm sure that's what your mom would want."

Richie nods reluctantly, his eyes staring at the body on the floor before they leave.

* * *

Both mother and daughter stare at the sports posters, banners and whatnot on the walls. Scully hopes it'll be a long time before her children want to decorate their rooms, while Page is getting ideas about redecorating.

"So, I'm guessing you're a sports fan." Scully smiles at the boy lying on the bed. "Which one's your favorite?"

He shrugs. "Well, it used to be basketball. But now the Bulls suck, so I think maybe baseball."

Page grins. "I like baseball, too." Then she walks over to the weird-looking thingee on the floor. "Did Mr. Weems make this for you?" Richie nods, and Page starts up the toy. After a number of events on the board, a little ball flies through the hoop. She laughs, "That's cool."

Richie smiles, too. "Yeah. He made it for me when I was in the hospital. He said...it's 'cause...everything happens for a reason...only just sometimes it's hard for us to see."

Scully's also observed the medical equipment and asks, "You went to the hospital because of your liver?"

His lower lip juts out as his eyes go down. "It doesn't work so good." Then he looks at her. "Is the police looking for Henry?"

She nods. "Yeah. They just want to talk to him. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

He shakes his head briefly, looking at Page starting up the toy again. "Mm-mm. Since I got sick, he hardly ever goes out."

Scully nods again, then tells Page, "We'd better let him get some rest."

Page looks up at her mother, then at the boy. "I hope you feel better soon," she waves, and Richie waves back as they leave.

In the hallway outside Weems' apartment, Page tells her siblings about the new toy she got to play with. Mulder smirks, then asks his wife, "Boy give you any leads?"

She shakes her head, and they begin walking down the hall. "Mulder, as to your theory..."

::Okay, nobody died during this part, but the delivery guy got hurt,:: Mulder thinks. ::geez, what should my next move be? And will it throw everything off at the end if I stop it? This is worse than a pool game. Ah, what the hell...:: "What about it?"

"Why would the world's most supernaturally lucky man work as a building superintendent? I mean, why doesn't he just run down to the Illinois state lottery, enter, and, you know, he'd win automatically?"

* * *

It isn't long before Mulder and Scully dig up Weems' history, while Weems gets busy and wins the lottery but trashes the ticket, leaving them to deal with the aftermath and very happy, if dishonest, store clerk.

Then they continue the search for Weems, telling their kids Weems was playing "hide and seek." They get into the spirit quickly, even if Mulder feels a little dishonest himself letting the kids join their mother on the roof while he searches the "dirty, stinky" basement. He may be trusting Weems' QED luck, but hell if he's gonna place his kids in danger to test the hypothesis to the limit.

As before, he finds the little rat, that is, Weems, hiding conveniently behind a vent, and hauls the short man out. He's not as rough as he was last time, but Weems still whines as he sits sullenly in the chair. ::Okay, they should be well out of harm's way,:: Mulder thinks, ::wonder if I should call her yet.::

When the manager's eyes widen, that's when Mulder pulls out his cell phone and hits the speed dial. "Oh, crap. Not again." Weems sighs, and Mulder mutters inwardly, Story of my life, pal.

The crazy thing is, even though he's gone through this before, it doesn't cease to amaze him. The bullet bounces off Weems' chest, grazes his arm, bounces off two walls and lands in the center of Sal's chest. Two for two, Mulder thinks as Scully and the kids fill the doorway. They all stare at Weems, who pulls a dented metal tool out of his breast pocket and shows it to them.

Things don't go smoothly at the hospital, as Mulder "encourages Weems' delusion of luck," as Scully puts it, while Scully "pesters Weems to get protection", as Mulder puts it. They're both staring daggers by the time Weems leaves the hospital, still on a lucky streak card-wise. Then Page flips over the ace of hearts from the card deck. Scully scoffs, saying, "Luckiest man in the world? Mulder, Page just beat him."

::Okay, *that* I wasn't expecting,:: Mulder thinks as he grabs his jacket and runs toward the exit.

"Mulder?" Scully frowns.

"I gotta go," he says, running out of the hospital and sees Weems just as Switchblade Dominic is approaching Weems. "Henry!" he shouts.

His sense of self-preservation intact, Weems runs into the street and, like the hapless delivery guy earlier, is hit by a truck. Damn. Mulder chooses to get to Weems rather than Dominic, then reaches down to feel for a pulse. The fake eye has once again popped out and is resting on the pavement. Mulder looks up at Scully with something of an apology and something else she can't quite name. But there's no time for questions on expression as their kids and the EMTs swarm the area.

* * *

Weems is in Richie Lupone's hospital room, looking down at the sleeping, horribly discolored boy. The manager looks up as Mulder and family walk in. "Did you find her?"

Scully hates to say it. "No."

"You know Cutrona took her." He looks from one agent to the other. "He did it to keep me from testifying."

Part of Mulder wishes he'd put some kind of guard over Ms. Lupone, while another continues to caution him about messing too much with the major details. "And he's who we're focused on but there's no sign of a kidnapping, there's no ransom note."

"He's too smart for that," Weems says sourly.

Mulder nods grimly. "Which makes it very hard for us to obtain a search warrant."

"We'll get one, though," Scully adds quickly, on Weems' side, even if she doesn't understand how or why things are suddenly taking a turn for the worse for this man.

Only now, when the death threats affect the ones he loves, does Weems start to show any kind of backbone and snaps, "When? Tomorrow? Next week?" His voice softens a little as he asks, "Could someone sit with him at least?" He walks out, but Mulder catches up with him in the hallway.

"Hold up, Henry," he says, grabbing the man's arm so he doesn't skedaddle just yet. "Henry, what if what I said before wasn't true? That your luck hasn't changed? Maybe all this is happening for a reason."

The look on Weems' face is pure disbelief. "So you're saying that Maggie getting taken is a good thing?"

"No, I'm saying that what looks like it might be bad luck may not be bad luck, but we can't tell yet. We're not in that position." Mulder frowns earnestly, even as he's comforting himself with this last decision. "But sooner or later, we'll see the big picture."

The short manager isn't buying this, and he jerks his arm away, shoving his jacket on angrily, but the sleeve rips. The man is a study of frustration and determination, and Mulder is again startled at how much this man, if not outwardly, resembles him. Slowly, he walks back into Richie's room. "How is he?" he asks his partner.

"Not good," she says in a low voice, even as Page keeps a careful watch on the sleeping boy. "If we don't find a donor in the next few hours..."

Now he springs his revised theory on her. "Scully, what if everybody that becomes involved in Henry Weems' life somehow becomes an integral part of his luck, including you, me, and the kids?"

She frowns at him. "Mulder, you're speaking as if we're all trapped in one of those contraptions that he built. When he starts to leave again, she asks, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for Maggie Lupone," he replies. From the nurses' station, he helps himself to a phone book, and returns waving it at his wife. "Luck is the overreaching force in this investigation. I say we roll with it." Closing his eyes, he opens the book to a random page, waves his hand in the air like a magician and lets his finger fall. Husband and wife look at the ad. It reads, "MUHAYMIN DAYCARE - Nurturing the Children of Islam Since 1983."

::Huh. I'll bet that's one of the companies under investigation post-9/11,:: Mulder thinks anachronistically, even as he drawls, "Yeah, let's call that a dry run."

Just as drily, Scully smiles. "Yeah."

With less drama and his eyes closed, he opens to another page and lets his finger fall. This time it lands on Grayson's Linen Service. Whoa, on the money, he thinks, I couldn't have landed it better if I tried. Looks like Weems is getting lucky again.

* * *

While Mulder is rounding up a uniformed posse, Scully and their children are at Richie Lupone's bedside. When the lights flicker and surge, Page screams and some of her brothers whimper, but Scully makes soothing noises and pats them gently to calm them down. Even the sign for the center outside, "R.I. CHILDES Pediatric Care" flickers.

When the backup electricity kicks in, Page pipes up, "Mommy, look." Scully looks outside to where her daughter is pointing, and a couple of the letters aren't lit up. "That's Richie," she says, "right?"

Scully nods, her right hand going up to the cross hanging from her necklace. God may not play dice, she thinks, but he certainly isn't subtle about some signs, either. Putting a hand on Richie's limp arm, she closes her eyes. Please, she prays, I'm not sure how you're going to do it, but let Richie be okay. Let his mother be okay. Let Weems be okay. Please.

"Mommy?" Page's voice is very small. "Are you okay?"

Scully opens her eyes and smiles, as her daughter's unconsciously echoing her prayer. "Mommy was just praying," she answers.

"That's talking to God, right?"

Scully nods again. "I was just asking him to take care of everything."

"Then Richie's gonna be okay." Page smiles, leaning against her mother, since Christopher was still taking up most of the lap space.

Give me the faith of a child, her mother sighs, even as she smiles outwardly and hugs her daughter.

Meanwhile, Mulder and a small battalion of policemen slam through the basement door of the laundromat, only to find Weems and Lupone looking down

at the very deceased Joe Cutrona lying in a laundry cart, a large hook lying on his crushed head. Cutrona's medical ID bracelet is visible, proclaiming his blood-type as B-Neg. So much for saving the day, he thinks, and would shrug sardonically at someone, except the authorities are busy swarming around and gathering evidence, while the witnesses are stone still. Then Mulder looks at the couple, who look relieved and shocked, and he smiles, figuring they don't even realize they're holding hands. "I can tell this is gonna be a good one," he murmurs, walking down the metal stairs. "Henry!"

* * *

Half a day has passed, but what a difference that has made. Richie is in bed, joined by his mother at his bedside. This time, however, he looks much better and is smiling. Weems, Mulder, Scully and their kids are watching them through the window out in the hall. Mulder grins at the shorter man. "What are the odds for Cutrona being a perfect match? A thousand-to-one? A million-to-one?"

Scully lifts an eyebrow and a corner of her mouth. "Maybe higher. Maybe everything does happen for a reason...whether we see it or not." Page squeezes her hand, and she smiles at her daughter.

Mulder glances at the mother and son before looking back at Weems. "Maybe your luck is changing," he says, mostly straight-faced.

The usually reclusive and dour look on the manager's face gives way to a reluctant smile, which he tries to smother. "Maybe." Weems joins the Lupones in the hospital room. The FBI family watch as Weems starts the toy and turns to Richie. Like clockwork, one action causes more to happen, until the little ball finally pops into the basket. Scully smiles up at Mulder, "I'm so glad they got a happy ending. It's too bad they had to wait until things reached such a critical point before they realized how much they needed each other. I mean, things could have gone so wrong, and they wouldn't have..." and her voice trails off. For some reason, it felt like, well, like someone walked over her grave.

Mulder hugs her, wondering if somehow she knows what they've been through before this lifetime. It can't be, he thinks, as he says aloud, "But aren't you glad it worked out? And isn't it great to reminded of how much we have?"

"Hm?" She blinks, the strange feeling dispelled. "Yeah, yeah, it is." Then she says in her mommy voice, "Okay, we've got forms to fill, clothes to pack, and a plane to catch in a couple of hours. Before we get the van, does anyone need to go to the bathroom?"

"Nooooo," her children chorus, and she gives them a look.

"You're still going to the bathroom anyways." She marches them on like a general to her soldiers. Mulder, amused, lags behind the small procession.

"Oh, wait!" Page says, and spins around. Mulder runs to follow, and he returns Scully's unspoken question with a similarly nonverbal reply. When he catches up to her, the little blonde girl is at the window, waving. "Bye, Richie!" she calls out.

Hoo boy. He scoops her up, and she continues waving over her father's shoulder, waving harder when Richie waves back. ::My little girl is *not* gonna have boyfriends,:: he scowls all the way to the restrooms. When Scully comes out, she raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Page likes boys," he mutters in the same way he would say that everything bad was the Smoking Man's fault.

She laughs and pats his uninjured forearm. "Maybe you need to go to the bathroom too, Poopyhead." She smiles.

He sighs. "I thought girls only started liking boys in their teens. Is she trying to get a head start on driving me nuts?"

She snorts. "Maybe boys are late bloomers, but I liked boys when I was her age." Then she grins. "Of course, aside from holiday cards, my way of showing affection was beating them up."

"Well, that hasn't changed." Mulder grins, and she grins back before slugging him. "Ow, that was my bullet arm," he pouts.

Her eyes are positively wicked as she smiles, "I'll kiss it and make it all better, among other places. Once we get back home, that is."

He smiles back, kissing her quickly. "Home sweet home, here we come!" He runs in to grab the remaining kids splashing around in the bathroom sinks, making her laugh. "Let's go, let's go!"

The sound of children complaining and Scully laughing fill the hospital hallways, while Mulder's got the biggest, goofiest grin plastered on his face. How did I get to be so lucky? he wonders, not for the first time. Whether it be Elsbeth or someone else entirely, he's never gonna take this current lucky streak for granted.


	81. The Amazing Maleeni

December 29, 1999

The Mulder and Scully haunted hou - I mean, mansion.

They're having a New Year's Eve party with family and friends, ::which is the way it should be::, Mulder thinks, ::not some crazy-ass shit out of a George Romero movie.:: His gut twists, knowing they have to face the remnants of the Millennium group, Frank Black, and enough of the living dead to last him a lifetime within the next 48 hours and wishing they could put the whole thing off without tipping anybody off.

Yeah, right.

That fringe group makes even the Gunmen seem sane, and he wonders, not for the first time, if other countries or cultures have to deal with calendar-based psychos. As far as he can tell, Chinese, Mayan, Islamic, Hebrew, Hopi and other time-based prophetic cultures haven't spawned any apocalyptic nuts, but then, 2012 hasn't happened yet and we've already passed a number of Middle Eastern ages without Armageddon happening... ::Damn. Friendly zombies my ass,:: he thinks, and doesn't realize his face twists until Scully comments, "Uncle Bob's tricks aren't that bad."

Mulder grins, focusing on the infamous uncle Scully'd mentioned on their case in the Florida sideshow town, where was it? Oh yeah, Gibsonton. Neat place. Then he groans as Uncle Bob explodes yet another would-be animal balloon. "Wanna bet?" he says. "We'll be lucky if our kids aren't traumatized by clowns *and* balloons."

She chuckles, leaning against him. "Wait'll you see what he does with those remains."

Mulder frowns. "What do you mean?" Against his better judgment, he watches the "magic act," and is just as startled as his kids when the portly old man "sneezes" - and shredded balloon skin flies out his nostrils like multi-colored snot. "Cool," he grins as the kids laugh and clap.

Scully rolls her eyes. "Toldja." She smirks as Sammy and the younger kids play with the "snot."

"Okay, once in a while, he does good," her husband grudgingly concedes.

"Did Bob do that balloon thing again?" Scully's mom comes out of the kitchen, a bemused look on her face.

Her daughter nods. "Even Mulder jumped."

"I did not!" he protests, but it is in vain against the Scully women laughter. He smiles weakly. "I don't suppose it's dinner time already."

"Just a few more minutes," Maggie Scully says, and turns to the kitchen. "Emily and Page are growing so fast, I can't believe they're helping prepare the meal."

"Just in case, you taste it first, okay?" Mulder asks his wife, who promptly slugs his arm. "Ow. You know I love you, right?"

Mrs. Scully chuckles as she heads back to the kitchen, where it may be hot, but certainly not as fiery as her youngest daughter can get. Even as their voices rise, Uncle Bob's voice can be heard above the din to ask the kids, "Hey, do you want to see me eat bugs?"

"Sammy already does that," April informs the old man.

Uncle Bob laughs heartily. "Yeah, but can he make it come out without being gooey and in one piece?"

"Nooooo," Sammy says.

And it isn't long before Uncle Bob leads them outside like a mad version of Santa and has them digging up insects and earthworms from the cold earth. With a twist of his hand and wink of his eye, he cheerfully "ingests" each creepy, crawly creature for a few moments. Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly the digested critter would appear, alive and spit-free, wriggling in his hand or behind some hapless child's ear. "Ta-daaaaaaaaaaah!"

This went on until Mrs. Scully calls everyone inside to eat. "Not bugs," she adds quickly, "normal food like turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet rolls, and hot cider."

And she steps back before the small herd runs her over in their rush to get to the dinner table.

* * *

Santa Monica Pier

January 13th, 2000

Scully tries to keep an eye on the kids while Mulder compares a picture of Maleeni's van to the real thing. As if anything in this carnival-like atmosphere could be real, Mulder muses, then walks over to his partner, who is busy trying to keep the kids from contaminating the crime scene. Mulder waves to his older kids through the open driver's side window, and Sammy and Page waves back. April and the twins are chasing each other around the stroller, while Scully looks in the passenger side window, Christopher on her hip.

Mulder grins at the almost Rockwellian scene juxtaposed against the crappy van. "Neat trick, huh?"

Rather than waving at her partner, she snorts. "I can think of a neater one. How you convinced me to drop everything and get on the first plane to Los Angeles not long after we dealt with the apocalyptic New Year zombies," she deadpans.

"Come on, Scully." Mulder grins. "This isn't intriguing enough for you? A magician turns his head completely around 360 degrees to the delight of young and old alike after which it plops unceremoniously onto the pier...see the picture?" And like a goof, he holds up the photo from the file.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I saw the picture. And as for this Amazing Maleeni turning his head all the way around, like you said, Mulder, neat trick."

"But..." Mulder interjects, joining his madding crowd on the other side of the van.

"But," Scully continues as he scoops up his rambunctious redheaded son, "I'd guess this event was completely removed from the subsequent murder."

Mulder looks up, swiftly tossing away the gravel-covered thingamajig Sammy had just picked up. "You think this was a murder?"

She frowns. "Don't you?" In answer, he wiggles his eyebrows. Oh brother. "Mulder, his head was cut off," she says in a tone reserved for slow students and her husband on his crackpot theories.

Hefting his son on his hip, Mulder dramatically proclaims as he waves his hand in a Vanna White-like fashion at the van, "Ah, observe the nearly complete absence of blood. Observe the paucity of fingerprints as evidenced by the LAPD's liberal use of lycopodium powder."

"Why are you talking like Tony Randall?" Scully says, not giving him the benefit of a smile.

Undaunted, he continues on, bolstered by Sammy staring intently into the van. "Know that the Amazing Maleeni was alive one moment and expired the next. Know also that no one saw his fleeing attacker nor heard the dying man's cries."

Scully shifts Christopher so that he's on her other hip, then uses her free leg to block her twin boys from entering the vehicle. "Mulder, I admit that I don't know how it happened but I still say that it was a murder. So what's your theory?"

::That, once having traveled through time, I can solve nearly all our cases in my sleep, including this one,:: Mulder wants to say. ::That's why I feel safe enough to bring our kids on what seems on face value to be a serious crime investigation at a really cool place.:: Aloud, he replies, "A magic trick gone horribly wrong. One that claims the lives of all who attempt it."

He asks a nearby cop, "Can I see that camcorder again? Thank you." He turns back to his wife. "A tourist videotaped Maleeni's performance. Look at this."

And for the benefit of everyone, he squats down so that the kids can see the coolest trick in the world on tape, heckler included. Of course, he doesn't say that it's also the beginning of the biggest financial trick ever.

Scully, nonplussed by the act, which even her Uncle Bob could outdo, asks, "Who's the heckler?

As the heckler keeps it up, Mulder answers, "I don't know." Then, Maleeni's head does a slow reenactment of the Exorcist girl's head-spinning trick, sans the green spew. Then he repeats his question. "Neat trick, huh?"

His partner, however, frowns. "Hang on a second. Let me see this. That heckler was pretty hard to impress wouldn't you say?" she points out. "Look, and then he just takes off in a huff."

Both his eyebrows go up. "What, you think he's a murderer?"

"Well, it's worth checking out, don't you think?" she says reasonably.

He grins. "That'll be a neat trick in itself. You never see his face."

On cue, she rewinds the tape to show the heckler throwing away the cup. "Ah, but observe," she proclaims, borrowing his cheesy voice, "his discarded soda cup." Then she smirks. "The hand may be quicker than the eye but it still leaves fingerprints."

"Provided they haven't dumped the trash," Mulder shoots back, scooping up his eagle-eyed second daughter.

"Skeptic," his wife says, seeing he's too distracted with blocking the twins with his legs to retort, and grins sweetly.

* * *

North Hollywood, California

They're inside an old theater, where they find the heckling dude practicing card tricks as Mulder, Scully and their children walk in.

"Mr. LaBonge? We're Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," she says as they show their badges. LaBonge glances up at the badges, smiles briefly at the kids, then continues shuffling his cards. Scully, unsure whether he's unimpressed with their credentials or their children, is miffed at the notion of both and presses on. "Were you at the, uh, Santa Monica Pier yesterday morning?"

"Yeah."

"You attended a magic show," Mulder takes up the line of questioning as his kids watch the card shuffling. Yep, distraction in action. "The Amazing Maleeni."

"Yeah, he sucks," LaBonge replies, still not looking up. "Why?"

Okay, she's officially miffed. "He's dead, under extremely suspicious circumstances."

The card shuffler is nonplussed. "He still sucks. How'd you find me?"

"Your fingerprints," Scully says flatly. "You have a criminal record."

"A conviction for pick pocketing," Mulder adds.

LaBonge sighs, finally squarely looking up at the adults, rather than the corner of his eyes, as Mulder noticed. "Man, that was performance art," he explains. "And besides, it's ancient history. What are you saying, you think I killed him?" he scoffs.

"Well, you're on videotape heckling the deceased," Scully answers.

"What did you have against Mr. Maleeni?" Mulder asks, and LaBonge gives them the same song-and-dance tale about real vs. fake magicians while making coins disappear and reappear, to his children's delight, and butts in. "What about the trick where he turns his head completely around?"

"Check it out," LaBonge says, kneeling down on the floor and places his hand flat on the floor, then proceeds to turn it 360 degrees around. While the adults give him grudging respect, the kids attempt to copy him. He smirks as he stands, "No problem. Did you like that?"

"Yeah," Sammy says, his eyes wide.

LaBonge's expression grows canny. "Watch." He pulls out a quarter. "Coin in the hand...blows away," he blows on his fingers, and it disappears. "Maybe it's a little bit hard for you to see," he grins at the agents' kids. "Let me make that...Bigger for you," LaBonge says, revealing a very large coin in his other hand.

Mulder is deliberately straight-faced as he needles the guy. "Those are great, but I don't see how they're any different or better than the ones Maleeni did."

Now LaBonge focuses on the coin trick, seemingly ignoring the guy while answering him. " Mozart and Salieri. They sound pretty much the same to a layman. But they ain't. You know what I'm saying? It's about," he pauses as he does a little flourish while switching coins, "originality. Style. And more than anything else...soul. Because that's what separates the great ones...from the hacks. We can't do this halfway. We're dealing with powerful forces at work here. Energies far beyond our mere...mortal...understanding," he says, finishing.

Mulder's glad the kids are providing the adoring audience, even as he can't help but admire the trick himself. "Enough to make a magician lose his head?"

"Could be. That, and I hear Maleeni racked up some pretty big gambling debts. Who knows who he might've pissed off." He shrugs.

Scully starts to herd their children away from the magician, already distrusting him because of his skill. "Well, thank you, Mr. LaBonge. We'll, uh...be in touch," she says, her back already turned.

"Please do. Oh, and agents...," and as they turn around, LaBonge uncrosses his arms, revealing the FBI agents' badges, one in each hand. Mulder almost swears, wondering why he'd forgotten to really strap that sucker down, and he and check their empty pockets, then take their badges back from the smirking man. He makes a mocking bow, but the children, not quite used to irony, clap.

Scully steers her husband out before he can take a swing at the bastard, nodding at her mobile kids to follow.

* * *

Later in the autopsy bay, Maleeni's decapitated body is on the table. Scully's done up in blue scrubs and snaps off one of her bloody examination gloves and turns to Mulder, who is balancing Christopher in his arms and David and Jared on his legs. "All right, I'm stumped," she smiles at her hapless husband, "and I think I'm supposed to be."

"What do you think?" he prompts her, moving quickly in spite of the adorable leg weights, and snatches a scalpel away from Sammy's grasping fingers.

"Well, first of all, and sorry to disappoint you but, uh, Mr. Maleeni's head didn't just magically fall off," Scully states. "It was very carefully sawed. Very slow and exacting work probably with a fine-tooth meat saw. And check out this little detail." Mulder watches in fascination as his partner fingers a stretchy yellowish substance around the body's neck. Even as Page makes a face, Scully explains, "Spirit gum, Mulder. It held the head to the body. Just barely, of course."

"So he was murdered."

She tilts her head, and if his hands weren't so full, Mulder would reach out and brush her bangs away from her face. "Well, no," she says. "As far as I can tell this man died of advanced coronary disease."

"Natural causes," he restates, wondering, not for the first time, if it's possible to screw with the magicians as much as they plan to screw with them. Hell, yeah, he answers inwardly, and almost grins.

"Yeah."

"So, basically he died of a heart attack, somebody crept up behind him, sawed his head off and then glued it back on all in the space of 30 seconds," Mulder says, miming the actions as he says them. Grinning goofily at his kids, he shrugs. "Does that make sense to you?"

Why did I marry this man? Scully asks herself, even though one of the many hundreds of reasons why is the fact that he's got the weirdest sense of humor and timing on the face of the earth happens to be one of them. "No," she says, clamping hard on her goofy giggles which threaten to join those of her children's. "Which makes it even stranger still because, as far as I can tell this body has been dead for over a month. I see signs of refrigeration."

"And yet he performed yesterday," he smiles at her, knowing she's sitting on her laughter. "What a trouper."

I hate you, she thinks, even as the giggles start to escape, "Well, *somebody* performed yesterday."

* * *

Cradock Marine Bank

Los Angeles, California

The not-so-little FBI family walk through the bank, nobody paying them any mind because they look like any other family passing through, for the most part. Mulder tries not to give the guy in the neck brace and wheelchair the evil eye, but it's really hard to keep a poker face. "The plot thickens," he deadpans to his partner.

"He might try and run," Scully replies in a low voice.

After they knock and enter the office, the balding, heavyset man behind the desk waves them in. "Come in," Albert Pinchbeck tells the small crowd trooping into the small room. "Good morning, Mr. And Mrs...?"

Mulder smiles as he and Scully pull out their badges. "You can call us Agents...Mulder and Scully. FBI."

Pinchbeck looks resigned. "You're not here for a home loan, I take it."

"It's paid for," Scully says as she waves the kids over to sit down. "We are investigating the death of a magician who called himself the Amazing Maleeni."

The bank clerk starts to nod, then makes a face instead. "Herman Pinchbeck, my twin brother."

Duh, Scully thinks as she says, "Yes, we know. We checked his next of kin."

Even as he and his wife badger Pinchbeck about his accident, Mulder's tempted to tip his own hand and knock the bastard on his back. But then, his own life would crumple like one of Pinchbeck's cheap tricks, leave him alone and with multiple deaths on his hands, and then where would he be? While his thoughts have taken a lovely, depressing turn, Scully pipes up, "Do you know magic, Mr. Pinchbeck?"

The ugly man's face brightens. "Yes, I do. Back in the '70s, my brother and I performed together."

"Why did you stop?" Mulder asks, as if he doesn't know the answer.

"You never really stop," Pinchbeck says smugly. Pulling a deck of cards from his desk, he fans them out in his hands, and holds them out to Mulder.

"Pick a card, any card?" Mulder says, and as he pauses, Sammy's hand shoots out, grabbing a card, just as his daddy thought he would. "That's the King of Diamonds," he tells his son, noticing the slight disappointment on the other guy's face fade when he pays full attention. "Put it back in the deck," he prompts his son, who does so. Pinchbeck expertly shuffles the cards, then lets them cascade from one hand to the other. The last card he holds up is the King of Diamonds. Mulder grins in spite of himself. "Hmm. Very impressive."

The old dude in the wheelchair beams. "My brother and I both wanted to do the absolute best magic the world had ever seen. The difference was I knew he'd never get there but he always believed we would. We didn't talk much after I quit the act," he says regretfully.

"I have a theory, Mr. Pinchbeck and I'm going to tell you how it goes," he says, standing. He knows he's gonna play the fool, but better now than tip his hand. After all, why disabuse the old trickster into realizing he's not the only magician out there? "I think that your brother Herman died of heart disease having never made it as the world's greatest magician and I think that hurt you just as your estrangement from him hurt you. And I think what you did was perform his last act for him," he goes on, ignoring his wife's warning glance, "one last act for which he'd always be remembered - one last act that would end with such a shock, such a denouement as would be forever remembered in the annals of magic. That's what I think."

"I so wish that were true, Pinchbeck says, and, as before, pushes his wheelchair back from his desk, revealing legs cut off at the knee. "It was a very bad car accident in Mexico," he says, almost smugly.

As they hurriedly leave the bank, Page asks innocently, "You're not going to arrest him?"

"Uh, no," Scully says simply, trying not to laugh at the chagrined look on her husband's face. Then she says, in what she hopes is a more businesslike tone, "What now?"

Mulder, pushing the stroller and carrying the baby bag, mumbles, "A guy's head falls off. It's the greatest trick in the world. Only there's no discernible point to it." He allows his temporary frustration at not being able to show the hands behind the trick show through. "What's the reason for doing that in the first place?"

She shrugs. "Why do people do magic?"

Page, not knowing it's a "grownup" question, answers, "To keep Sammy out of trouble."

"What?" Mulder blinks.

"Uncle Bob ate the insects instead of Sammy," the little blonde girl goes on, "and made balloon snot come out of his nose."

Scully tries to keep the laughter bottled up, honestly she does, but it bubbles out of her. "Oh, oh, Page," she finally says after wiping tears from her eyes and getting her breath back, "that's not the only reason Uncle Bob does that."

Page gives her mother a practical-but-inquisitive Scully look. "How come?"

"Why is that," Scully automatically corrects her, then replies, "to, uh, impress you, to delight," and pauses when she sees her daughter understands but is neither impressed nor delighted by said magic tricks, "to gain attention." Or gross small children and their parents out, she almost adds, but that's too obvious.

Mulder grins at her. "This one's gained mostly police attention. Maybe that's the point," he says, getting back to the point.

"Well, maybe we should consult an expert," Scully shifts Christopher to her other shoulder, "maybe he can help us figure that out."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Mozart."

His wife looks about as enthusiastic as he does, probably more because Christopher is fussing and the kids are getting antsy again. "Yeah."

* * *

Being the steadfast and dutiful FBI agents they are, however, Mulder and Scully invariably consult LaBonge, find the marker in Maleeni's van, and Sammy disconcerts Mulder when he shouts, "A clue! A clue!" His younger brothers take up the chant, and Scully frowns, puzzled, as she quickly pockets the evidence in a small plastic baggie.

Mulder murmurs, "When will 'Blues Clues' get off the air? Or when will Steve start solving homicides?"

Scully makes a face at him when she realizes the reference, then hustles her family out. They eventually find themselves in the perfect locale for hustling, that is, a pool hall, occupied by said owner of marker, Cissy Alvarez, and question him accordingly. The interrogation is more of a warning than an actual shakedown, and they give indication as much, since Mulder decides to play fair with chronology for now.

* * *

Having left the pool hall, the marker in Mulder's pocket, he looks at his wife. "Don't you find it odd that the amazing Maleeni's a lousy poker player? I mean, this is a guy who's adept at manipulating cards."

She shrugs, grateful not only that the kids behaved, but that none of the pool hall punks even tried to mess with her children. "Maybe he wasn't so adept. LaBonge certainly doesn't have a high opinion of his skills."

"There's another possibility." He squats down to his kids' level and declares, "Behold - an ordinary household quarter." Said quarter appears in his hand, and now he's got mother and children's attention. "I'm going to take the quarter from my right hand and place it into my left hand," he says, doing it with a LaBonge-like flourish. "Where is it?"

Page taps her father's hand. "It's in your right hand," she states.

"Oh, no, no, no," he says, opening an empty right hand.

Scully smiles, since she would've guessed the same. She watches as Sammy taps his father's left hand, and Mulder opens it. It, too, is empty.

Nodding in spite of her elder children's disappointment, she says, "Not bad, Mulder, not bad at all."

He grins up at her, then grabs April's nose. "Blow your nose, honey."

"Daddy." April pouts, batting at his hand in spite of her elder siblings cheering their father on.

He holds on to her nose between his fingers, knowing that she really is more observant than most take her for. "Just blow your nose, April."

Seeing there's no way out of it, she surprises him with a loud, practically Al Pacino-level, "Ah-CHOOO!" The quarter flies from April's nose into her father's other hand.

Wiping gingerly, he holds up the quarter. "Ta-da," Mulder says, and dips his head for a bow. And April, her heretofore hidden thespian talent now on display, curtsies while the others clap.

"Amazing!" Scully beams, kissing April on her bangs, making the little redhead smile shyly.

"The great Muldeeni and his lovely assistant," Mulder says proudly.

Scully snorts while her other children clamor to be assistants, too. "And what's the point?"

"It's misdirection," Mulder says, flipping the quarter up with his thumb. "That's the heart of magic. I made you look one direction. The quarter went in the other."

"And that's what's happening in this case?"

"I think we're being led around by our noses," he says, standing up.

"Ew." Page makes a face.

"It's a figure of speech," Scully says, smothering a smile. "By whom? Maleeni is already dead."

Mulder nods. "It certainly would appear so, but then again, you thought the quarter was in the right hand." He waves the quarter at her and smiles before pocketing it. It takes them a while, because Page keeps asking how he did that, Sammy keeps begging for the quarter, the twins are being less than cooperative in getting into the child seats, and Christopher needs changing, but they eventually get into their rental minivan and drive off.

* * *

They go back to the bank and reveal Pinchbeck's actual identity as the Amazing Maleeni, or, in other words, his own twin brother Herman with two whole legs. Scully's shocked, but it's Page who screams, Sammy laughs, the twins settle down with a thump, and April says nothing, her eyes taking it all in. ::Why am I not surprised,:: Mulder thinks, as he hauls the man to his feet.

Maleeni spills some, not all, about what he did with his brother and why he did it, along with his "gambling debts" with Alvarez. As he talks, he shuffles and plays out a deck of cards, more skillfully than he did while at the bank, Mulder beats Scully and asks him why he didn't cheat. She kicks her under the table, even as Maleeni looks shocked at the question, dropping his deck. Picking the cards up, Mulder doesn't mind the dressing down for the second time in so many days in front of his kids, since it beats Scully taking it. Besides, Maleeni admitted that Mulder was right in his reasons for pulling the head-twist trick, and even proffered up his wrists for the handcuffs.

Ha, ha, Mulder thinks as he leads the guy out to a bank staff who is not only shocked at the switch, but that he was given handicapped privileges as well. He and Scully question the bank officers about financial access that the wrong Pinchbeck might've had, as well as other bank business. Meanwhile, Maleeni's slipped out of the handcuffs as easily as a porn star out of a dress, holding them up with a big smile at Mulder, who glares at him.

Scully grabs their attention by pointing out, "Mulder, it says here something about a robbery attempt yesterday."

The bank officer shrugs, unimpressed. "Yeah, that wasn't against us but the armored transport service we deal with. No money was taken, and no suspects were caught." No harm, no foul, in other words.

His wife looks at the clipboard, noting, "Yeah, well, Mr. Pinchbeck was the employee who signed out the truck. He knew the schedule."

"I had nothing to do with that," Maleeni says, handcuffs still dangling from his fingertips.

She gives him a quelling look. "Maybe, maybe not."

Mulder grabs his handcuffs back, then grabs Maleeni. "We'll hold you till we find out, make sure you don't pull a vanishing act."

* * *

Mulder's debated long and hard inwardly, but decides to let the terrible duo, Maleeni and LaBonge, reunite in jail rather than put them in different jails. Hell, it's not like being jailed, period, stopped them before. Therefore, he's not terribly surprised when Alvarez is picked up for robbery on tape, ratting out LaBonge when he's caught. However, Alvarez isn't the only one caught on tape, and Mulder and Scully have fun reviewing surveillance, their theories holding more water now that they've got evidence of the magicians doing their impersonation of Houdini.

Temporarily placing their children in the care of police officers, Mulder and Scully halt the release of Maleeni and LaBonge, telling them their deductions, and, while the pair protest initially, each argument is knocked down by the pair of FBI agents. "Don't you think we have pretty good alibis?" LaBonge finally points out, gesturing at the prison.

"You have great alibis." Mulder smirks. "You have the best alibis in the world, which is why I think you two got arrested in the first place."

"With your expertise at sleight of hand, pick pocketing, and escapology I think you were both able to get out of here by pilfering a guard's key," Scully continues.

"You could have escaped, stolen the money, framed Alvarez, and been back here in time for breakfast," Mulder finishes.

"Scrambled eggs and sausage. That would be the world's greatest trick, wouldn't it?" Maleeni smiles.

"One that would be forever remembered in the annals of magic," Mulder agrees, then produces a VHS tape with a flourish. "Fortunately for us, we get to see the masters in action."

LaBonge looks from one FBI agent to the other, then at the tape. "What happens to us?"

"To you? You go free," Mulder says, putting the tape into his trench coat, "provided the magic is over."

"The great ones always know when to leave the stage," Maleeni says, his chin high as if he were a dignitary on a visit rather than a recently-imprisoned con artist. When the buzzer sounds, Mulder opens the door, and the old magician stands, also. "Billy, let's get the hell out of here," the older man says in a normal tone of voice. Maleeni and LaBonge leave, both of them eyeing Mulder's coat pocket none-too-subtly as they do so.

* * *

"They are the world's greatest." Mulder grins as they, too, leave the interrogation room to rejoin their children.

Scully gives him a look. "We saw through their magic, Mulder, we've even got it on tape."

"Yeah," Mulder says, "right," and he pauses, then frowns when a search of his pockets reveal nothing. "Those bastards picked my pockets."

"What? You're kidding." Scully frowns, and quickly frisks her husband. "Oh, no."

He grins. "Search lower, G-woman, you're turning me on." She smacks him, but he still chuckles. "Just kidding, Scully. Relax. They didn't take the real tape, the one they stole had a thousand and one episodes of Barney, Elmo, and whoever else PBS comes up with."

As she sighs with relief, his grin grows wider. "But wait, there's more." Making a big show of his empty sleeves, he wiggles his left fingers up in the air. His beautiful long-suffering partner and wife obediently watches the fingers while Mulder fumbles around his jacket with his right hand, then "magically" whips out a large wallet which she'd earlier assumed was his. "Behold! The Amazing Maleeni's wallet."

Her mouth hangs open, surprised he got the drop on the old man twice. "You picked his pocket?"

His grin turns sheepish as he admits, "No, I pilfered it from the evidence room to prevent them from completing their final act of prestidigitation."

She frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"I began to wonder, why did they need so elaborate a setup? Why so high profile? Why draw the attention of the FBI in the first place?"

He can see the wheels turning in her head. "We were the last piece of the puzzle."

He nods, "Yeah. Framing Alvarez was just another misdirection. This trick was about EFTs - electronic funds transfers at the bank. Maleeni, Pinchbeck - he didn't have security clearance for them so he needed a little federal law enforcement intervention - specifically, my badge number that we so helpfully show to suspects and victims alike, and my fingerprints on those cards he dropped. With those two items, they could pull off an EFT and steal enough electronically as to make that $1.8 million look like cigar-lighting money. But they can't do it without these." The grin returns to his face. "Pick a card, Scully...Any card." He pulls the plastic-encased card deck out of the huge wallet, then shoves it back in before pocketing the whole enchilada.

Scully pauses as she muses, "You know, Mulder, there's still one thing that you haven't explained."

Mulder keeps his poker face on, waiting for what comes next. "What's that?"

"How the Amazing Maleeni was able to turn his head completely around."

He shrugs nonchalantly, "I don't know that."

Now Scully grins. "I do. I'll show you. Observe," she says in her imitation of Mulder's "magician" voice. When she gets down on her knees in front of him, Mulder grins broadly and waggles his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes, placing her hands awkwardly but flat on the floor and turns her right arm a full 360 degrees, then gets up and smoothes her sleeve.

He whistles, hoping this time around she'd actually tell him. "Wow! Nice, very nice. How'd you do that?"

She gives him her poker face, which, since her face is usually expression, is rather daunting. "Well," she says slowly, like a parent to a child, "magic." Then she resumes walking down the hall. "Come on, the kids are waiting."

Aw, man! "No." Mulder pouts, following after her. "Seriously, Scully, how'd you do it? You know, it's not the same thing. Hands are different than heads. Come on." He resorts to tapping her on the shoulder and saying, "Hey, look at this." And proceeds to do the disappearing thumb trick that even Uncle Bob didn't stoop to. "Scully..." he whines.

Before they reach the door to where their kids are waiting behind, Scully turns around and smiles widely. "I'll show you when we get home and the kids are tucked in bed."

As she opens the door, Mulder feels a sudden disloyalty to his children, whom he loves dearly and are soon attaching themselves to his legs. I can't wait to get home, he thinks, even as Scully hustles them into the rented van in her usual brisk, motherly demeanor.


	82. Signs and Wonders

March 2000

Hoover Building

Mulder's computer is hissing when Scully comes into the office. A glance at the screen shows her an animated snake. She doesn't ask her husband what kind, because a phone is glued to his ear.

"Not as far as you know? ... All right. ... Not this time of year. ... All right. Thank you, Doctor. Good-bye."

"Snakes," she says as he hangs up.

"Lots and lots of snakes. Very pissed off ones, from the look of it," he agrees and hands her a folder.

When she opens it, she recoils at the sight of Jared Chirp's swollen, disfigured, corpse. "Jesus, Mulder! You could have warned me!"

"And miss that reaction?" He ducks away. "That's the former Mr. Jared Chirp of McMinn County, Tennessee."

"Extremely former from the looks of it."

"116 separate bite marks. Judging from the wound measurements there were 50 different snakes involved - mostly copperheads and rattlers."

"But it says here that he was found dead in his car."

"Yeah, with a pistol in his hand. He fired six shots, into the floorboards, into the passenger seat, even into his right kneecap, and the windows were shut and the doors were locked."

"But, uh, what happened to all the snakes? Don't tell me that they were magical snakes that could evaporate into thin air."

Mulder shrugs. "No one seems to know that. There was not a scale found. I just got off the phone with a herpetologist at the Smithsonian, and he's stumped - especially because these rattlesnakes tend to hibernate in winter."

"So you think that, uh...Mr. Chirp was murdered? By whoever let the snakes out or took them away?"

"Well, it certainly would appear that way but the question is 'how?' There's no physical evidence at all - no tire tracks, no footprints. I can't see how anyone could have accomplished this. And then you got to ask yourself 'why?' Why would anybody use poisonous snakes as a murder weapon?"

"Maybe it's symbolic. I mean, serpents and religion have gone hand in hand. They've represented the temptation of Eve - Original Sin. They've been feared and hated throughout history as they've been thought to embody Satan - to serve Evil itself."

"Maybe these ones actually do," Mulder says darkly.

"These particular serpents actually were serving Evil?" He refuses to meet her eyes. "Are you going to type that on our travel request?"

"Mmm...No. But at the very least this case does seem to center around religion...and you're not the only one to think that by the way."

It's on her mind to ask him who else does, because although he believes in evil, she knows it's usually not of the biblical kind.

* * *

Later That Night

Only when the loose floorboard near the doorway creeks does Scully realize that someone is there. Sammy is giving her a concerned look, and she beckons to him with the hand not holding clothes. He walks over, more sedately than usual.

"You look like there's something you wanted to say," she prompts.

"You look sad, Mommy. I thought going away was funner than going to your here-work."

This theory surprises her, but she's never given it much thought. "'Funner' isn't a word, Sammy. We say 'more fun' instead."

This grammar lesson doesn't deter her son. "Are you sad?"

"Well, I'm always sad when we have to leave you kids-"

Sammy shakes his head. "More."

Scully sighs and pats a spot on the mattress so he'll sit. "The case Daddy and I are working on is about snakes. I don't like snakes."

"But they're not slimy, they're dry. Just worms are slimy," he explains earnestly.

"I know. There's a different reason I don't like them. When I was a little bit older than you, I hurt a snake and it died."

"Why'd you hurt it, Mommy?" Sammy looks shocked that his mother has ever hurt another living creature. "On accident?"

"By accident. No, I'm ashamed to say. I played with Uncle Bill's b-b-gun, and shot it without thinking. Even after I didn't think it would die, but it did. It's not fair to snakes that I don't like them now, but it's hard to make yourself stop feeling something."

"Like guilty," Sammy says, nodding.

"Exactly."

He gives her a hug. "Try not to kill any more snakes so you don't haft to feel more guilty."

"I'll try."

"When it's April's birthday party, can we make her worms and mud?" Sammy asks, referring to a desert consisting of chocolate pudding with crushed Oreo cookies and gummy worms mixed in. "She really likes it."

"We all do. But cake usually goes with ice-cream, not pudding. I think we'll have to have mud and worms sooner than that. Maybe when Daddy and I get back."

"Okay!"

When he runs off to tell his sisters, Scully quickly finishes packing.

* * *

Blessing Community Church

Blessing, Tennessee

Their first stop is a small church with elaborate stained-glass windows. Inside there are fewer people than expected for a funeral. One of them, a young, heavily pregnant blonde woman, is crying. An older woman stands next to her, murmuring comforting words and handing her tissues.

Reverend Mackey approaches the women. "Jared is in a better place now, Gracie. He's at peace."

The older woman, Iris Finster, says to the other, "You know, Reverend Mackey's right, honey. He is in a better place."

After giving the tiniest of nods, Gracie leans down and gives the casket a sad kiss. Then she allows herself to be lead outside, past Mulder and Scully who have thus far been lingering at the doorsill. Once the women are gone, they step inside and hold out their badges.

"Reverend Samuel Mackey? My name is Fox Mulder. This is Dana Scully. We're with the FBI. May be speak with you, sir?"

Scully is distracted by the sight of Iris helping Gracie into a car. She refocuses when she hears Mulder say, "We apologize for our timing. We'd like to ask you a few questions about Jared Chirp."

The reverend balks. "I've already spoken to the Sheriff about it...though I'm not sure that was a good idea."

Mulder doesn't back down. "Specifically, you had suspicions about the manner in which he died?"

Reverend Mackey sighs. "I should be the last one to point a finger or say a harsh word. Our church is founded on acceptance and tolerance of all people, all beliefs..."

"But...?" Scully asks.

"Before Jared joined us he belonged to a fundamentalist congregation outside of town - the Church of God with Signs and Wonders. It practices snake handling."

Mulder nods knowingly. "As a sign of faith, worshipers handle deadly snakes or drink poison, right?"

"They believe that the Holy Spirit protects the righteous. Jared grew up in that church but it is very difficult to walk away from a belief system that one is raised in. It takes great courage.

Scully raises her eyebrows but says nothing.

Mulder doesn't seem to notice her reaction. "Why did he walk away?"

"He and Gracie, his girlfriend-you probably saw her leaving the church just after you arrived - left it together. They found that a rigid interpretation of the Bible was not for them, especially when it involves risking life and limb in the act of worship, but again it is not for me to judge. I will say, however, that both Jared and Gracie were persecuted by the members of their former church. All this animus...stems from their church leader - Enoch O'Connor."

"Animus enough to motivate a murder?" Scully asks.

Reverend Mackey just looks at them, but his expression offers his opinion clearly.

* * *

Church of God with Signs and Wonders

Later

This church looks little like the other. It is smaller, run down, and unadorned but for a hand-painted sign that states: "Look unto me and be SAVED: all the evils of the Earth; for I am GOD, and there is none other - Isaiah 45:22 "

As they walk up the steps, Mulder notices that all the shades are drawn.

Snake handling. I didn't learn that in catechism class," his wife remarks.

"Not even from Sister Spooky? That's funny. My boyhood friends bragged about a few Catholic schoolgirls who were expert at it."

Scully rolls her eyes and follows him into the darkened church.

"Enoch O'Connor? Federal Agents," he calls out before asking Scully "Where's the light switch?"

"The nearest one? Probably ten miles from here," she says, making him laugh quietly.

The doors swing close behind them, casting the church into darkness. So they turn on their flashlights and begin to look around. The beam of Scully's lands on a crudely rendered painting hang on a side wall.

"Rattlesnakes and medieval visions of damnation. Well, I for one, feel a whole lot closer to God," she says ironically.

"I don't know, Scully. When you...when you get right down to it is snake handling any harder to buy into than communion wafers or transubstantiation...?"

"Or believing in flying saucers, for that matter."

"I'm just saying that-that your faith and O'Connor's seem to be based on the same book."

The first thing of interest that Mulder finds is an empty mesh cage. He points at it with his flashlight. "Uh-oh, Scully. What do you think O'Connor keeps in here?"

"Something slithery?"

"It's all right. It's empty," he says, picking it up and shaking it.

"Good thing, or it would have bit the crap out of you for shaking it. The question we should worry about is, why is it empty?" Scully asks.

A rattling noise behind them startles them badly enough for them to draw their guns. A river of snakes begins to flow towards them from under pews and out of dark corners. Then a man enters the church, flooding it momentarily with light.

"By what right are you here?" Reverend Enoch O'Connor asks disdainfully.

Without looking, Scully holds out her badge. She's afraid to take her eyes off the snakes that are still hissing on the floor. "Reverend Enoch O'Connor, we're Federal Agents. We're, uh...with the FBI."

"Reverend, do something about these snakes, please," Mulder requests.

"You got nothing to fear if you're righteous people," O'Connor declares smugly.

"Just in case we're not, we could use a little righteous help here," Mulder tells him.

"What do you want?" Reverend O'Connor bends and puts the snakes into a bag with an easy air about him, as if he's certain that the snakes would never bite him.

"We're here to ask you questions about a former member of your church - Jared Chirp," Scully says nervously.

"That boy strayed from the path and was lost to the dark one. I'm sorry for his soul. There ain't much else to say," O'Connor declares.

Mulder presses on. "He died from multiple snakebites. We thought maybe you'd have a special insight into that."

Reverend O'Connor drops another snake into his bag. "I do. It was a test."

Scully shoots him a suspicious look. "A test? What do you mean?"

"A test of faith. A test of righteousness. When the Devil aims to test you, you'd best be ready and you sure better know which side you're on." Once all the snakes are in the bag, they stop rattling, as if they were just waiting to be reunited before settling down.

"Are you speaking about the Devil's test or your test?" Scully asks.

"I don't think you people realize which side you're on. I do. You can leave now." Reverend O'Connor doesn't wait for them to go before turning away himself.

The agents glance at each other before putting their guns away and walking out into the bright sun shine. Scully glowers at her husband. "Tennessee. Snakes. Thank you, Mulder. Thank you so much. I say we arrest him and catch the first flight out of here."

"He does seem like a likely suspect, only the local sheriff's office ruled him out. Apparently, he was in Kentucky the night Jared Chirp died."

"Well, Mulder, there are other people in his congregation."

"Jared Chirp died with a packed suitcase by his side. There's got to be somebody that knows where he was headed."

They get into their car and drive off.

* * *

Days Inn

8:25 p.m.

In an effort to make it up to Scully for dragging her down there, Mulder has gone to get them both milkshakes. She'll protest that they're fattening, and he ought to have gone with something less so, but he knows for a fact that she likes them just as well as he does. The two black and whites freeze his hands through the bag, and it's with some relief that he's able to remove one hand long enough to work the keycard.

Scully doesn't seem to hear as the door opens. Instead, she's sitting on the bed, staring at the blank TV screen. For a moment he worries that they brought a snake back with them and its bite has paralyzed her, but then she looks over to him.

"You okay, Scully?"

She blinks, and drops the TV remote control he just realized that she was holding. "I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine when I opened the door," he says, setting the bag with the shakes down.

"I just saw something upsetting on the news." She pulls the shakes out of the bag and tries to hide her delight. "Mulder, milkshakes? Do you have any idea how fattenin-"

"Isn't there a rule that a woman your size isn't allowed to ever complain about gaining weight, least other women rise up and throttle you?"

"How did you get a look at the secret handbook?" Scully asks him. "Luckily, you're not a woman."

"Oh, so you're noticed," he says in his best seductive voice, and reaches for her.

She pulls away. "Mulder, the shakes will melt."

Trying not to be disappointed, Mulder reminds himself that it's his fault there are potentially melting shakes to worry about in the first place. Their straws are barely to the bottom of the waxed paper cups before the phone rings, alerting them of a new development in the case.

* * *

Blessing Community Church

Mulder and Reverend Mackey stand aside to let paramedics wheel the body of Iris Finster past them.

In the hallway, Reverend Mackey wrings his hands. "I don't understand it. None of us saw or heard anything. Just her scream. When we ran in, she was lying on the floor. I cleared everybody out of the building once I saw the bite marks, but..."

"Reverend," Mulder interrupts. "How close was Iris to Jared Chirp?"

"Not...particularly close but I'd spoken with her not 15 minutes earlier about him."

"What'd you talk about?"

"She was upset. Something about Jared calling her the night he died looking for Gracie. Something about him...paying for his sins. Well, I don't know. We didn't get to finish our conversation."

"Maybe that was the point." ::Or not, given you're the one who killed her.:: he thinks.

After exchanging a completely contrived glance, Mulder and Mackey walk into the room where Scully has gone to talk to Gracie. They arrive in the middle of a conversation.

Gracie is teary. "Why Iris? Why is this happening?"

"Gracie," Scully begins gently. "We're investigating the leader of your former church, Enoch O'Connor. We believe that he may have had something to do with what happened here tonight." To Scully's surprise the girl looks hurt.

"We would appreciate anything you could tell us about him," Mulder says.

Gracie shakes her head violently. "No, he didn't do this. No. He didn't do this. This...this is Satan's work, not man's."

Scully's voice is still gentle. "Gracie, that sounds like something that Reverend O'Connor might say. Now, you're not a member of that congregation anymore. And I understand this because you're someone who thinks for herself."

"Keeping an open mind, Gracie, is it conceivable that O'Connor could have done any of this?" Mulder asks.

"No! Don't you think I would know, me, of all people? He couldn't have done this. He just cou..." Gracie dissolves into tears.

"Gracie might be biased," Reverend Mackey says softly.

Mulder looks at Gracie. "O'Connor is your father." This makes Scully sigh.

Reverend Mackey nods. "When Gracie got pregnant..."

Mulder is quick to 'guess'. "O'Connor barred her from his church. She and Jared Chirp."

"His church and his home," Mackey agrees.

* * *

Church of God with Signs and Wonders

10:06 p.m.

Mulder doesn't hesitate as he opens the door and steps in. Scully does, hanging back.

"Scully, you coming in?"

"I think I'll check around back." She's quick to go back down the steps.

Inside, Mulder looks around. One wall is covered with pictures. He reads aloud what is written above them. "Pray for the souls of our brothers and sisters ... some passed, some lost to us." Among the pictures he spots Gracie's, which makes him realize that "lost" does not necessarily mean "dead." Jarred's and a one of a woman named Alice O'Connor hang on the wall as well.

* * *

Behind the church, Scully finds a trailer and decides to investigate it. She only enters after drawing her gun. The trailer is clearly the snakes' home, because there are boxes and boxes of snakes, as well as a cage of hapless white mice who are their future meals. Some of the snakes realize she is there and rattle their tails.

Spooked, she turns to leave the snakes in peace but is grabbed around the shoulders. The hands belong to Reverend O'Connor .

Scully yelps. "Oh!" The hissing gets louder as O'Connor knocks her gun away.

"You must be judged," he says emotionlessly, and pushes her against the screen of a cage holding one of the bigger rattle snakes. Before she can react, he's forcing her hand into the cage with the snake. She fights him, but can't pull her hand out. "Repent! Pray for the Lord's quickening power. Into the hands of God."

At that moment Mulder enter the trailer with his gun drawn. He points it at O'Connor, yelling, "Let her go!"

The reverend ignores him until he cocks his gun. Then he reluctantly lets Scully go, and watches her jerk her hand from the box. "You should have more faith," he chides her even as Mulder puts him into handcuffs.

* * *

Mcminn County Sheriff's Station

Interrogation room

11:22 p.m.

Reverend O'Connor gives Mulder an angry look. "Your FBI partner could've learned something about herself if you hadn't stopped me. Some powerful good news, maybe."

"My wife," Mulder snaps. "I'd say it's good news for you that she's not here right now...considering what you tried to do to her. Is that what you did to your wife?" He puts the picture of Alice from the church wall on the table. "Alice O'Connor...succumbed to multiple snakebites in June, 1994. It happened during a church service or at least that's what you told local police. You got away with it...almost. What was, uh...the problem with your wife? Was she not...righteous enough for you? Just like your daughter's boyfriend ... or Iris Finster?"

"Educated man...too smart to know any better," O'Connor pronounces.

"Smart enough to know you're a murderer."

O'Connor doesn't look stung. "Satan is near, and you don't even have eyes. You're just proud and fancy free."

"No one quite passes muster with you, huh? You feel the need to exact some kind of Old Testament revenge? What about your daughter? What were your plans for her?"

"I pray for her soul. I pray and I pray because she's lost."

"Because she no longer believes as you do?" Mulder asks.

"You think because you're educated you're better than most? You ain't," O'Connor points to Mulder's chest. "Unless you're smart down here the Devil's going to make a fool of you and you ain't even going to know it."

* * *

Gracie hesitates outside the interrogation room, and Scully stops short too. Gracie looks deeply unhappy. "I changed my mind. I don't...I don't want to see him. Besides, I won't do any better than you people in getting him to talk."

"Gracie. You still don't believe your father did it?"

"It don't matter what I believe. He'll be judged as he deserves. Can't nobody avoid it."

Scully grabs her arm as she turns to walk away. "Don't you want justice for Jared? One of my little boys is named Jared...I can't imagine not seeking earthly justice if someone hurt him."

Gracie gives her a long look. "Then you an' me are different." She walks away without another word.

* * *

ICU Hospital Room

The Next Morning

O'Connor has been admitted with snake bite wounds not dissimilar to those that killed Jared and Iris. Mulder is already looking down at his bruised and bloated body when Scully joins him.

"Deputy found him about an hour ago. There's no telling when he was attacked."

"I guess it's looking less and less like he's a suspect," Scully says, bending over the injured man for a better look.

"Unless he somehow managed to do this to himself." Scully gives him a sharp look "...as a test of his own righteousness."

"Well, if so, Mulder, the jury's still out. I just spoke to his doctors. It's a toss-up as to whether he's going to pull through this."

"What about antivenin treatment? There's still time for that."

Scully shakes her head slightly. "He's not receiving it."

"Why not?"

"Gracie stepped in. She's trying to forbid treatment on religious grounds. It's not clear whether she has a legal claim to do it, but she says that it's up to God as to whether he lives or dies," Scully says, her voice a tinge sardonic.

"And you're thinking that her actions may not be entirely motivated by concern for her father's eternal soul?"

"More to the point what if she did this? She told me that her father would be judged as he deserves."

"Do you think this is what she meant?"

"Well, she grew up around snakes, Mulder. Who's to say she isn't every bit as adept at handling them as he is?"

"I can see her being angry enough at her father to attack him, but...what about the others?"

"I don't know, Mulder. The last thing we talked about is how she and I are not alike because I believe in real world justice, and she's content to leave it to God...until now I'd of said she was sincere when she said it. Now..." She trails off, looking down at O'Connor.

"Come on, we've got permission to investigate a new venue for clues." Mulder takes her arm and they walk away.

* * *

Jared Chirp Residence

10:58 p.m.

The state of Jared Chirp's bedroom begins to paint them a picture. Mulder explores that out loud, beginning with the obvious disarray. "He left in a hurry. Packed one suitcase and a gun. Earlier that night he calls Gracie. Gets Iris instead. Starts rambling about paying for his sins. He's frightened...wants to leave town, presumably with Gracie."

"So, what's he scared of?" Scully asks. Mulder looks in another drawer as she continues to speak. "Though I don't understand it, O'Connor's church exerts a strong pull on these people."

Mulder picks up a shed rattle on the dresser and gives it a shake, making Scully cringe a little. "It's not so hard to understand. It's a culture with a very well-defined set of rules."

"It's an intolerant culture, Mulder."

He thinks of other intolerant religions briefly, but doesn't bring them up. "I don't know, Scully. Sometimes a little intolerance can be a welcome thing. Clear-cut right and wrong, black and white, no shades of gray. You know, in a society where hard and fast rules are harder and harder to come by, I think some people would appreciate that."

Scully's look is incredulous. "You're saying that you, Fox Mulder, would welcome someone telling you what to believe?"

"You mean besides you?" He smirks. "I'm just saying that somebody offering you all the answers...could be a very powerful thing."

The toe of Mulder's shoe kicks into a crumpled ball of paper, which he bends to pick up and uncrumple. "It's lab results. Am I reading this right? That Jared Chirp had himself tested for sterility?"

Scully looks over his shoulder. "Yes. Which turns out to be more or less the case. Based on this, that means that Jared can't be the father of Gracie's baby."

"It's dated the day he died."

"So maybe he was killed because he discovered the truth." Her cell phone begins to ring.

* * *

Hospital

They can tell from a distance that Reverend Mackey is upset. He turns from the nurses when he notices that they're there. "Agents, Enoch O'Connor is gone. I was away for five minutes. His bed's empty. Gracie is gone, too. She was talking to him when I left."

Scully startles. "How could Gracie possibly have gotten him out of here?"

"Maybe he took her," Mulder suggests.

"Mulder, he was on his deathbed; that's impossible. And besides, what's his motivation?"

Reverend Mackey speaks up. "I may be able to answer that. Jared Chirp wasn't the father of Gracie's child."

"We know that. What about it?" Mulder asks.

Scully on the other hand, looks horrified but not confused. "Enoch O'Connor is."

Reverend Mackey is grim. "That's why she wanted to get away from him and his church as fast as she could. And I tried to teach her to forgive him."

* * *

Church of God with Signs and Wonders

The Following Morning

There are paramedics tending to Gracie when Mulder and Scully arrive, having just been told that the girl was found unconscious, ostensibly by a member of her father's church. Several members of the church look on as the paramedics do their work.

Scully approaches one of the EMTs. "How is she?"

He shrugs. "Deep shock. Some loss of blood."

"What happened here? Where's the baby?" she asks.

An annoyed looking cop answers her. "These folks aren't talking. We've got people looking all over."

Mulder waves over to Scully, and squats down to examine the floor. "Scully. Take a look at this."

Scully also kneels down near the bloody puddle on the floor, and her eyes trace the small trails that spoke off the puddle. She looks up as a member of the church joins them for no apparent reason. "Snakes," Scully says numbly to the woman. "She gave birth to snakes."

"The devil has been cast out," The woman remarks.

"Stay with her," Mulder tells his wife as he stands to leave. "See if they'll talk about what went on here last night."

"Where are you going?" Scully asks.

"To find her father. He's going to want to tie up some loose ends." ::Or someone will.::

* * *

Blessing Community Church

Mulder enters the church in just enough time to watch O'Connor threaten Mackey with a knife. For a moment he's tempted to let O'Connor go through with it, but something tells him that there would be more hell to pay for all present if he let the attempted murder expose Mackey's true nature, so he finally yells, "Drop the knife!"

O'Connor ignores Mulder, and continues to attempt to cut Reverend Mackey's throat, halting only when Mulder shoots him in the shoulder. O'Connor crumples, and Mulder steps over him to get to Mackey and pretend concern. "You all right?"

Mackey takes his offered hand, and sighs in relief.

* * *

Inside an Ambulance

The paramedics have let Scully go with them because she's a doctor, so she's sitting with Gracie when the girl begins to wake up, still disoriented. "Daddy. Daddy," she mumbles.

"Gracie, it's Agent Scully. We're taking you to the doctor right now, okay?"

Gracie tries to sit, but is too weak. "No. I...got to..."

"Can you tell me what happened, Gracie?" Scully asks patiently.

"Where's my Daddy?"

"You're safe, Gracie," Scully soothes. "My partner's gone after him. Gracie, you're going to be okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

Gracie eyes clear. "You don't understand. He saved me."

* * *

Blessing Community Church

Mackey gives Mulder a towel to press against O'Connor's wound before claiming he's going to call for an ambulance. Mulder wonders how many a small town like Blessing has.

O'Connor flinches when Mulder presses against the wound. "Relax. Help's on the way."

O'Connor stares at him. "No, it's not. I told you, boy. You still don't know which side you're on. Be smart down here." He touches Mulder's chest.

Mulder walks Reverend Mackey's office, where the other man appears to be on the phone. "Yes, please hurry." Mackey hangs up and looks to him. "They're on their way." Mulder responds by pointing his gun at him, and Mackey seems confused. "Agent-"

"It wasn't O'Connor. It was you. You killed Jared Chirp," Mulder tells him.

"You're joking."

"No, I'm just beginning to see it now. Jared must have come to understand that he wasn't the father of Gracie's baby...that you were. Did he confront you earlier that night only to see you for who you really are?"

"Just who is it you think I am?"

Mulder continues to ask questions. "Is that what happened with Iris Finster? Was she beginning to catch on? Is that why you killed her? Or was it just to further frame Enoch O'Connor? Is that what this is really about? Ruining O'Connor? Seducing his daughter? Destroying him by any conceivable means?"

Reverend Mackey gives him an intense, measuring look. "Are you a righteous man, Agent Mulder?"

"Stay where you are."

"It's just a simple question. Most people believe they're on the side of angels. But are they?" The doors to the office slam shut, as if a strong wind, or an invisible hand, pushed them. "If you were put to the test...how would you do?"

Snakes begin to pour out of Mulder's clothing, and he does his best to keep from screaming as he pulls off his jacket.

* * *

O'Connor is alone, holding a towel to his own wound, when Scully enters. He looks gray-faced.

"Where's Mulder?" Scully asks him.

They both look up when they hear a shout from the next room. Scully starts to stand, but O'Connor reaches for her. "You can't help him. This is his alone." Scully stares at him, and he lets her go.

In seconds she's outside of Mackey's office, looking for a way in. "Mulder!" When there's no reply she begins to kick at the door. It splinters and eventually lets go with a groan.

Inside, Mulder is backed into a corner with his eyes closed. She can see that his lips are moving, but can't hear what he's saying. Several large, hostile looking snakes cover the floor between them. Then, when Mulder opens his eyes, they fade away, as if they were nothing more than a shared hallucination.

"Mulder, where did the snakes go?" she asks, eyes wide with shock.

"As long as they didn't go out to our car, or our hotel room, I don't care." His voice is shaky.

* * *

Days Inn

Still completely shaken, Mulder made no objection when Scully dropped him off at the hotel to pack while she when to speak to the police.

He looks up when she comes back in. "What did you find out about Mackey?"

"There's still no trace...even though every law enforcement agency in Tennessee's out looking for him."

"They won't find him," Mulder says heavily. "People think the devil has horns and a tail. They're not used to looking for some kindly man who tells you what you want to hear."

"He's just a man, Mulder. Just like O'Connor."

"Not like O'Connor. If this was some kind of test looks like I failed. I let the wicked man free to save myself." ::Either way, you fail. Not a nice test.::

"I'd say if it was a test, you passed with flying colors. You're alive, aren't you?"

Mulder smiles minutely. "Proud and fancy-free."

"Come on, let's go home." Scully takes his hand, and drags him out of the room.

* * *

Washington, DC

Three Days Later

Scully waits until Mulder spits out the thermometer before speaking. "You have a slight fever again."

He groans. "Then the infection is back. I was beginning to think it was gone..."

"Maybe it's not an infection this time."

"Sure, there are lots of other reasons for a low-grade fever," he says sarcastically. "Good thing I've got an appointment with Doctor Sake tomorrow. Not that I relish the thought of more IV antibiotics."

Scully doesn't smile. "I don't want you to be sick again."

"Well, neither do I. But I appreciate your concern."

The look on her face doesn't change. "You don't..." She sits on the bed. "I was watching the news right before you brought back milkshakes that day."

"And?" he asks, confused by the apparent non sequitur.

"And they were talking about a recall. Of birth control pills. The kind I've been taking since November." She'd quickly tired of the lack of spontaneity inherent to condoms, and had gone to birth control pills instead once Mulder had been talked into it.

"Scully..."

"They apparently didn't formulate the pills correctly, adding too little of the hormone, or maybe leaving it out all together. I haven't gotten a straight answer about that yet."

"Scully."

"So, you just can't be sick again," Scully tells the wall. "Because it wouldn't be fair, not after we tried so hard to keep this from happening until you were well."

"You're sure you're pregnant?" Mulder asks tightly.

"I had them do a blood test at the lab since it's more accurate..." Scully sighs. "It looks like I'm due in October. We'll work things out. Besides, we don't know for sure if you really-" She trails off, looking at him now. "Mulder?" He's putting on his sneakers.

"I'm going for a run," he announces calmly. Then he mechanically laces his shoes.

"It's raining!" Scully protests. "You might already be sick!"

"I need to go for a run." Mulder brushes past her, and doesn't look back to see her standing in the doorway.

His headlong flight to nowhere brings him to the nearby park that he and Scully like to bring the kids on Saturday. The wet swing sets look like they're hunkering down in the sand, and there's something faintly menacing about the way the dark wraps around them. Mulder doesn't look at them after the first few seconds but finds a slick bench to sit on instead. Then he looks down at his hands, the same way he did at Doggett's funeral, the way he did when he waited for Maggie Scully in the hallway immediately after identifying Scully's body...and he's filled with the same sort of grief.

He's failed. Even though he saved Luke, Emily, his father and Melissa, and even though he probably has rewritten history thoroughly enough to keep Scully and Doggett from their graves in three more years, he's still a failure. His broken promise squeezes his heart, making him gasp in pain.

There's no way that they can have them both. A baby conceived in February would be too early to live if born in July. He did the math six times on the run there.

A crash of thunder roars, making his words nearly inaudible. "This isn't what I meant to happen. I wasn't trying to lie to you. I'm sorry William, I'm sorry William, so sorry William..."

Rain soaks his clothing, and runs rivulets through his hair and down his face. He doesn't notice. It's proof. He's not a god, just a mortal man who couldn't keep a promise made to a two-year-old son he never really knew and now never would. A boy who now would never exist.

The worst part is that he'll never be able to tell Scully. Going back in time has up until now been more pleasure than burden, since it hadn't meant losing something important from his "old" life. But now he'll suffer in silence, unable to share his burden with anyone else. And he's afraid that the cracks will show. Maybe someday Scully will wonder why he'll love this child less well than its brothers and sisters. Maybe he or she will know too, and he'll be sorry for that, but unable to warm to him or her the way he did Christopher despite his unusual conception. It won't be fair, but emotions seldom are.

Eventually the rain trickling down the inside of his collar registers, and he heaves himself off the bench with a strangled groan. In the steady rhythm of his shoes hitting the pavement he hears "I'm sorry - William. I'm sorry - William."

If he's lucky, the rain will have completely masked his tears.


	83. XCops

March 21st, 2000

Mulder's fingers hover above the keyboard when he's interrupted before typing the first word to a report. "Mulder, I can't find April." He tries his best not to sigh in frustration, since it seems that he and Scully are at odds a lot lately.

Which is something he takes full responsibility for, given that no matter how often she demands that he tell her what's wrong, he won't admit that he's in agony over her unexpected, and in his opinion unwanted, pregnancy.

"Did you ask Page?" he asks at length.

"Yes." Scully sounds tired. "She said April brought something outside a few minutes ago." Before he can ask why she doesn't look out side herself, Scully adds, "I looked for her, but I didn't see her."

"Well, don't panic yet," he mutters.

"I'm not panicking."

"Yeah. I'll find her." He jabs the power button on his laptop before hurrying out of the room.

He fully expects to see April the second that he walks out the door, but the yard looks empty in the gathering twilight. A squall of fear rises, but he does his best to tamp it back down. April wouldn't leave the yard, and he'd know if a stranger were around, wouldn't he?

She has to be around somewhere, but hidden somehow, which probably isn't that hard for someone three feet tall to do. His glance sweeps the yard, and he spies a flicker of movement in the distance. It only takes him a minute to get there.

When he finds April, she's on her hands and knees in a remote corner of the garden. Stepping closer he sees that she has a plastic beach shovel in her left hand, and that a small section of ground has a slightly dug look to it. Surprised that grass can be dug up with a plastic shovel, he squats on his heels. "What are you doing?" he asks in a friendly tone.

"Planting a flower." She uncurls the small fingers of her right hand, revealing an apple seed.

"Oh," he replies, his thoughts going a mile a minute. April's displaying an interest in a hobby! Pushing down the urge to run out and buy her hundreds of dollars of gardening equipment - which would probably overwhelm her and kill the fledgling interest - he decides to keep things small. "My mom used to grow a lot of beautiful flowers when I was a kid. Still does, actually. Would you like to have a garden too?"

"Yes."

"You know, it's going to be too cold to plant outdoor flowers for a while yet. Would it be okay to start growing them in pots inside, and bringing them out here when it gets warm?"

"Okay, Daddy." She places a trusting hand in his, and gives him a look of adoration he'd kill to see on his wife's face lately.

"April, Daddy's not mad, but you scared Mommy by not telling her you were going outside. From now on I want you to only go out if you ask, okay?"

April's brown eyes show that she's giving serious consideration to his demand. "Yup."

"That's my good girl. Let's go show Mommy that you're fine."

Hand in hand, they walk back to the house.

* * *

April 8th, 2000

All three of the littlest ones are down for their nap, and Michelle looks over the older kids who are still wired from their morning activities, wondering what she's going to do with them on a rainy day. Out of ideas, she decides to ask them. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Watch TV," Sammy suggests.

"Yeah!" Page and April agree.

She chews on her lip for a moment, then decides that her employers probably won't mind if they watch a little TV. "Okay, but April picks what we watch," Michelle tells them. To her surprise, Sammy and Page don't pout, but seem to think this is a fair idea.

April grins and runs over to the small collection of tapes. She picks one out of the case and brings it over to Michelle. "I put it in?"

"Sure, why not." As she says it, Michelle realizes that it says "Mom and Dad's Tape" and hopes hard that it's not something that should have been kept in the Mulders' bedroom.

April stands on tippy-toe and pushes the tape in. The screen turns blue and she rejoins her siblings on the living room couch.

Far from what Michelle expects, a familiar song begins to play as a police cruiser whizzes across the screen.

Bad Boys whatcha want, whatcha want?

Whatcha gonna do when Sheriff John Brown come for you?

Tell me, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?

Before Michelle can wonder why the tape is labeled like it is, April points to the screen. "Look! Daddy and Mommy." And the people on the screen do bear a striking resemblance to her employers.

An announcer grimly proclaims. "Cops is filmed on location with the men and women of law enforcement. All suspects are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law."

"How come your parents were on Cops?" Michelle asks, but the kids just shrug.

There's a shot of a full moon, then Sammy complains to his younger sister, "I don't like this part. Fast-forward to Mommy and Daddy." With surprising skill for someone who only turned three a week earlier, April does.

* * *

Willow Park, California

On-screen an officer named Wetzel is explaining...something. Michelle has no idea what, to his superior Sergeant Duthie. "You know, I didn't get a good look. Maybe..."

Wetzel's radio squawks. "417, suspects on foot just one block north of Holly!"

Sergeant Duthie looks at his men and calls, "Armed suspects! Bring some units around on Holly Street!"

There's a lot of shouting and running, and when the screen stops shaking, Mulder and Scully are being surrounded by cops.

"Uh oh, trouble," April says.

"Get your hands up!" an officer yells.

Scully yells back. "FBI!"

"Michelle, how come they don't know Mommy and Daddy are super-cops?" Page asks.

"I guess they're confused," she replies, wondering that herself.

There's quite a bit of shouting on screen, but eventually the cops seem to wise up and actually check their IDs. Sergeant Duthie shoots the camera a disgusted look. "Telephone the FBI! Give 'em back their guns!" He hands Mulder back his badge.

"We're investigating a case," Scully tells him.

"What case?" The Sergeant asks.

Mulder tells him, "Same case you're working on."

"So who we looking for?" he asks Mulder.

"Not who, what." Just then it's clear that the FBI agents have noticed the camera crew, and they look understandably confused.

Scully begins to say, "Mulder, what the he-" but Michelle reaches over and pushes the fast forward again. There's a flash of a person's injury on the screen, then the tape resumes at normal speed.

Mulder is speaking to the injured officer, Wetzel. "Deputy? Deputy, can you describe for me what you saw?"

"Um, it was pretty dark. I didn't really see. I don't know. I don't know."

"Well, you must have seen something in order to run away from it, huh? You were responding to the same call we were - of a monster prowling the neighborhood."

"A monster!" Sammy gasps. "Tilly Newton's got one in her closet."

"Does not," Page retorts. "She's a sissy-girl. Scared of clothes in the dark, Billy says." Billy Newton is in Page's kindergarten class, Michelle realizes. But she wonders who'd name their kids Tilly and Billy.

On screen, the Sergeant is explaining that he thinks the woman is off her meds.

"Maybe, but she's not the only one seeing monsters. There's been half a dozen such sightings in this area in the past 60 days. Are you aware of that?" Mulder asks.

There's a pause. "No. I mean..." Wetzel flounders.

"Yeah. Also, these sightings only occur on nights when there's a full moon which tells me something."

Sergeant Duthie stares at Mulder. "What?"

"What you saw was large, right? Maybe seven, eight feet tall when it stood up on its two legs? And it was covered in fur and had glowing red eyes and claws..." When Mulder puts his hands up like claws, Sammy does too. On screen the sergeant is looking at Mulder like he's an escaped mental patient. "Claws sharp enough to gouge the wood off that front door."

"You're not serious."

"And dare I forget teeth. It bit you, didn't it?" He unexpectedly grabs Wetzel's wrist. "Look at that. Deputy, how long were you going to hide that from the E.M.T.S?"

The cop's boss looks down at his wrist. "Where did you get that, Keith?"

"I don't even know where that came from. I mean, I didn't see anything that he's talking about."

Sergeant Duthie smirks at him. "Big teeth, eight feet tall? What the hell are you describing?"

"A werewolf," Mulder says firmly.

Page squishes the remote while dragging Piper onto the couch, and the tape fast-forwards again. Piper flicks her tail menacingly, but her young mistress doesn't seem to notice. Then, to be perverse, Telico jumps up onto Sammy's lap.

When Michelle turns her attention to the screen again, Mulder is speaking.

"Unfortunately there, Deputy, you've been bitten. The skin is broken. Werewolf lore pretty much universally holds that someone who's been bitten by such a creature is going to become such a creature himself, so..."

"Wait a minute. I mean, that's not what really happened, though."

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be isolated and kept under guard."

Sergeant Duthie stares at Mulder. "With all due respect what the *bleep*-" Michelle snags the remote control and pushes fast-forward, but the damage is done.

"That man said *beep*!" Sammy says, wide-eyed. His beep sounds little like the one on the TV.

"*beep* means 'goddamn'. Isn't really a swear-word," Page says confidently.

"Actually it is," Michelle says, trying not to groan. The last thing she wants is her employers to think she's encouraging that sort of language. "I don't think your mommy would like you to say that."

"Uncle Frohike does," April points out.

Having met him more than once, Michelle feels justified in saying, "He uses a lot of words you kids shouldn't repeat."

"Okay...keep fast-forwarding, Michelle. That lady doesn't say things in our kind of talk anyway," Page commands, meaning English. Michelle shrugs and acquiesces. As she does, she catches sight of a drawing of Freddy Kruger, which strikes her as odd.

* * *

Mulder stands by Deputy Wetzel's car as a tow truck readies it for moving. Scully drives up and parks near-by.

Mulder looks over to her. "How's Deputy Wetzel?" She nods towards the patrol car, from which Wetzel is exiting. Mulder looks alarmed, probably thinking that Wetzel will transform before their eyes any second now. "You let him get released?"

Scully doesn't look him in the eye. "Well...those weren't teeth marks, Mulder. They turned out to be insect bites..."

"Oh."

"Individual welts or stings of some sort. Together, they just looked like a larger pattern especially when we want them to...although it was an understandable conclusion that I'm sure anybody would have made."

Her husband smiles at her. "So, what did Skinner say?"

Scully sighs. "He said that the FBI has nothing to hide...and neither do we."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Scully, I'm not entirely convinced that we're looking for a werewolf anymore."

"Oh." She sounds surprised. "All right, good."

"No, something else. I'm not sure what. Some other kind of creature, though. That I'm sure of."

There's a loud noise, and Mulder grabs a cop who's running by. "Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

"Six blocks from here - could be what we're looking for."

"800 block of Belmont."

The agents rush to their car, then Scully gets into a minor squabble with the camera crew who dives into the car with them. She admits defeat and brings them to the scene. Once they're there, the camera crew is left in the dust by the running cops and federal agents.

Scully gets to the sketch artist first, and finds that he's lying in the doorway of a closed store, and bleeding from five slashes across his chest.

Scully waves the crowding officers away. "Guys, watch out. I'm a doctor."

They step back to give her some room, but Deputy Juan Molina looks distraught. "Oh, man, it's Ricky."

Trying to be gentle, Scully presses on the torn Kevlar vest. Blood seeps from the wound.

Mulder is grim. "That's what I was afraid of, Scully."

On the couch, Sammy gasps. "That guy, he's deaded!"

"Nuh uh," Page corrects, shaking her head. "He's bleeding, so he's alive."

Michelle stares at her, amazed that a kindergartener knows this. Then she remembers that the children's mother is a sometimes-doctor. "Did your mom teach you that?"

"Nope. Daddy did. He says lots of movies get it wrong."

To prove Page right, the next scene is of Ricky being loaded onto a stretcher. His face isn't covered, confirming that he'd been injured, not killed.

Wetzel looks away from the ambulance and back towards the screen. "Well, when a fellow officer goes down in the line of duty or even if this...even if it's not a fellow officer - if it's just somebody working part-time with the department in a, uh, support, um...a-arti-artistic capacity, uh, like R...like Ricky, there - we all feel it. Uh...Back there is every cop's worst nightmare...But that's when you got to cowboy up and give 150%...catch the bad guys."

* * *

Mulder, Scully and their entourage of cops and camera men are looking for clues at the site of Ricky's attack.

"Last call from this phone was made to the Road Club - Ricky Koehler requesting roadside assistance for his flat tire. He asked them to hurry. He said he didn't feel safe," Scully says.

On screen Scully realizes that Mulder is looking at the drawing of Freddy Kreuger that they'd seen in fast-forward before. Bumping his shoulder, she asks, "What's that?"

"Our suspect, apparently," Mulder says with a rueful look as he wife begins to laugh. "Slash marks match up pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

"Ugly guy," April declares, pointing at the TV.

"He used to play a bad guy in old movies," Michelle explains. "I used to watch them in high school."

"That's real big kids," Page says, sounding awed. Michelle smiles at her.

Scully's busy looking at something on the ground, and eventually holds up a small object. "Somebody lost a nail."

Page looks down at her hands in alarm. "They come off?"

"Only fake ones, Kiddo," Michelle reassures her. "I bet your mommy wouldn't be caught dead wearing fake nails."

TV-Mulder smirks. "Nice color."

"Check out this color, Mulder - blood red."

Mulder glances over to the cops. "Hey, uh...who called 911 on this?"

* * *

Sergeant Duthie leads Mulder and Scully to the home of people called Steve and Edy. As he knocks, he smiles and tells the agents, "They're good folks. They usually call us if there's trouble in the neighborhood."

The two men who open the door to the officers are clearly a couple. Steve is wary, but Edy seems excited to see the film crew who is following the cops and feds around.

Edy is wide-eyed, "Oh, my God, look at this. Look at all these people, Lord."

Sergeant Duthie adopts a friendly tone. "How are you two doing this evening?"

"Uh, uh, we're fine," Steve says.

"Can y'all tell us what happened out here this evening?" Sergeant Duthie asks.

"Not with me looking like this, mm-mmm. Now, you should know better than that, Sergeant Paula." Edy flees deeper into the house.

"Like she going to run from a camera." Steve snorts. "Lookit here...we heard all this screaming. Peeked out the window and this boy with crazy hair was having a conniption fit all rolled up there by the phone."

"You didn't see his-his attacker?" Scully asks.

"Mmm...Mm-mmm."

At this point Edy returns wearing a bright robe and a turban. "I'm ready for my close-up."

Steve tells Edy that there's something more important going on, and Michelle wishes he'd picked kinder words. "Now, I didn't see...What you say - "attacker"? No, he was just kind of all rolled up and yelling."

Undeterred, Mulder shows them pictures of a werewolf and Freddy Kruger. "Did you see anything...that looked like this?"

"Ooh, stop," Steve says after the first picture.

"Or this?" Mulder holds up the second.

"Ooh, excuse me?"

"That's going to give me nightmares," Edy declares.

Scully looks disappointed. "So, you didn't see anything at all?"

Edy shakes his head. "Mm-mmm, no, mm-mmm."

"Did you, uh, did you see a woman?" Scully asks, holding up the bag that contains the fingernail.

Both men make humming noises. And Edy looks scandalized. "Chantara. I know that skanky color anywhere."

"Sure do. Chantara," Steve agrees.

Sergeant Duthie gives the men an intent look. "Chantara the streetwalker?"

The men agree that this Chantara is both a prostitute and a drug addict, so the group decides to go and speak to her. They move away from the house, but the camera lingers.

Edy looks directly into the camera. "Hey, hey...When am I going to get my own TV show?" He begins to sing. "If I didn't care ..."

"Oh, she's showing off now." Steve groans. After a few seconds more, he pushes Edy back into the house. "Stop. Get in the house. Stop. Get back."

Edy goes but continues to sing. "Would I feel this way?"

"Bye, y'all. Bye." Steve gives the camera a long suffering look and closes the door.

Michelle has noticed Sammy studying the men on screen, so it doesn't surprise her when he looks up at her. "Those guys live together, huh?"

"I think so," she agrees, wincing at the possibilities of where the conversation might go.

"Like our uncles!" Sammy declares with a big smile.

"Hmmm...I think they're a little different than your 'uncles'," Michelle blurts out, and instantly wishes she hadn't.

"How?" Sammy demands to know.

"Uh-"

"That guy is gonna be on TV," Page tells her brother. "Our uncles write a magazine. So they're different."

"Exactly," Michelle declares, feeling a flood of relief. It doesn't last long, because there's a howl over the baby monitor. "You guys sit right here while I change Christopher."

"Okay!" they all agree. Oddly enough, she knows they will do as instructed. Still, she wants to get to him before he wakes the twins, so she hurries up the stairs.

* * *

To Michelle's dismay, Jared and David are both sitting in their cribs when she peeks into their room after changing Christopher. Neither of them looks like he's about to start crying, but David greets her with a sleepy "hi."

"Oops, little brother woke you guys up after all, huh?" she asks in a soothing voice.

They both nod, since at twenty months, they're old enough to follow some conversation. "Woke up" is definitely a concept they understand.

"It's okay, the baby is sleeping now. You look sleepy too," she tells them, gently getting one, then the other to lie back down. They give her identical pouts, but neither attempts to stand up again.

It takes a good ten minutes of waiting, but in the end, the dark-haired twins are both sleeping soundly. Looking at them, she wonders if the Mulders have any pictures of Fox as a toddler in their room. Of all the kids, they look the most like their father.

On her way out of the room, Michelle tucks both portable baby monitors into her pockets, and her mind summons up a fleeting image of the Gunslinger novel she's been reading.

* * *

Fulfilling expectation, the older kids are where she left them. "You missed a boring part," Page tells her, apparently as consolation.

"Mommy and Daddy just talked to people," Sammy adds.

"Died," Aprils comments as well.

"Who died?" Michelle asks, but April shrugs.

"The girl they talked to, and some guy at a house," Page explains.

Sammy's eyes widen. "Broke neck, Daddy said. Necks break?"

"Sometimes," Michelle admits. "That's why parents don't like kids to do really dangerous stuff, like try to jump off the roof." She pauses, thinking about how Fox recently bought them Mary Poppins. "Even with an umbrella. In real life they don't work to keep you safe like in the movies."

"Oh." Sammy looks disappointed. "Get hurt real bad, huh?"

"A person might, like not ever being able to walk again. Sometimes they'll be okay, but there's no way of knowing, so it's best to never ever do it."

Page and Sammy exchange a disappointed look before crying, "Okay!" in a semi-convincing way.

Michelle makes a mental note to tell Fox and Dana that they might want to lock up the umbrellas for a while.

On screen the police are talking about something that Michelle apparently missed while trying to convince the twins to finish their nap.

Sergeant Duthie defends his man with a conviction in his voice that the kids' agreement lacked. "I wish someone would explain to me what the hell is going on here. It just doesn't make sense. Keith Wetzel may be a little green but he is a solid deputy - a squared-away individual. Nothing could have gotten past him and killed that woman."

Another officer shows them a discharged bullet. "There's no sign of what he was shooting at. This was all we found. Nine millimeter. It's our issue."

"Where'd you find that?" Scully asks him.

"It was lying in the middle of the street. Doesn't look like a ricochet."

Mulder nods. "Maybe Wetzel hit what he was aiming at. Excuse me."

Then he and Scully go over to where a shaken Wetzel is busily staring at his shoes. "Hey, Deputy. You ready to talk to me now? You and I both know you saw something. We're way past claiming you didn't."

"I only know what I thought I saw."

"Well, describe it for me," Mulder invites.

The young officer takes a deep shuddery breath. "The wasp man."

Mulder gives him a skeptical look. "The wasp man?"

"It's ridicu..." He pauses, suddenly remembering the camera. "It's ridiculous. The scary stories my older brother used to tell me when I was a kid about a monster with a head like a wasp and a mouthful of stingers instead of teeth. He said that it would come get me in my sleep and that...and that it would sting me to death."

Mulder makes an obvious attempt to sound like he believes the other man. "So you're saying that the, uh, the wasp man attacked you both times here, and earlier in the patrol car?"

"I - I'm not saying that that's what it was, okay? I mean...they didn't see it." Wetzel waves a hand in the direction of the camera crew. "It's not on the videotape. This...this can't be real."

"I think maybe it can," Mulder says slowly. "Just...just relax a minute. Excuse me. Scully?" They walk a few feet from the shaken cop. "We came on this case looking for a werewolf, right?"

"Well, you did, that's correct." Her emphasis on "you" makes Michelle wonder what Dana expected to see.

Mulder is unperturbed. "Hyman Escalara claimed he was attacked by a werewolf and the wounds that he sustained would seem to bear that out, right? And then, Wetzel over here sees a wasp man with stingers for teeth and he gets a bite mark that you say is irrefutably insect-like, right?"

"Mulder, that's not exactly..." She trails off with a sigh.

"And then another eyewitness claims she sees Freddy Krueger. Scully, what if we're dealing with one creature, one entity that, when it attacks, appears to you as your worst nightmare? Fear. Maybe that's what this thing feeds on."

"Okay, well, for the sake of this argument..."

"Yeah."

"...How would one catch something like that?" she asks.

Mulder looks distant for a moment, obviously trying to puzzle that out. "Probably by...by figuring out how it chooses its prey. I mean, there...It seems to spread like a contagion, doesn't it? One person's fear becomes the next. There's a definite chain of victims. Tonight it went from Mrs. Guerrero to Wetzel and the sketch artist and then from the sketch artist to Chantara Gomez and then..."

Scully picks up the thread. "Chantara Gomez back to Wetzel."

"Right."

"But you're missing someone, Mulder."

"Who?"

"Edy. Steve and Edy. They're a part of this chain, too and, and according to your theory they would have been attacked, right?" They look at each other.

* * *

Just after her on-screen employers revisit the couple introduced earlier in the episode, the living room floods with sudden light. Michelle blinks, half startled.

Page jumps off the couch. "It's not raining any more!"

"Yay!" Sammy exclaims, dashing over to the TV to turn off the VCR.

"Wain, wain, go 'way," April sings under her breath, but she stays on the couch.

Either sick of napping, or having been woken by their other siblings' enthusiasm, the twins begin making noise over their monitor as if on cue.

"I take it you want to go outside?" Michelle asks, knowing the question is rhetorical. Three eager looks settle the matter instantly. "C'mon upstairs and I'll get everyone dressed to go out."

The kids are half-way up the stairs before she even has time to look at the darkened TV screen with regret. Maybe she will have a chance to watch the episode from start to finish some other time, since the idea of a creature morphing to be what you fear intrigues her.

* * *

Out in the yard the sun is shining, but it only serves to jewel the drops of rain that cling to the grass and bead on the lawn furniture and swing set. The kids wear identical yellow rain coats that look like they're out of the Paddington Bear books, that their grandmother bought them, and five pairs of sneakers are protected from the wet by old fashioned slip on rain boots in colors ranging from pink to blue. Only April's match her coat.

Sammy and Page play tag, the twins chase each other as usual, and April squats down to check on the season's earliest flowers. Christopher watches them from the safety of his carriage, and seems content to be a spectator yet.

Not long later the sound of a car and the opening of the front door alerts Michelle that her employers are home from work. "They're out here, Mister Mulder," Dana calls.

Fox doesn't smile when he brushes by his wife. He saves his glad looks for the kids who run to greet him.

The obvious distance between her employers over the past few weeks makes Michelle uneasy. There's clearly something going on, but she hasn't been clued in as to what. From the way Dana has been excusing herself to run to the bathroom lately, Michelle is fairly certain that she's pregnant again, but neither of them has said anything to her, which strikes her as odd. They've always been excited about new babies before.

But then, glancing at Fox's pale face, it occurs to her if the strain is because of the timing. He has been sick on and off over the past six months, and doesn't seem like his old self a lot of the time. If he's more seriously ill than either have them have let on...

"-ready for dinner?" Dana asks her, giving her an expectant look.

Michelle flushes. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I asked if you had plans tonight, after we get the kids inside and ready for dinner."

"Oh! Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to meet up with my friends Heather and Kevin to go to a poetry slam. I shouldn't be home too late."

"It's your night off, be as late as you want," Dana tells her. The older woman's voice was calm and pleasant, but there was a pinched worry lurking in her eyes.

"Thanks."

As Michelle helped herd the kids inside to take off coats and boots, it made her wonder when the video they were watching was produced. Not within the last month, that she was sure of.


	84. First Person Shooter

Spring 2000

In the shower, Scully is *edited see link in my profile for the nc17 version of chapter 84*

In the bedroom, Mulder is shoving his feet into his shoes with more force than necessary. He's heard his wife's cries, but pretends he hasn't heard. After all, she's made no secret of her 3-week-old purchase, and knows it's his fault, but he doesn't want to fix the problem. Besides, he was *edited* in the shower less than twenty minutes ago, thinking of Jade Blue Afterglow. He hasn't felt so cheap or dirty since, well, his first round of bachelorhood, buying porn featuring redheads or calling 1-900 numbers with voices similar to Scully's. Shit. He grabs his duffel bag and goes downstairs, his sneakered feet thumping loudly.

When he rounds into the kitchen, he offers Michelle a tired smile and a more genuine one to Christopher, his face decorated with some ungodly orange and green mess.

His eldest daughter, however, is the first to greet him verbally this fine April morning. "How come you hafta go all the way to California? Isn't our uncles here?"

And now he regrets buying that big-ass U.S. map to show the kids where their cases are relative to their house. "They've got another job over there," he says, pouring himself a half-cup of coffee and drinking it black.

"But you'll come home soon, right?" his blonde angel pouts.

Mulder nods dutifully, "Right." And his legs are suddenly bound by the arms of a redheaded boy. "Hey, Slugger, I'm gonna need those to get to the airport." He pretends as if to shake off the boy, but is unsuccessful in freeing himself.

"Uh-uh," Sammy clings tighter.

"Uh-huh," Mulder returns, twisting some more.

"Uh-UH!" his son retorts, burying his face in his father's jean-clad legs.

"Uh-HUH!" Then he looks up and sees Scully frowning in at him, looking oh-so-professional yet very feminine in a tailored black suit and long skirt, a proper navy blue blouse underneath. Damn. No sexy black leather jacket for this lady, she's all business. He bends down and gently pries his son's arms off. "Sorry, gotta go," he says, ruffling Sammy's already-mussed hair.

His wife is closer to the nanny, and she says warmly, "Thanks, Michelle." Then she looks at her children. "Behave." And she kisses Christopher's head, waving at the kids.

Michelle smiles. "No prob. Have fun." She feels like sinking into the floor when she sees the look on the couple's faces, then waves Christopher's chubby arm. "Wave bye-bye." She sighs with relief when they leave, even though she feels uncomfortable at how they seemed like strangers to each other when they did so. Hope they check into therapy soon, she thinks, cleaning off the youngest boy's face, for their kids' sake if not their own.

* * *

FPS Corporate Headquarters

Inland Empire, California

Everything goes rather smoothly, Scully in her full-blown Ice Queen mode, Mulder in his Serious Denial style, while they get identified, go through the Lone Gunmen's alternate bragging and shying away from the actual body, and then they meet Ivan the Caffeinated Chihuahua and Phoebe the Shrinking Violet. Scully has made it abundantly clear she neither indulges nor infantilizes the men, her husband especially, although Ivan doesn't seem to recognize a threatening female when she glares him in the face. Mulder's torn between laughing at the situation and yelling at himself for fucking things up so thoroughly they can't even enjoy a simple weird homicide. Either way, Scully still ends up calling the cops and Ivan still bursts a blood vessel as she does so.

::Maybe I should just pop a cap in Ivan's ass and get this over with::, Mulder thinks glumly as he follows the Lone Gunmen and Phoebe to the control room, where they will view the gruesome virtual replay of the very real death of the gamer formerly known as Retro. And then let Scully shoot me again, 'cause it can't get much worse than this. He looks over his shoulder, but as before, Scully isn't there. This time, however, she's got a pretty damn good reason not to be hanging around. Him. Shit. Not even the Gunmen's surprise and muted respect for his suggestions can dull the pain of her not being there.

* * *

At the security desk, Scully is talking to Detective LaCoeur as Retro's body is wheeled out. "Let me get this straight, Agent Scully," the heavyset black man says, "you've got no murder weapon, no forensic evidence, no motive, no suspect."

"Scully." Mulder waves, coming up the stairs, followed by the Lone Gunmen.

She doesn't bother hiding her displeasure from the cop, the Gunmen, nor her husband, as she makes the introductions. "My partner, Agent Mulder. This is Detective LaCoeur."

LaCoeur looks at Mulder expectantly. "Have you got something?"

"Yeah, our killer, I believe." Mulder unfolds and displays the videogame girl to the detective, who makes a face as he takes it.

"Hey, I'll put out an A.P.B. - for Frederick's of Hollywood," the black man scoffs as he leaves.

"Are you trying to piss me off, or look like a complete idiot? Either way, you're doing a great job." Scully manages to look down at him, despite being shorter.

"Hey." He shrugs, deliberately nonchalant, "it's all in the computer."

She rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh. Some bored programmer, I'm guessing either Ivan or Frohike, got really lonely one night and put her in the game. Big deal. She's *not* the killer," she states, as simply as she would say the moon is *not* made of cheese, you idiot.

Mulder deliberately gives her a wide smirk, something bordering on a leer. "If you want, we can show you the instant replay of how Miss Fantasy killed Retro in real time and in real life."

Before she can retort, however, an Asian man walks into the building and heads straight for the staircase, ignoring everyone. The men, however, are in awe. "Daryl Musashi. You see who that is? Daryl Musashi, dude!" Langly enthusiastically slugs his shorter comrade, who isn't fazed at all.

"As I live and breathe." Frohike stares after the disappearing man, then he and his blond friend follow Musashi down the stairs.

"Who's Daryl Musashi?" Scully frowns, wondering if he's some kind of rock star. He certainly was cute enough to be one.

"The O.G. - Original Guru," Mulder says, but it's a rote response. He respects the living legend enough to try to make him stay that way, and he runs down the stairs after them without another word.

Byers looks apologetically at Mulder's abandoned partner, wondering what's going on but too polite to enquire. Instead, he answers Scully's question. "Word is he slums as a game designer when he's not contracted to the CIA.

The boy wonder of virtual mayhem, if you will."

Doesn't matter if I will or won't, Scully thinks, it doesn't change the fact that Mulder's an ass. "What's he doing here?" she wonders, but has a bad feeling it's another one of Ivan's brilliant ideas.

The bearded man smiles like it's Christmas. "Ivan must have called him to go in and slay the ninja babe," he replies before bounding down the staircase, too.

She sighs, her hands on her hips. "Gee, I guess I'll do my autopsy on Retro, then," she says to the empty air. "Sure beats watching some stupid game." And she tromps outside in her three-inch thick heels, feeling more and more irritated, with humanity in general and men specifically, by the second.

* * *

It's not the best idea he's had, but it's the only one he's got. "Stop the game!" Mulder yells.

"What, are you crazy?" Ivan screeches, looking pretty nuts himself. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep and stress. Whatever. "The legend's gonna show you ladies how it's done."

"There's a killer on the loose who's connected to this game," Mulder argues as Byers walks in, "you've gotta get him back in here."

"Hey, is that Musashi?" Byers asks as the Asian man stands confidently with his weapons crossed over his chest.

"Hell, yeah," Langly drawls, "Mulder's suddenly got cold feet." Then he looks speculatively at the FBI agent. "Got something to do with Scully?"

"Shut up," Mulder mutters, but his words are lost as the room erupts into cheers. Musashi has just wasted the Biker Nazis easily.

"Yes!" Ivan shouts triumphantly, pumping his fist.

"Unbelievable." Byers smiles behind his beard.

"Standing heart rate is 68," Phoebe reports with a smile while the most of the guys are still hooting and clapping.

Mulder, however, watches the monitor anxiously. He's hoping that Musashi will suddenly wise up, or, barring that, a fluke will shut the game off. None of that happens, and the young gamer runs into the dead zone. "Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death," he sighs morosely, quoting Miyamoto Musashi while the others perk up.

"What are you talking about?" Ivan grumbles at the interruption, his bulging eyes still on the screen.

He's not the only one. In fact, even Mulder's engrossed in the action, and it unfolds just as it did before, the dominatrix appearing behind Musashi like a bad horror movie. The Asian man turns just as the psycho swings a katana down across his hands, severing them at the wrists. He screams, holding up his bloody stumps. Everyone's eyes are wide, and Langly turns around and runs out of the room, barely holding in his vomit with his hands clapped over his mouth.

"What just happened?" Ivan says numbly, sounding something like human for once.

"She cut off his hands," Mulder replies, his face a study in guilt.

Nobody notices, because, sans Langly, they're all watching as the gamer screams again, then stops suddenly when the killer talks to him in Japanese. Nobody understands her, and it's clear neither does Musashi, for there's a look of incomprehension as the katana swings again, taking off his dumbfounded head.

In the control room, Phoebe and the guys stare at the dead body, horrorstruck. Frohike turns away with a grimace, seemingly in disgust, but Mulder knows it's to hide his own fear and self-loathing. God knows he's got enough of that to share with the class.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the autopsy bay, Scully's taking on a task less futile than her husband's. Somewhat. Peeling off her latex gloves, she reports to the tape recorder, "Preliminary external examination of deceased, a twenty-ish male, name listed only as 'Retro'," she grimaces, "offers no additional clues as to actual cause of death." Twisting the dead man's arm, she reads the tag with the same unhelpful gamer name. Men, she thinks with disgust before turning the machine on again, are so stupid.

"Scratch that. Cause of death is from a large entry wound at the sternum, resulting in trauma to the internal organs and blood loss. Wound is consistent with a high-velocity impact from a large projectile which passed through a three-ply Kevlar jacket." Then she pauses the machine, rolls her eyes, then hits the record button. "Scratch that. Wound is result of high-velocity impact from an unknown object, which even if it did enter the body left no damn trace evidence whatsoever - no powder burns, no chemical signatures of any kind of explosive propellant..." Which is just the way my idiot husband likes his cases: Insane, unhelpful, and irritating.

Speaking of the devil, he walks right in. "No luck?"

She favors him with a simple "fuck you" look. "At first, I thought the suit's battery pack, sending a 12-volt jolt when the player is shot virtually, went haywire. Perhaps one of the charges had blown inward."

"At first?" Mulder says, seemingly distracted by the vest as he runs his hand over it.

She pretends not to notice his observation, focusing on his distraction. "What a waste of technology, going into a stupid game. What purpose does this game serve except to add to a culture of violence in a country that's already out of control?"

He almost grins as they fall into another pattern. Perhaps humans are victims of character, he thinks, both of strengths and weaknesses. "Who says it adds to it?"

Her look has changed from "fuck you" to "are you fucking kidding?" A slight improvement. "You think that taking up weapons and creating gratuitous virtual mayhem has any redeeming value whatsoever? I mean, that the testosterone frenzy that it creates stops when the game does?"

"Well, that's rather sexist, isn't it?" he grins, but she doesn't grin back. Well, some things have changed. He plows on, making the same excuse he did last time. "I mean, maybe the game provides an outlet for certain impulses, that it fills a void in our genetic makeup that the more civilizing effects of society failed to provide for."

Now she smiles, but it's laced with an edge sharper than the videobabe's sword. "Well, that must be why men feel the great need to blast the crap out of stuff."

Mulder shrugs, used to facing danger. "Well, testosterone frenzy or no, the only suspect we have in this man's murder is a woman," he replies, holding out the picture of 'the goddess'.

She brushes both him and the picture off, looking down at the body. "Yeah, I've seen it. A computer-animated woman, Mulder, with a computer-animated weapon."

"A flintlock pistol." He gestures at Retro's gaping hole, "which would leave a very large entry wound."

"Reality check, Mulder," Scully retorts, "real corpse," she waves at the body, "fake lady," she barely nods at the picture.

"Well, the fake lady got herself another dead body," Mulder says as the coroner wheels in another sheet-covered gurney. He takes it upon himself to lift the sheet, revealing the man's head between his bloody wrist stumps. "The world-renowned Daryl Musashi," he says, with a touch more sobriety than Scully would've expected.

His cell phone rings, and it gives him a chance to school his face and emotions. The call, however, is expected, and he grunts affirmatively while Scully checks out the new body. When he turns around, he tells his partner, "I am vindicated, Scully. L.A. Sheriff's department just picked up a female suspect for the murders, who happens to match this," and he waves the picture. "Carry on." He nods at the autopsy, "I have to interrogate the suspect." The leer carries him out the door, and manages to buoy Scully behind him.

* * *

Scully walks through the gauntlet of male police officers, her irritation level rising to near-volcanic levels, already having a clue of what to expect as some give her husband knowing looks, while others ogle her as well. Brother. When she walks into the interrogation room, a tall, very attractive, outrageously dressed woman is sitting in a chair with her legs crossed. Figures. She doesn't see her partner behind her, but whatever he did, a bunch of cops chuckle and hoot. God. She hears, rather than sees, Mulder shutting the door and closing the blind. In a straitlaced parody of her voice, she says, "For the record, can you state your name, please?"

Incredibly enough, the woman sitting in from of them looks exactly like the woman in the game, although in a different scandalous metallic outfit. "For the record again, my name is Jade Blue Afterglow. I reside..."

"Your *real* name, please?" Scully interrupts, not buying it.

"That *is* my real name," Jade replies in the same tone. "What were you expecting? Mildred?"

Scully picks up the report and barely stops herself from making a face at the snide comments. She isn't sure which is worse, sexist men or the women catering to their "wants." "You say that you have no knowledge of Ivan Martinez or a company known as First Person Shooter or F.P.S.?" she asks quickly.

The woman smiles at Mulder. "I meet a lot of men."

He smiles back, but there's something so distant that Jade doesn't feel reassured. "Would it surprise you to know that you have been placed at a crime scene in the offices of F.P.S.?"

"Let's just say it takes a whole lot to surprise me," Jade drawls, swiveling in her seat either in imitation of Sharon Stone's infamous leg-cross, or she's got to go to the bathroom.

Scully isn't sure whether the woman's a bad actress or bad hooker. Either way, she's ready to wrap this up. "You might want to start telling the truth."

Jade tilts her head like a child feigning innocence. "And what truth am I not telling you?"

"That you murdered two men." Mulder tilts his head, as if trying to get a better view of the outrageous jewelry on her impressive bosom. "One with a 14th century broadsword and the other with a flintlock pistol."

"Oh. You must have had me confused with my sister - Xena, Warrior Princess." She smirks.

For the umpteenth time in as many hours, Mulder pulls out the printed image of Maitreya and proffers it like Prince Charming with the glass slipper. She looks at it with realization. "Are you denying that this is you?" he says, almost too casually.

Jade frowns. "Now I get it."

"What?" Scully prompts her.

"The medical imaging place in Culver City," the woman says, for once talking normally and not some crazed idea of a porn star. "I got paid to let them do this body-scan thing."

Both Scully's eyebrows go up. "They paid you to scan your body?"

Jade's eyebrows echo the motion, but with a smile. "You think that's the strangest thing I've been paid to do?"

Inside, Mulder thinks, ::Finally, done, let's go.:: But he's the picture of perfect sleaziness as he helps her out of her chair, "We're very sorry, Miss Afterglow but," he waves to the door, "you're free to go." Then he sits in her seat and wiggles his ass, as if trying to get the mojo from it.

Jade smiles seductively from habit, but she sees there's nothing behind his eyes and suppresses a shudder. She'd intended on making a grand exit, but it would be wasted on these two. Besides, whatever's wrong with this couple, and it's more than the rings telling her this, acting up won't help matters. She pastes a 1000-watt come-hither look on her face when the door opens, only because the boys in blue expect it, and saunters out.

Scully shakes her head, wondering at the young woman's tacky behavior, but dismisses it. Besides, her husband's behavior is even more perplexing, as he's tilting his head to catch a view of Jade's ass.

While she completely blocks his view with the folder, Mulder says with a leer in his voice, "I don't know about you, Scully, but I am feeling the great need to blast the crap out of something." He's got the world's biggest smirk on his face, as if knowing that it'll piss off Scully to no end. Which, of course, it does, and he walks out in front of his partner, winking and grinning at the cops on their way out.

* * *

A Generic California Motel Room

11:25 p.m.

Mulder and Scully make it to the door at the same time, which they were hoping to avoid. Without a word, Scully unlocks the door and walks in, followed by her husband. They'd gotten a setup similar to one they'd had before they married: a room with two bedrooms and baths. Mulder goes to the left, Scully to the right, neither says anything as they lock the adjoining doors to their rooms, and both tiredly close their eyes as they lean against the door. If there was a window between rooms, they'd be surprised to see they are simultaneously peeling their clothes from their bodies, turning on the water taps, working the kinks out of their necks, and entering the showers. Drying themselves efficiently, both pick up their cell phones from habit and start to hit speed dial. Fuck that, they both think, both robed in white terry cloth garb, and flop on the bed, each on their accustomed side.

Then Scully hits the arrow button and selects her home phone number. "Hi, Michelle," she says, "how are things?"

"Oh, fine," Michelle answers tiredly. "It's amazing how wiped out kids can get when you have them race around the house until someone wins."

Scully smiles, a tired but genuine one, for the first time that day. "So who won?"

"April," the nanny replies, "the older two were too busy fighting with each other and the twins are still too small to make any real challenges yet. And Christopher managed not to spew most of his dinner, only a third."

"Great," Scully says, "tell my babies I love them and I'll be home soon."

"Sure thing," Michelle says before hanging up.

Scully closes her eyes, pulling the sheets up after grabbing around. What was frustrating was that, aside from the video the Gunmen helpfully provided, there was no other suspects for Retro and Musashi's deaths other than the ninja babe, as Byers so helpfully called her. And Musashi's autopsy proved to be as fruitless as Retro's - cause of death seemed cut and dry, but only if you believed a videogame caused real-life damage. Impossible.

Her cell phone rings, and she answers it automatically, her eyes still closed. "Scully," she says, vowing inwardly to turn off the lights before going to bed after this call.

"Scully, I know we're not talking, but for the benefit of this case and solving the damn thing, I propose a truce."

Dammit, she should really break herself of certain habits. "What is it?" she says flatly. If she were actually facing him, her gun would still be held in a steady grip, not backing down in the least. Too bad I can't kill him over the phone as easily as the mystery woman in the videogame, she thinks.

"The guys have been going over the schematics with Phoebe, and they're gonna try to root out the problem through the hardware," Mulder says, his eyes also closed, but also praying that the trio manages to stay out of the game area this time. Schematics, that didn't sound dangerous to him, so he encouraged them. "At the same time, Phoebe and Langly are gonna try a software attack, hopefully rout the intruder without any more casualties."

"Good," Scully says.

Not giving an inch, Mulder thinks, good girl. But at the same time, it pisses him off, so he asks, "And what have you been up to, O Partner and Wife of Mine?"

I hate you, she thinks, "Cutting open, weighing and testing body parts of dead men who thought they were filling a void in their genetic makeup that the more civilizing effects of society failed to provide for," she says, turning his weak-ass logic on him. If the game wasn't so physically lethal, she'd actually applaud the video woman for handing these men's asses to them. Oh well. "Superficially, it appears that a very sharp long blade severed Musashi's head and hands."

"Superficially?"

She sighs. I hate when you do that, lead me on into your stupid, insane conclusions, dammit. "From the bodies, all I can tell is that the killer is expert with various weapons, ambidextrous, over 5'6", and strong. Honestly, if you gave these bodies to any other coroner, they'd probably tell you these men were killed by a young man with military or martial arts background."

"But you examined the bodies, and you also watched the video," Mulder presses her.

She hits her head against the headboard, as if that would make the world right again. Nope, she's still alone in her bed, still angry at Mulder, and still wishing there were a more plausible suspect than a computer-generated killer. Argh. "We should check on the Gunmen's progress in the morning," she finally answers, and hangs up. Cracking open her eyes, she reaches over and turns off the light, then turns off her phone.

Mulder, however, stands up and paces in his room restlessly. He really, really wants to go to FPS HQ now, to keep the Gunmen out of the game space, but without a valid reason, he sees no reason to drag Scully out of bed. He sighs. His insomnia's returned with a vengeance ever since... He sighs again, then opens his laptop and checks out various websites, as if hoping for a miracle program, virus, patch, whatever, that can stop things from repeating themselves fully. He rubs his eyes, but his mind's still going a million miles a minute. Well, that's still the same, too, but last time, he was single and obsessing over Scully as much as the case. This time, he's married, but still obsessing over her, although in not quite the same way. Dammit.

* * *

FPS Corporate Headquarters

5:42 a.m.

The lights are off as Mulder and Scully walk into the control room. "Hello," Scully calls out, peering in the darkness, looking for a light switch.

"Hey, this is just like home." Mulder smirks at his partner, trying to quell the foreboding in his gut, "lights off, who knows what lurking in the shadows..."

"Shut up, Mulder," she snaps at him, then nearly falls over something. Correction, someone. Phoebe is lying on the floor, and while Mulder unsuccessfully tries the light switch, she bends down and shakes the young woman. "Phoebe? Hey, you okay?"

To her relief, Phoebe stirs and yawns, blinking up at the two agents. "Oh, I must've fell asleep. I...I was just going to take a nap. I've been up for 70 hours straight, analyzing code, trying to fix the game." She groans, sitting up.

Scully looks around, concerned. "Where is everybody? Where's Ivan?"

"Um, he's with the money guys." Phoebe shrugs. "They're all freaking."

"Well, we need to talk to him right away about a woman named Jade Blue Afterglow," Scully says, managing not to grimace at the name. "He scanned her body and he created a character out of her. He put her in the game."

Oh shit, Mulder thinks when he sees the Lone Gunmen standing in the game area via the monitor. "Phoebe, the Lone Gunmen are on the floor," he says, his voice amazingly monotone.

Phoebe nods, "Yeah, Langly and I wrote a software patch. We're going to run a rez-up test on the game."

"What for?" Scully frowns.

"To bypass the problem," the young woman replies, standing up and watching the monitor.

Onscreen, they watch as the scene shifts from blank white room, to the game street scene. "What the hell...?" Scully breathes.

"What just happened?" Mulder says, doing his damndest not to let his panic show.

"I don't know," Phoebe says, her eyes now on the auxiliary and program computers, scanning them for any signs of weirdness.

"They're in the game," Mulder reports in a maddeningly flat voice.

Downstairs, in the game, the Gunmen are freaking. "Hey, what's going on? Phoebe, are you paying attention? We're not ready yet! Who's running the program? What the hell's going on? Phoebe? Come on!"

"I don't believe this, the program's running itself," Phoebe says, and for the first time, she sounds really scared. "This can't be happening." She's typing like a madwoman, but the sound of the pounding keyboard barely masks the sound of gunfire from the monitor.

As the Gunmen run for cover, Scully's tone matches her partner's, "Somebody's shooting at them."

"This was supposed to be background only," Phoebe says, panicking. "There wasn't supposed to be any gameplay."

"They need help," Mulder says, determined not to repeat the same mistakes as he walks out of the room.

Scully watches him leave, but says nothing.

* * *

As before, Mulder's in full battle gear, but this time, he doesn't give a rat's ass about being the hero, he just wants to get the guys out, killswitch the ubervixen, and go home. "You guys okay?" he asks, jogging over to the Gunmen.

Langly states the obvious, "Byers's been hit."

"I'm okay," Byers grunts in spite of the huge yellow splotch on his chest. Then he winces as a jolt of electricity hits him. "It's a flesh wound."

"She's out there." Frohike jerks his head towards the main game space. "She nailed Byers with that flintlock."

At least he's alive, Mulder thinks as he says, "Okay, on the count of three, I'm gonna lay down some cover for us. Ready? One...Two...Three!" With his handy-dandy "automatic" weapon, he does his best Rambo impersonation while the Gunmen run to the entry hatch.

"Mulder!" Frohike hollers as Maitreya, clad in a black bodysuit, runs across the game area, sword in hands.

Wait, this didn't happen before, Mulder panics inside as he races towards the entry hatch. Why isn't she staying in her own damn space? He attempts to run backwards and fire at the same time. Unlike what action movies would have viewers believe, however, it's not an easy thing to do, and he trips over his feet as the hatch closes. "Aw, shit," he mutters when she catches up.

* * *

"Mulder?" Frohike knocks on the door when they don't hear anymore gunfire. The Gunmen hit the door and run back out. Halfway there, the image of the game digitizes, then goes to the plain room.

"Oh, no." Phoebe is staring at the screen, her hands suddenly still.

Scully's down in the game area, running to meet the Gunmen. "Where's Mulder?" She looks around, but there's no tall, big-nosed asshole in black gamer gear there. "I said, where's Mulder, dammit?"

Langly shrugs, worried. "We don't know. She came out of nowhere, but he was right behind us, and the door just closed..."

"I know, I saw," Scully says, exasperated. "I just want to know why the hell isn't he here?"

Frohike looks just as frustrated, as if the world suddenly decided that 2+2 = 3. "He should be right here," his head keeps whipping around, as if expecting Mulder to materialize. "There's gotta be a reason why the game kept Mulder instead of us."

"It's impossible," Byers argues, aghast at his compatriot's lack of logic, "it's a digital environment. It's just a game."

Scully stares at Byers' yellow paint-spattered chest. "A game that you managed to escape while Retro and Musashi didn't. Interesting."

Now Phoebe joins the crowd. "Agent Scully. I found him."

* * *

While Phoebe and company discover Mulder's whereabouts via the computer, Mulder's waking up from something like a massive concussion. Thankfully, there's no psycho bitch in black standing over him, but, as before, his headset's broken. Swearing, he throws off his broken headset, gets up, looks at the sword imbedded in the wall next to him. "At least I've got my little friend," he mutters, checking to see if his weapon's okay, then goes out into the main area, gun at the ready.

Out of nowhere, Maitreya does her insane back-flipping thing again, and Mulder fires, then runs. Somehow, she dodges those bullets with all those flips, and lands the opposite direction, away from him. He doesn't care, he's just glad that she isn't within sight, and starts collecting himself, hoping against hope that Scully doesn't hate him enough to leave him in the game with a woman who can't be destroyed. At least, not from where he's standing. "I'll make it up to you," he promises, then wonders how he's gonna keep a promise when he's not even sure he can change his heart or his mind.

* * *

Meanwhile, Scully shoots down Ivan's ill-placed congratulations and questions him about scanning Jade, in even less polite terms than before. As before, he spaces, and Scully's about ready to send him to the tooth fairy, until Phoebe runs out of the room. Scully follows her. "Hey, Phoebe."

The young programmer looks like a wreck. "I don't know how it happened."

"You knew about her?" Scully's eyebrows go up. Then she puts two and two together, "Then it was you. You scanned that woman's body."

"Into my computer," Phoebe explains. "She was my creation. She was mine."

Scully frowns. "But why?"

Phoebe wipes away her tears with her sleeve. "You don't know what it's like - day in and day out choking in a haze of rampant testosterone."

Scully makes a face. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I mean, she was all I had to keep me sane, my only way to strike back as a woman," she says desperately. "She was my goddess. Everything I can never be."

Without my degree, without my badge, where would I be? Scully wonders. "But, Phoebe, she is still a killer. I can't explain it, but she is," she says, leading up to the kill. "And you put her in that game."

The young woman shakes her head. "No, I didn't. I was creating my own game

in my own computer. It was totally secret. I never told anyone!" she declares. "But somehow she jumped programs and she's feeding off the male aggression. It's making her stronger and stronger." She grabs the other woman's arms, "I need your help. You're the only one who can understand."

I understand that you're smart, you're creative, and that you could very easily do more than grunt work for someone like Ivan, Scully thinks. "You've got to destroy her, Phoebe," she says aloud, knowing time is ticking down for Mulder. Part of her debates whether to even save his sorry, ungrateful, assholic, stupid ass in there, while her more forgiving, albeit much smaller part, says she should save him and then beat him up herself. With that, she thinks maybe shooting him again would be a good idea.

"I don't know how." Phoebe pouts.

"Well, there's got to be some way," Scully says, steering her back to the control room. "There's got to be some vulnerability or a weakness somewhere." She wishes she knew more about videogames now, but knowing Phoebe is on the ball should be enough. She hopes.

"She has no weakness anymore," Phoebe says, her monotone tinged with respect for her creation.

Shit.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the game, Mulder bangs on the entry hatch door. Nothing. He pulls out his gun and starts shooting, hoping that'll do the trick. Nope, they just bounce off as if polarized negatively, and he jumps out of the way. "Dammit!" He hears the click-clack of high heels and turns around. Shit. He hauls out his gun and pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. "Not again!" he yells when he sees the digital display flashing "No Ammo". He drops the gun and raises his hands. "I surrender!"

She tilts her head, then kicks his head. As the digital scenery swims, he thinks, Scully, please...

Back in the control room, Scully's finding that Mulder's vitals have suddenly gone haywire, the Lone Gunmen are desperately typing, rewiring and doing everything short of witchcraft to try and get Mulder out of the game. Ivan, however, flips out when he sees Phoebe enter the storm. "This is your fault," he yells, getting in her face. "You put her here."

Why does everyone act like children when these stupid videogames are involved, Scully sighs inwardly, stepping between the two lead programmers. "Hey," she says, shifting her feminine jacket to show she's packing real, not virtual, heat. "No fair picking on a girl."

* * *

Meantime, back in the game, Maitreya's kicking Mulder in the head. As he drops to the ground, his head bleeding, he blinks furiously against the pain and nausea. Her leg makes a lower arc now, but Mulder grabs her foot and throws her to the ground. All right, gotta get that sword, maybe I can pry that damn door open, he thinks, running back. Pulling the katana from the wall, he's oddly reminded of the Arthurian legend, but he's pretty sure Morgana le Fay wasn't some VR witch that brought on the pain personally, but who knows. The Japanese sword firmly in hand, he turns only to find the scene is shifting, and he groans. "Hell's teeth," he mumbles, now standing in an Old West ghost town, complete with rolling tumble weeds.

In the control room, however, Scully and the gang find that Mulder's reached level two. She demands that they shut the game down, or at least turn the damn computer off. Ivan, as expected, flips out, and Langly tries his level best to shut it down, but no go. Or stop, rather. The damn thing keeps going and they're all watching the monitor. This time around, Maitreya's traded her dominatrix outfit for a Coyote Ugly-style western getup, pistols included. Like a horror movie, they watch as she walks up behind Mulder, but have no way of warning him.

"God, how could you be so useless!" Scully shouts, and storms out. Frohike looks grim and goes back to work, Langly grumbles but does the same, Byers is embarrassed but resumes checking code, and Ivan and Phoebe resume their shouting match.

In the meantime, Mulder finally turns around to see the Cowgirl of Death moseying up. "Here goes," he mutters, gamely raising the sword samurai style. When she draws her pistols, he grimaces. "Fine, I'll be John Belushi, you be Piper Perabo." And, as before, she suddenly clones herself into quintuplets. Damn. "You know, any other time and place, I'd be enjoying myself," he smirks, "but if those are my last words, I can do better."

Behind him, the entry door slides open. Scully's wearing the game combat gear over her white blouse and short black skirt. Oh yeah, and hefting a huge-ass rifle probably meant for Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mulder nearly drops to the ground, ready to worship this spitfire of justice, who somehow makes her ensemble work and the ginormous gun scary rather than silly. "One side, Mulder," she says flatly, and points the damn thing at him.

"Scully," he croaks, then hits the floor when the Maitreyas, not waiting, fire at her. He sees her ducking out of sight, then running towards the metal barricade, firing as she does so. How does she not trip with that, he wonders, especially when it's so big? Then again, she's naturally dealt with big things that would bring most people to their knees, whether it was cancer, working in a male-dominated environment, or... and he finds the blood unexpectedly rush to his groin. Ah, shit, not now, he tells himself as she continues to blast away. Still, she looks like a goddess to him, taking out the five Maitreyas, one by one. God, I love you, he thinks, slowly picking himself off the ground.

* * *

"You okay?" Scully says, less like a concerned wife and more like a military commander.

"I'm fine," he says, "the door..." They both turn and run when they hear the door slide shut. Remembering the sword didn't do shit last time, Mulder peels off his vest and shoves it underneath, where the door crunches it down. There's enough space for a snake to wiggle through, but not a grown man nor a pregnant woman. Dammit.

And, of course, Maitreya decides to show up again, armed and dangerous. "Got it?" Scully asks, not turning around to check on him since she's facing down yet another of the damn videochicks. She's really, really starting to hate this game, and wonders if the thing feeds off female aggression as well.

"I'm trying!" he says, looking around desperately to find something to give him leverage, or at least something bigger to prop the door up. All he sees, however, is seven more Maitreyas popping up, and them shooting up a storm. Fortunately, Scully shoots back, and, oddly enough, they die spinning like those old-fashioned penny arcade figures as opposed to more realistic keeling over or even blowing up with a satisfying explosion.

By this time, however, Mulder's shed all his game gear in an effort to use them as leverage, and vainly trying to pit his human strength which, while considerable against a normal opponent, is worth jack shit against a metal door with who knows how much weight and mechanisms behind it. "How much ammo you got?" he asks, grunting.

Having killed off the last of the pistol chicks, Scully looks down. "Enough," she says, mentally crossing her fingers for luck. Then a WWII tank appears with a Maitreya, dressed as a soldier, straddling the gun barrel. "You've gotta be kidding," Scully groans, then aims and fires at the tank, blowing it up but good.

Then another appears.

Shit.

Pull the trigger, boom.

And another tank shows up.

The hell? Scully would scream, if she had the energy. Trigger, boom.

* * *

At the hotel, Mulder waits until he locks the door behind him to explode. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yells.

Scully, in the process of shrugging out of her suit jacket, lets it fall to the floor. "What?"

"You could've been killed!"

Her eyes flash dangerously, even as she retorts sarcastically, "Oh, and you're welcome for saving your sorry ass."

His jaw works as he grinds out, "I wasn't *planning* on getting stuck there!"

"No! Of *course* not!" She waves her hands around. "You ran in there wanting to play the hero and beat the sexy videogame babe, and as usual, you didn't have an exit plan!"

"I DID!"

She tilts her head. "Oh yeah? Like what, having the Gunmen prop open the door for you?" His sullen face gives her the answer. "Brilliant," she deadpans, "absolutely brilliant".

"And if Phoebe and the Gunmen didn't get the killswitch in time, what was *your* brilliant plan, Rambolina?" he shoots back.

"'Rambolina'?" she scoffs. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Argh!" Mulder shouts in frustration. "I am this close to either choking you or punching you out!" He pinches his thumb and forefinger together.

"So what's stopping you?" Scully swaggers up to him, her attitude sharpened by weeks of irritation and non-communication. "What, this?" she slaps her belly, and takes some satisfaction in seeing him wince. "Doesn't matter, you obviously don't give a shit about either of us. Come on!"

Mulder stares at her. "What, are you crazy?"

"Me, crazy?" she says, anger hardening her words. "Am I the one who turned a back on our marriage and family for no reason?" Her eyes glisten with tears as she goes on, "I was willing to chalk up your assholicism to your illness, or possibly even a new threat by the conspiracy. But you've made it abundantly clear you don't want either me or our new child..."

She turns away and says nothing, and after a while, even Mulder breaks and asks, "Scully?"

She sniffles, then squares her jaw before looking at him. "I want a divorce."

* * *

Even though those four words echo in his ears, he repeats dumbly, "Are you kidding?"

Scully doesn't even bother repeating herself. Head bowed, she walks into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. Before she can turn away, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tears running down her face, her eyes and nose red, her shoulders bowed in defeat. That's not me, she thinks distantly, no Scully woman has ever looked like that.

But she drops the toilet cover down and sits on the lid, burying her face in her hands as she sobs, unable to stop the pain in her heart manifesting itself in her tear ducts and shuddering breath. She doesn't answer the pounding on the door, nor his childish calling of her maiden name. Perhaps it's best, she thinks, perhaps that was the reason why I allowed him to call me Scully, my identity not subsumed by his, my strength not diminished by his, nor my self being lost in his.

On the other side of the door, Mulder has stopped calling out her name, tears running a face contorted by disbelief and deep pain. He balls his hands into fists, intending to break down the door, but a small, rational part of him tells him it won't help matters, so he walks away. He still has the desire to hit something, so he punches the wall nearby. It hurts like a bitch, but it's nothing like the chasm inside his mind and heart, so he keeps punching, slamming into the plaster and concrete until his hands are fractured, bloody messes.

He leans against the slightly cracked and bloody wall, sliding down until he slumps over, curled up with his hands held to his chest like dead birds. ::I never thought it was possible,:: he thinks, ::that I'd be worse than my father. At least he had a pretty good reason for breaking up the family, losing his daughter to an alien conspiracy and his wife to a chain-smoking bastard. Me, all I had to do was blame my gorgeous, brilliant, forgiving and loving wife and partner for having a baby timed too damn wrong to have William, and like that, I lose everything.:: He looks up briefly, wondering if he should tell Scully everything. It's not like he has anything more to lose at this point.

* * *

Having had a good cry, as her mom used to say, Scully sniffles, then wipes her nose. She feels only a fraction better now, but only the minutest of fractions. If possible, she'd stay in the bathroom forever, but she knows that's impossible, since her babies are at home and depending on her, and it's not like the FBI would let her stay in there. Besides, she tells herself, washing her face and brushing her hair, somebody has to be the grownup. She finally looks up at the mirror to see a deep scowl. Doesn't mean she has to like it.

Then she unlocks the door and opens it slowly. "Mulder?" she says softly, a hand on the gun tucked in her the back of her slacks, just in case. She peeks around the doorframe and sees him hunched over, his back facing her. "Mulder?"

He slowly turns around and looks up at her, and she sees the dead look in his eyes before registering the tears on his face or his raw, bloody knuckles. She may not be an incisive profiler, but she does know how to deal with injuries, so she walks over and pulls out a first aid kit from her overnight bag, then kneels beside the man she used to call her husband and pulls him to his feet to the bathroom. Wordlessly, she tends to his hands, washing out the paint chips and plaster from the wounds, dabbing iodine on the scrapes and steadying his hands as he hissed and winced, then wrapping them efficiently with bandages. She fills a glass with water, then pops a pill into his mouth and hands the glass over to him, watching him swallow. Then she walks out, intending never to speak or see him again as long as she can help it.

* * *

Mulder puts a bandaged hand on her arm. "Thank you," he says roughly in a low voice. She hasn't run off yet, so he presses his luck. "For this, and for saving my sorry ass more times than I can count. For putting up with me as long as you have. For being there when I don't deserve it. For," his voice breaks, "for being my partner, my wife, and the mother of our children, and my friend. I'm sorry. I..." His hand drops, and he doesn't look at her face when he says, "Whatever you want, I won't contest it." It's not until he's finished that he realizes he's just said a eulogy for their marriage. Dammit.

It seems like forever until Scully turns around, and her face is unreadable. "Then fight for me."

He blinks. "What?"

She grabs his arm. "Fight for me, dammit!" she says, tears filling her eyes. "After all we've been through, after building a life together at work and at home, after seeing what we've seen and doing what we've done, are you so willing to give that up so easily?" She's shaking, but she slugs him. "Fight!"

How? He wants to ask, but in that plea, he sees that he hasn't lost it all, that in spite of his idiocy, she still wants him. Wants *them*, he corrects himself, as he pulls her in to a kiss. The pain in his broken hands are agonizing, but not as much as if he'd let this chance go by. She returns the kiss hungrily, her hands covering his, tears still falling from her closed eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, wiping her face gently, "I'll try not to be such an idiot."

"You can't help it," she says, but without heat. Her face softens when he rubs her tummy. "Are we okay?"

"Are we?" She looks up to see naked insecurity so painfully clear on his face, it hurts to look. "Scully?"

She wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly. In a way, it reminds him of Sammy, and he feels ashamed for having his head so far up his ass he didn't realize how much the kids were affected as well. "We're good," she says, leaning against him. Then she pulls away to look at him. "But if you *ever* pull this shit again-"

"Feel free to shoot me," he finishes, hoping she won't take him up on that.

"Been there, done that," she says blithely, taking off her shirt, "what I was *going* to say," she smiles, unzipping and yanking down his jeans, "is that I'd cut you off," she finishes, *edited*.

Uh-huh. "And not in the mafia way," Mulder says breathlessly, since his wife's literally got him by the balls.

"We could arrange for that." Scully chuckles. How long has it been since I've heard that? he wonders. "For now, however, I think we'd better make up for lost time. I've been wanting a good f-k since I kicked that game's a-s."

He smiles back. "I love you, Dana," he says, tracing his wife's face.

She shakes her head. "Shut up and give it to me hard and fast," she says, pulling him to the bed.

He doesn't care if his hands hurt, he happily pulls off his t-shirt while she finishes tearing off her clothes. He tilts his head, taking in the sight of his wife's buck nekkid body and getting harder than he's been for quite some time. "Hard and fast, coming up," he grins, pinning her down and making her squeal. And making her gasp, moan, cry out and explode, but that came later. As did he.


	85. Hollywood AD: movie premiere portion

Darryl Zanuck Theater  
20th Century Fox  
Hollywood, California  
April 2000

::I'm so glad we got free tickets, free flight, and free time,:: Mulder thinks, ::and that things are finally looking up between me and Scully.:: Last time they were here, he muses as he and his wife steer their family through the madding crowd, they were somewhat flattered to be among the company of celebrities and stunned to be in each other's company dressed to kill, metaphorically speaking. This time, however, they have to contend with strangers (paparazzi, celebrity, or otherwise) gawking at or making a nuisance to their children. Jeez, haven't they seen kids before? Mulder grumbles inwardly. You'd think they were aliens or pets or something, the FBI man sighs, shifting Christopher on his hip, who the hell's in charge of setting this thing up, anyways?

The last straw for Scully is when Federman grabbed the twins' stroller and spun them around. "My children are NOT PROPS!" she declares in a voice to freeze hell over ten times. For once, the hyper writer-slash-whatever looks abashed, and some cameramen snap pictures of Scully haughtily turning away, children in tow. Meanwhile Page happily waves at all and sundry, Sammy runs ahead too many times, and April clings to her mother's long black dress, half-blinded by the flashbulbs and phoniness.

"Hey, can we sit in the back for a quick getaway?" Mulder says in a low voice to his wife as they walk into the gaudily-decorated lobby. It's as if someone took all the bad parts of Easter and threw it up in the room, and monster-sized cutouts of Garry Shandling, Tea Leoni, and Frankie Muniz are surrounded by what seems like a small herd of children, the backdrop being menacing zombies and some kind of maniacal bishop waving a staff. The actors themselves are greeting the paparazzi with practiced smiles, ignoring the originals of the story as they pass by. He's surprised the Catholic church isn't protesting outside, but then again, they probably don't want to add publicity to a P.O.S. movie.

"For you or the kids?" Scully retorts, an eyebrow arched.

"For the kids, of course," he replies piously, "those celebrities are weird and scary."

She gives him a tired smile. "Any other time, I'd argue, but after Federman did what he did, I say we should grab the seats by the door." She doesn't even protest when the ushers hand them all heavily buttered popcorn in large plastic bowls made to look like the Lazarus Bowl. Instead, she focuses her attention on seating everyone, from the smallest to the largest in their group, and trying to take the twins out of the stroller, folding the stroller, and carrying it over the space between children and chairs without hitting anyone. Truly, she is a force to be reckoned with.

Still, it takes them a little while to calm the kids down, only because the adults around them seem so hyper themselves. ::Please, please, don't let it be too stupid,:: Mulder prays as the lights go down. After seeing the lobby, he doesn't have high hopes, but at least, it should be entertaining. Maybe.

Then some kind of boppy synthetic pop that shows up in every "kid-friendly" movie plays as the scene opens with a nice suburban house in a nice suburban neighborhood. It quickly shifts to the interior, where the audience finds Garry Shandling struggling to feed, diaper and calm down several small children. The audience laughs, recognizing the archetypal Bumbling Dad. Then Frankie Muniz stomps down the stairs in a bleached white suit, vainly pulling at a tie tied tightly around a starched collar. "Mo-om," he whines, "I don't wanna wear this! Can't I wear something more comfy, like a noose?"

The audience laughs again, and Tea Leoni comes down the stairs, dressed in her Sunday best, her huge cross hitting her chest with each step. "Billy, I've told you a thousand times, God is-"

"Watching us, yeah, yeah," Frankie grumbles, giving up on the tie, but ruining his collar in the process. "But can't I look good without looking like I'm at my own funeral?" Then he looks at his movie father, who's dressed in black from head to toe. "Never mind."

Shandling glares at his movie son, having triumphantly wrapped a diaper around one of the clearly inanimate babies. "Son, it's Easter Sunday, and we are going to meet what may be the first American pope looking our best if it kills us!"

"It just might," Frankie mutters, and the audience titters.

Mulder groans, and Scully shoots him a warning look. He holds up his hands and schools his face, all innocence. She's obviously not buying it, but at least the ushers haven't kicked him out yet. Darn.

* * *

Once Shandling and Leoni start calling each other "Mulder" and "Scully," the older kids realize the movie's supposed to be about their family. "That's not my daddy!" Sammy shouts, pointing with a pudgy finger.

"We know," Scully says in a calming tone, pulling him back into his seat, "they're just pretending to be us."

Moments later, child number one decides to join in the Asking Parents Embarrassing Questions game. "Do we have a brother named Billy?" Page asks, looking at her father.

::No, not in this lifetime,:: Mulder thinks sadly, but smiles a little, thankful Scully happened to take a bathroom break. "It's make-believe," he reassures her, "just like when you guys play princesses and pirates."

"Ohhhhh." the little blonde girl nods. "I thought we'd have a new older brother like Emily is our new cousin."

Uh, yeah, he starts to slump in his seat. Then the "new older brother" proceeds to fall into a catacomb, landing on a skeleton. The kids and more impressionable audience members shriek, then laugh as the bones start to dance, much to "Billy's" amazement. I still think Wayne Federman's on crack, Mulder thinks mutinously, if he can't even tell the difference between what's possible in real life and movies. Then again, the stuff he and his family have seen, well, that would stretch even current CGI standards. Okay, maybe his whole family's smoking crack, and he sniggers at an inappropriate moment, earning shushes all around.

Then zombies jump out, and Mulder's wondering what the hell's going on. Isn't there even a semblance of plot, cause and effect, he thinks, while Shandling and Leoni charge through the catacombs, shouting for Billy, and shooting wildly. It reminds him of those Scooby Doo interludes, where the monsters chase all the characters all over the place, to the tune of some random pop group, which this movie almost faithfully reproduces in live-action. "That's not how you kill zombies!" Page declares. "And you killed them on New Year's, not Easter!"

And that's when the penguin mafia, that is, the ushers, came to hustle Mulder and company out of the theater. "Wait, my wife-" he says, but it's all in vain. Oh well, at least we've got cell phones, he thinks, as he and the kids are banished from the theater. Then he grins at the "Mulderlings". "Hey, you wanna see something cool?" he asks.

"You're not gonna pull your thumb off, are you?" Page asks.

Ordinarily, he'd feign being hurt, but he's so happy to be out of there that he laughs. "No, much better." He shifts Christopher a little in the baby sling to make them both a bit more comfortable, then hefts the baby bag onto the stroller handles so he'd have his hands free for April and Sammy. "Wanna help Daddy push the stroller?"

"Okay!" the little blonde girl agrees, proud to be trusted with the responsibility. And they make their way to the movie set, where really fake graveyards with really fake dead people are.

* * *

Scully finds Mulder sitting on a hill in the graveyard movie set, Christopher scootching around his legs, watching as Sammy pretends to be a zombie, gleefully chasing David, Jared, and April. April does really good girly screams, and then Page comes charging from around a gravestone, holding her hands together and using her pointer fingers in the traditionally-accepted version of a gun. Shaking her head, Scully goes over to sit beside her husband. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually glad the kids are playing in a graveyard rather than watching that ridiculous movie," she smiles.

He smiles back. "Welcome to the dark side, Scully."

She playfully swats his arm, then leans against him. "I got a page from the Washington Bureau," she says quietly. "Micah Hoffman was murdered tonight. Murdered in his own home by Cardinal O'Fallon who then hanged himself. A murder-suicide."

Mulder sighs. He'd tried to convince Hoffman of the danger before they'd left for California, tried to talk sense into the Cardinal. Perhaps some things were meant to happen, a result of fate and choice all at once. And, not for the first time, he wonders about people (or whatever) like Elsbeth, who seemed to have immense power, but still unable to change things unless prompted by certain actions by certain people. "It's Jesus and Judas all over again, Scully."

Scully closes her eyes. "Well...It's all over now."

"No." He shakes his head stubbornly, "it's just beginning. Hoffman and O'Fallon were these complicated, flawed, beautiful people, and now they'll just be remembered as jokes because of this movie." Then he frowns. "Scully?"

"Yeah," she answers, her eyes still closed.

"What about that body you autopsied?" When she looks up at him, he continues, "Did you ever find out who he was?"

Now she looks at her hands in her lap. "We couldn't find a match. We went through missing persons, the FBI database, everything... Nothing came up. It's as if he didn't exist before he died." Then she shakes her head, more vehemently than he. "That's crazy, of course he did, he must've fallen through the cracks..."

"Probably," Mulder notes. "But he bore enough of a superficial physical match to Hoffman that was uncanny, right?"

"Something like that," Scully admits, uncomfortably. "His approximate age judging from bone growth was similar to Hoffman's, his build and height around the same, his reconstructed facial features remarkably-" Now she looks at him suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

He shrugs. "Just curious. The last loose end, I guess." Then he looks at their kids. "So, aside from making us look like bumbling idiots whose kids needed to save the day, what was the movie like?"

"Exactly like that," she sighs, "even Page would've been mortified at how stupid it was."

Mulder grins. "Well, her shining honesty's what got us kicked out." Both Scully's eyebrows go up. "I told them she got it from your side of the family - ow!" he rubs his arm. "At least our kids know the difference between reality and movies. The rest of the world's going to have to rely on Hollywood to show the future how we lived and it'll all become...oversimplified and trivialized and O'Fallon the O'Fallenized and become as plastic and meaningless as that stupid plastic Lazarus Bowl on Sammy's head," he gestures to their rambunctious redheaded son, now acting like the cardinal.

She smiles, first at Sammy, then at Mulder. "I think the dead are beyond caring what people think about them. Hopefully we can adopt the same attitude. Her smile becomes a little goofy when she giggles, "I can't believe they called him O'Fallon the O'Fallen. What were they thinking?"

"Apparently, not very much," Mulder intones stentoriously, and Scully falls into a giggling fit, feebly whacking her husband's side whenever she can. "I'm simply agreeing with you," he adds in a more normal tone of voice, albeit slightly injured and innocent.

She snorts. "Anyways. Skinner was so tickled by the movie and our thousand and one kids..."

He winces, "Yeah, I'll bet..."

"That he has given us a Bureau credit card to use for the evening," she holds up the card and giggles like a loopy lady. He grins back in a similar fashion. "Come on, let's hit the toy and baby stores before Kersh knows what's hit him." She stands, then takes his arm and helps him up, then dons the baby sling before putting Christopher inside. Together, they gather up the rest of their children, running down the steep slope of the hill to a path, heading into a Hollywood version of sunset painted on a scrim.

"Daddy?" April asks as they turn the corner by a gnarled tree, while Scully and the rest go on ahead.

"Yeah?"

She smiles. "I'm really happy now."

"That's good." Mulder nods, finishing off the last of his popcorn and putting the bowl upside down on her head.

"Daddy!" She laughs, batting it off, then brushing her hair. "I'm glad you're happy, too."

Now he smiles, and brushes the last of the popcorn bits off her hair. ::My princess::, he thinks, ::intuitive as always.:: "Me, too," he says, then takes her hand in his. "Come on, we better catch up before they start fighting over the front seat."

She giggles, and squeezes his hand before he picks her up and runs toward the rest of their family, before they do something unforgivable like actually painting the town red.

* * *

A Few Days Later

Mulder shuffles his feet, then pats Jared on the head. "Be a good boy for Auntie Missy."

"I'm sure that he'll be just fine," Missy says in a reassuring tone.

"Yeah..." Mulder agrees half-heartedly while looking down at David, who is still in the playpen.

"Jared will have a good time playing with Emily." Missy shifts him, securing him on her hip. "This almost makes me want to have a little boy of my own."

"With Kry...with Alex?" Mulder squeaks in alarm.

"Of course, Fox. But I think my mother would prefer that at least on of her daughters be married before she gets pregnant."

He winces. It's one of the only things Missy has, decorum-wise, to hold over her sister's head, and sometimes she can't seem to resist the temptation. "Well, Missy, you're already sleeping with the enemy, so how much difference could it make?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "And I thought for sure you'd faint at the very idea of me marrying him."

"It doesn't warm the cockerels of my heart, but I've accepted that you have incomprehensible feelings for Alex. If he makes you happy, I guess that's the important thing," Mulder says grudgingly.

"How diplomatic of you to say," Missy says drolly. "We'll be back in a couple of hours."

Then, before he even is quite aware of it, Missy is heading for the door with Jared on one arm, and a baby bag on the other.

"Bye Jared," Mulder says faintly. In the playpen David climbs to his feet and looks around, alarmed.

Mulder turns to Scully, who has been hanging back by the door. "Did we have to do this?" he asks plaintively as David begins to whine.

"You know I didn't want to do this any more than you do, but you heard what doctor Peters said-"

"I know. 'It's not healthy for twins to never have a chance to experience time apart,'" Mulder recites in a heavy voice.

"She may be right. They're almost two, and this is the first day they've ever been apart."

"They _like_ being together," Mulder says petulantly.

"I know!" Scully bursts out. "But maybe they'll like being apart too. So far they've never had the chance to find out."

"Yeah."

"And when they go to preschool-"

"Not for over a year!"

"-they're not going to be allowed to play just together." She looks up at him, anticipating his next objection. "Or just with their siblings and cousin."

"Maybe we should stay home, in case Missy has trouble with Jared and needs to bring him home-" he begins again, but she cuts him off.

"Go, Mulder. If she brings him back, he'll be fine with me." To give him the idea, she slings a diaper bag over his shoulder. "If you don't hurry, you're going to be late."

"Yeah, all right," he says, sighing deeply, and reaching for David.

* * *

When Mulder gets to the library, the young librarian gives him a warm smile. "You look nervous, Dad," she says, as people file in for story time. "Don't worry, we don't bite."

"Oh, I know...It's just, this is his first time being without his twin brother," Mulder explains, sounding a bit self-pitying.

"That is a big deal," the librarian remarks. "Hopefully he'll like the story so much he won't notice."

"Maybe..." Mulder says doubtfully. He and David pull up a piece of floor and wait for story time to start. David seems delighted to see other little kids, and he makes faces at the nearest toddlers.

Eventually David bores of this and looks up at Mulder expectantly. "Dada, Jar?"

"He's with Aunt Missy," Mulder tells him, bracing himself for a tantrum.

"Oh," David says and then turns his head when the librarian stands up.

"I'd like to welcome all the moms, dads and little ones to the ages one to three lap sit story time. Today we'll be reading..."

Mulder doesn't pay much attention to the reading of the storybook, but to his utter shock, David does. Just as the librarian predicted, he likes the story so much that he seems to have forgotten to have a fit over his brother not being there.

On the way out, the librarian stops Mulder. "So it looks like this went pretty well."

"It did. It surprised me," Mulder replies. "Here's to hoping that his brother did as well today."

"Good luck! Don't forget that the boys are both welcome to story time whenever you'd like to bring them."

"Thanks."

* * *

Missy's car pulls in right behind him when he and David get home.

She's all smiles, and happily hands over his other son. "He was as good as gold."

"David did pretty well too. Thanks, Missy."

"No problem, Fox. I've got to run."

"You weren't really serious about wanting a baby with Alex, were you?" he calls as she walks back to her car. She just smiles at him. "Oh, dear," he says as he puts the boys on their feet and opens the door.

"How'd it go?" Scully asks as soon as he's in the house.

"Good. Missy said Jared did fine too."

"That's great."

"Yeah...It makes me a little sad, though," Mulder tells her as they watch the boys run off.

"Why?"

He shrugs. "It's hard to see them get more independent."

"All babies grow up someday," Scully reminds him.

"Yeah, then you want another one," Mulder teases, ducking out of his wife's reach.


	86. The Gift flashback portion

Squamash Township Pennsylvania  
May 7th, 2000

It's a dark and stormy night, but it's obvious the man doesn't care about the cliché right now, running down the rural road, sprinting desperately as the rain soaks his skin and clothes. When he comes to the house, there's a circular symbol with a cross in the middle of it on the front door, and he stumbles through the door. His body is a mass of wounds, blood still clotting over open scars, his matted hair still dripping water across his eyes as he comes across a man in his thirties, who is startled but recognizes him. The man of the house yells at the intruder, "You're too late!"

The intruder pushes the man aside, going through the house. There's nobody but the two men, one an outsider and one the owner. One of the room's floor is covered in blood, and the intruder drops to his knees in anguish. The owner's anger overrides his fear as he grabs the intruder's arm. "You're done here," he says, his pale eyes glinting with desperate determination.

Without hesitation, the intruder pulls out a Walther PPK from an ankle strap, pointing it at the man. "Where are they, Paul?"

Paul stammers, trying to find a weakness in the heavily wounded man before him, but finding none, says resignedly, "What do you want?"

Mulder looks dispassionately at the man. "This ends tonight," he says, his gun never leaving Paul Hangemuhl's face.

* * *

May 6th, 2000

Mulder Migraine from Hell is easily covering up not only his previous knowledge of this couple and this town, but also his loathing of each and every one of them. He's still debating the best course of action as he talks to Paul and Marie Hangemuhl, but concentrating is difficult when every other thought is a swear word in time with the pain. He presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, as if that would help, then looks up to resume his interview. "You told your sister you were going to disappear, Mrs. Hangemuhl," he states, concentrating on keeping his tone level, if not empathetic. Yeah, right. "Tonight."

Of course, having the good sheriff, Kurt Frey, in all his swaggering glory, standing next to the couch, isn't helping anyone, much less Mulder. Perhaps that's the point.

Paul snaps impatiently, "I told you already. We had a fight, she was going to leave, not disappear." He's already got that "you pathetic moron" look on his face that Mulder's so familiar with. Even if he wasn't a profiler, Mulder could tell this guy was nervous and hiding something, using anger as a shield.

Mulder actually finds himself in a better mood now as he replies, "I'm talking to your wife." This is comfortable territory for him, pissing off everyone in sight and not giving a damn, and again he can see why, the first time around, Scully chose to throw herself into her work rather than let the pain and fear consume her. He asks again, his urgent yet sympathetic tone surprising everyone, including himself, "Mrs. Hangemuhl."

The frail redhead answers softly, "It's what he said. My sister lives out of state." She tries for a smile, but it doesn't work. "I was going to go," she fidgets, "I didn't want her to worry."

Mulder leans forward, his voice also soft. "You told your sister a story, a story you were afraid of?"

Paul explodes, "This is crazy. There is no crime here!"

The FBI agent ignores the outburst, still focused on Marie. "I don't think you were going anywhere tonight, Mrs. Hangemuhl," he says, his voice certain. "I think someone or something was coming here. And I think maybe it still is." She doesn't look at Mulder, but then again, she doesn't have to.

"We had a fight," Paul snarls, apparently ignorant of Hamlet's observation that "the lady doth protest too much". "We patched things up and that was the end of it."

Mulder nods, seemingly dismissive as he flips through a notebook he doesn't need. "I take it that's your wife's dialysis machine?" he says, almost absently.

The husband's anger takes on a self-righteous tone as he replies, "My wife suffers from end-stage renal failure, Agent Mulder. She's very sick and she doesn't need this stress."

Mulder nods again. "So was it stress that made her tell her sister about the sin eater?" Everyone looks shocked. Well, at least he's not wasting time here. "I take it you know what I'm talking about. Local Indian folk legend about a creature that lives in the woods, curing sick people by eating them alive and regurgitating a completely healthy version of themselves. But of course, that would have nothing to do with you, now, would it?"

Nobody moves or says anything as he leaves, but Mulder can feel the bull's-eye on his back as he steps out the door. Well, on to my next stop, he thinks, hoping nobody will find out about this visit this time around, not his family, not Doggett, nobody. That way, if he fails to save a life, it will be just him that carries the sin to the grave.

* * *

Mulder knocks on the door, coming in broad daylight rather than the dark of night as he did last time. Then again, he's on a different mission this time around, since he's not here for either Marie Hangemuhl's sake nor his own. "Ma'am." He flips open his badge when the weary-looking blonde woman opens the door, "my name is Fox Mulder, I'm with the FBI."

She looks startled but nods. To her credit, she doesn't budge an inch from the door, keeping her body squarely in the frame. "Yes?"

"I believe we share a mutual friend," he says, and while she looks confused, he presses on, "may I come in?"

She steps back, and he closes the door behind him. "Please, let me help him," he says.

The woman looks scared, and he doesn't blame him. "Who are you? Did the sheriff send you?"

"No, I'm..." Mulder starts to put his hands up, but the migraine finally brings him to his knees, and he crumples to the floor, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," the woman says softly, kneeling beside him to pat his back. "It's no shame to ask for help."

He's holding his head, as if his brains would explode any minute, but he musters up a small, wry grin. "You're right," he says in a rough voice, "so why haven't you asked for help?"

"What?" She draws back.

He takes a couple of deep breaths before forcing himself to sit up. Looking her straight in the eye, he asks, "Your friend is in even more pain than I am. You've been caring for him all this time, haven't you?" When she nods slowly, he adds, "What's stopped you from ending his pain?"

She hiccups, then puts her hand over her mouth as she stares at the man who has the same look in his eyes as she does. "I know, I know he wants to stop suffering," she says miserably, "I know that, but I can't do it."

"Then let me help."

* * *

Like a scene out of a b-movie, some idiot is digging in a cemetery at night. ::Too bad that idiot is me,:: Mulder groans inwardly. It grosses him out, it really does, but from that lone conversation with Doggett, grudgingly pulled out after at least two 6-packs of beer, this is the only way to finally give the poor guy a break. Or so Mulder tells himself as he continues to shovel away, wishing that these people believed in shallow graves, while he excavates a corpse all by his lonesome. Fortunately, nobody seems to have driven past to report him to the sheriff, but it's only a matter of time in this small town. With that thought in mind, he digs faster, wincing slightly as the migraine starts drumming in his skull. "Not now," he grunts, pitching the shovel in harder than he should and nearly wrenching his back in the process. "Shit."

He'd told the blonde woman to keep the sin eater hidden, hold everyone off with a rifle if she had to, but to keep him safe until he gets back. He'd vaguely outlined the idea, but she got enough of the gist to agree, even if she did look a little ill herself. Not that he blamed her, he thinks, wondering when in hell he's going to hit the payload. Or a body. He'd probably reach China before that happens, and already, the hole is only up to his waist. It may be May, but the soil's as hard as concrete, and he wishes he'd had the foresight to rent one of those backhoes or some bigass moving excavation vehicle. Oh well. He had enough foresight to pack a change of clothes, but he's not sure how he's gonna explain why they're a mess when he gets home. ::Oh yeah, that's what laundromats are for,:: he remembers, and just then, a blue and white car pulls up. ::Ah, shit.::

"Evening," Sheriff Frey says, walking over with some mild curiosity and more than enough amusement. "Find anything interesting down there?"

"I was hoping to save money on a trip to China," Mulder grunts, resuming his work. "Any tips?"

"As a federal agent, you should know it's a crime to be digging up somebody's grave, especially without a warrant," the sheriff says dryly, "things like desecration and vandalism come to mind."

"Oh yeah." Mulder nods, still digging, "I forgot about that."

He stops when he hears the click of a gun being unsafetied and pointed at his head. "Give it up, Agent Mulder," the sheriff says, "you've been acting suspiciously ever since you stepped foot in this town."

"Really?" Now Mulder looks up at the heavyset man, not letting go of the shovel just yet. "I was unaware that conducting a federal investigation was considered 'suspicious activity'."

"Why don't you let go of the shovel and we'll have a little talk at the station?" Sheriff Frey suggests, emphasizing his suggestion with the barrel of his gun. "Come out of there nice and slow, and keep your hands spread apart."

Mulder lets go of the shovel, then spreads his arms out like he's Jesus, and walks out of the grave. His irreverent side wants to tell the sheriff frisking him, "Noli me tangere," but it's likely the older man won't get the joke and if he did, he'd shoot him. Keeping his mouth shut for once, he allows the local lawman to cuff his hands behind his back and is led towards the cop car. I'll be back, he thinks mutinously, as the sheriff drives off with him in the backseat.

* * *

Squamash Sheriff's Station

The wooden portable looks less homey and more ominous at night, especially considering what's happening in the sheriff's station right now. ::This is gonna suck,:: Mulder thinks, as the sheriff backhands him for the umpteenth time since he's been "interrogated" with his hands cuffed behind his back. He has no illusions about the kind of people that would keep a man hostage because of his healing abilities, but this is ridiculous. "You didn't say pretty please," he mumbles through his bleeding lips, still sitting upright only because his arms are wrapped around the chair's back.

That gets him another blow, this time a regular right hook to the jaw. ::Yeah, this sucks all right.:: "My men are searching all over town because you happened to tell a nice little lady not to cooperate," he says, unadulterated meanness all over his face. "If you don't give us some answers, we may have to be a little rough with her, too."

"She doesn't know anything," Mulder says, blinking against the pain of both the right hook and the damn migraine. "I hid him."

"Where?" Left hook to the stomach. "Where?" Right cross to the temple.

Mulder coughs. "You'll never find him if you kill me," he wheezes, feeling blood trickle down his forehead.

"I don't have to," the sheriff leans into the other man's face, "I'm sure we can come to a mutual agreement."

He doesn't know where, but he dredges up a smirk from the depths of his pain. Yup, his penchant for perverse reaction is rearing its ugly head again. Goody. "Why, Sheriff, I didn't know you felt that way about me," and winks at his torturer with his one good eye.

The next blow sends him flying out of the chair and into the wall. Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark. If the good sheriff doesn't kill him, his wife probably will when he comes home like this. "Looks like I'll have to bring her in," he sneers over the broken body of the federal agent.

"No, don't do that," Mulder says quickly, opening his eyes against the inner and outer pain. "I'll talk."

"Good." And the sheriff waits for an answer.

"He's in my car trunk," Mulder says reluctantly. "The key's in my jacket."

"Fine." The sheriff grins unpleasantly, walking out. "Just in case, we've got the dogs out looking for him around her place. Because he always comes back to her."

"No, don't-" Mulder's entreaties are silenced by the door. He closes his eyes, unable to keep them open. The last thought going through his mind is, ::Damn, Scully's definitely gonna kill me.:: And he passes out.

* * *

When Mulder wakes up, he finds he's the only one in the station. The implications don't strike him at first, mainly because not only has his migraine returned, but the rest of his body has become an orchestra for a symphony of pain. Goody. Then he realizes that the reason the blonde woman isn't there is because they found the sin eater, and that they've probably got him holed up at the Hangemuhls' right about now.

He winces, and finds that the reason his shoulders hurt like hell is because his hands are still cuffed behind his back. ::No problem,:: he thinks, shaking out a lockpick from his right shoe, and, because of the pain, gets out of the handcuffs a little slower than usual. He staggers to his feet, and is relieved to find that the room isn't spinning. Okay.

He looks around the four-walled prison, and figures his best way is through the door. Then he tries the door, and finds to his surprise it's unlocked, probably because the sheriff thought he was harmless all handcuffed and beaten up. Mulder grins unpleasantly as he races out into the night, ready to bring down the whole damn town if that's what it took to stop the madness.

* * *

May 7th, 2000

Nobody talks on the drive over, partly because Paul Hangemuhl's concentration is on the rain-spattered windshield and the muddy road, and partly because Mulder, still in a helluva lot of pain and holding the gun, wasn't really in a chatty mood. When they come to a stop, Paul looks at Mulder nervously. "Keep the headlights on and get out," Mulder says, jerking his head towards the muddy ground.

Paul nods, slowly getting out of the car. "Now what?" he asks, thinking the federal agent has snapped, bringing them to a graveyard.

"Over there," Mulder says, and they walk over to a water-filled pit. "Dig."

"What?" Paul stares at the man in horror.

"You understand English, don't you?" Mulder says, cocking his pistol. "Dig."

Reluctantly, the man picks up the shovel and starts to dig, making a mess as he does so. The water goes from his waist to his chest as time goes on, but Mulder's gun never wavers from its target. "Are you gonna kill me?" he asks at one point.

"I've thought about it," Mulder says honestly, "don't stop."

Then another pair of headlights cuts through the night. "What on earth are you doing out here?" Sheriff Frey asks.

"I might ask you the same thing," Mulder replies, still holding Paul at gunpoint.

"Paul, get back to your wife," the sheriff says, "I'll deal with him."

"Don't stop," Mulder says.

The man in the grave looks from the closer man with the smaller gun to the farther man with the rifle. "Help me!" he yells as he tries to launch himself from the watery pit.

Both men fire, but only one hits their target.

* * *

Paul screams as Mulder's body joins him in the grave, then scrambles to get out. Mulder draws in a shuddering breath, but only breathes in muddy water as he floats face down. ::This isn't how I'm supposed to die,:: he thinks, stunned, ::I'm supposed to be in bed, with my wife and kids around me, maybe even a cat or two. I'm not supposed to die like this.:: But his weakened body, deteriorating mind, and exploded heart won't let him fight his way out of this watery grave. He tries to call out a name, but only ends up inhaling more water and he suffocates, the bubbles ceasing to rise against the rain.

Without another word, Paul and the sheriff haul heavy stones over and sink Mulder's body, then cover it up with the recently removed mud before leaving. Neither man looks at the other as they leave in separate vehicles, both intending never to speak of it again.

* * *

Mulder blinks slowly, noticing there's some sticky thing on his eyes. No, wait, he's sticky and covered in slime all over... because he's completely naked. ::This isn't exactly my idea of heaven,:: he thinks, ::unless God is kinkier than I thought.:: He groans as he sits up, wiping the goop from his eyes and face, and looks around for his clothes. It takes him a moment to realize he's in the blonde woman's dirt basement, and slowly walks over to her as she leans over the sin eater's body. He kneels beside her, his face contorted in a grimace of sorrow as he sees how amazingly peaceful the dead man looks.

"You were right," the blonde woman says, the tears still standing in her eyes, "it took a dead man to free it."

"That, that's not how it was supposed to happen," Mulder says softly.

Still looking at the dead man, she replies, "He wanted to die, Agent Mulder. You helped him, just like you said."

* * *

Washington, DC

"Mulder, where have you been?" Scully asks when he walks into the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. "Your cell phone was turned off..." She frowns a little as he walks slowly towards her. "Mulder?"

The lonesome, rain-drenched burial of a man whose name he never learned suddenly hits him, and without a word, he wraps his arms around her, holding her to himself, trying to will the tears that refuse to fall. "I did something stupid," he says, his voice muffled in her hair, "and a good man died for me."

She's holding him right back, but the frown is still on her face. "Mulder, what happened?"

"A lot," he says, unable to look her in the face right now.

Now Scully's frightened, not only because of the lack of communication for over 24 hours, but because she knows there's something different about him. She can't put her finger on it yet, but she hopes like hell he's got a good explanation. About half an hour later, she knows everything, more than Doggett did when he first visited Squamash, in fact, and she slugs him. "You idiot!" she yells. "At the very least, you should've brought me as backup so I could pull you out of your stupidity!" She hits him again, but tears are spilling down her cheeks. "You stupid, stupid idiot!" she says, punctuating each insult with a right or a left shot.

"I'm sorry," Mulder hangs his head. Well, at least I haven't been cured of masochism, he thinks, bracing himself for another hit.

But it doesn't come. Scully hugs him fiercely, her fingers twining themselves in his hair. "You nearly died without me knowing," she says, "I thought I told you never to do that."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, hugging her back, then winces as she knocks his skull. "What was that for?"

"For scaring me half to death," she says, "we need to schedule an MRI and full physical."

He chuckles, surprising himself. "I love you, Scully."

"I know." Then she yawns. "It's a good thing Mom took the kids to church, I'm bushed."

"Why?"

She glares at him. "Waiting for your stupid ass to come home or call me, that's why," she says, and he ducks out of her reach. Then she sighs. "Come on," she says, dragging him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "Let's get some rest before everyone gets back."

"Yes, dear," he says, following faithfully behind her up the stairs. "Speaking of back, did I ever tell you how nice your ass looks in that robe?"

She stops and looks down at him, and for a moment, he's afraid she's gonna throw him down the stairway. "Suddenly, I feel like test-driving that new bod of yours," she grins. He picks her up, making her, and carries her to their bedroom, where they do, indeed, put it to a test drive.


	87. All Things

June 1st, 2000  
5 p.m.

Something pops in Scully's back as she stands up, and she tries not to groan. Until the pop she didn't realize how sore her back had gotten after sitting all day and working on case write ups. Instead she glances at the clock, and then at her husband, who is currently hunched over his keyboard.

"Hey, it's getting late," she tells him. "Are you coming home now?"

He looks up at her with a lazy smile. "Give me another hour and I can probably finish this one off, and get Skinner off our backs."

"Okay, sure," she agrees, absently rubbing her back. "What case is it any way?"

"The crop circles one from April."

"Wait, you investigated that alone, why would Skinner be on my back about it?"

Mulder shrugs. "Guilt by association?" He kisses her quickly on the cheek. "Drive carefully."

"Always," she tells him, and walks out on her own.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

The first thing that Scully notices when she gets home is that is Christopher whining fretfully and rubbing at his gums, a sure sign that there's a new tooth in his immediate future.

"Aww, sore, huh?" she asks her youngest son, and pats him on the head. "Let me see if I can do something about that."

Two minutes later Scully closes the cabinet door with a frustrated bang. She was sure that they'd just bought a box of teething biscuits for Christopher, but there were none to be found. No waffles either, and the teething rings are both out at room temperature. Sighing, she grabs her keys and goes looking for Michelle.

The nanny is on the living room floor, reading a book with David. She looks up when she notices Scully. "Sorry, Michelle. Would you mind if I ran to the store real quick? Christopher is going to be miserable if I don't get him something to chew on."

"No problem," Michelle tells her, and then goes back to reading with the little boy. Before long his twin joins them on the rug.

"Thanks. Mulder should be home any time now." Then she's out the door.

* * *

_"See, the storm has broken_

_in the middle of the night_

_nothing left here for me,_

_it's washed away_

_the rain pushes_

_the buildings aside..."_

Fortunately, there are few people in the store, so Scully is in and out just as she hoped. Even if she does see six other things she ought to grab just in case they're running low on them too, and her memory is unreliable. Most of the time it isn't, but she's not taking chances since nothing gladdens her heart like two impromptu visits to the grocery store in the same week.

A heavy fog has descended over the area, and Scully feels like she can nearly touch it as she walks out to her car. She tosses the grocery bag onto the backseat before sliding behind the wheel. It only takes her a second to flick on the fog lights.

At the red light a couple of miles later, she finds herself smiling a little as she thinks about what her husband's case file write-up for the crop circle case he investigated might contain. At least Skinner was the one to badger him into staying late to write it up, rather than forcing her to give him the message. The case sounded like fun, but she wasn't speaking to him just then, so he'd gone alone and came back gloating about his adventures. It isn't hard for her to imagine him running around a corn field, given that they'd once done that too. Apparently he hadn't been running from any helicopters this time, though.

Eventually the light turns green, so she takes her foot off the brake, and begins to press on the gas.

The fog is so thick that she doesn't even see the car that runs the red light across from her and plows into the driver's side of her car.

* * *

Hoover Building  
Twenty Minutes Later

Mulder hefts a pencil in one hand and gives the ceiling a speculative look. There are some holes in his pencil pattern, and it might be a good time to supplement the aerial writing material supply.

He begins his throw, but before he releases the pencil, his phone rings. He puts it down on his desk like a frightened school boy, but then chides himself that even if it was Skinner calling, he couldn't possibly know what Mulder was about to do. Unless someone had installed a camera in the pencil somewhere. Perhaps he ought to have the guys check - "Agent Mulder."

"Mister Mulder?" An unfamiliar and uncertain voice asks. "This is a nurse at Washington National Hospital-" Mulder straightens in his chair. "I'm sorry to inform you that your wife has just been brought in."

"What happened? Is she okay?" Panic laces his voice.

"A car accident. You should be here-" The voice probably continues, but he's already thrown the handset on the desk and is half-way out the door.

* * *

Washington National Hospital

Pieces of memory float randomly through Scully's brain, but she has trouble concentrating on them, so she doesn't. There were flashing lights, someone pulling her out of the car, a gurney being shoved into the back of an ambulance, and then everything faded away.

The next thing Scully is really aware of is the world tilting sickeningly as she's transferred off the gurney and onto an exam table. The light is harsh, and there are a lot of people scurrying around her, and she just wants them to go away, so she closes her eyes and they do.

In the new darkness a surprised voice that's far away sounding says, "Dana Scully? Are you sure that's what her ID said?"

In a vague sort of way, she wonders why that's surprising.

A voice intrudes again, a second speaker, much closer. "Dana, can you hear me?"

She tries to say yes, but whimpers instead. A pain she has only been vaguely aware of until now intensifies, and she feels like she's going to pass out.

"Dana."

Against her will, she opens her eyes, and looks up into a masked face.

"We need to know how far along you are, Dana." When he speaks she can tell that it wasn't the one who sounded surprised a minute ago.

It takes a few seconds for her brain to catch up to this. How far along what? They slid her onto the table so oughtn't they be the ones to know? Then she realizes that the doctor is asking her about her pregnancy, not her physical location.

"Tw...Twenty weeks," she gasps.

The look the doctor gives her is so sorrowful that she wants to scream, because she understands why they're asking that now. Her back arches when pain flairs again. If only it was just the sore back she'd had earlier.

"We've sent someone to call your husband," the doctor tells her.

In her pain and misery, she barely hears him.

* * *

An Hour Later

Mulder is by her side when their daughter is delivered, despite everyone's best attempts to halt Scully's labor. Even though the doctor told him immediately that the baby had no chance, he still held out hope for a miracle, and prayed hard that somehow, this reluctantly wanted child would survive.

All prayers are heard, but sometimes the answer is no. The baby doesn't take even a single breath.

Scully is sedated, which he thinks is just as well. He wishes that he were too.

"Do you want to see her?" a nurse asks in a gentle voice. When she waves away from Scully, he realizes which "she" the nurse means.

Every fiber of his being screams no, but his head nods mechanically. He owes his child to witness her. The nurse leads him over to a glass sided table, and he looks down. The stillborn infant is recognizably human, but only about a foot long from head to toes. When Mulder reaches on trembling hand out to touch her, he feels that she's still warm.

At this point he promptly bursts into tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Mulder," the Nurse tells him, her voice full of practiced sympathy.

Mulder shakes his head sharply, and she takes the hint and walks away. ::Not as sorry as I am. I'm so sorry little one. I'm sorry I didn't want you sooner. I'm sorry you'll never know your family's love. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry...::

He uncovers his face when a hand taps him on the shoulder. Looking up he sees the young doctor who saw Scully through the pitifully quick delivery. "Mister Mulder? We need to bring Dana to have an ultrasound-" That confuses him, since she's no longer pregnant. "-to make sure that she doesn't have any internal injuries that weren't readily apparent when she was first brought in."

"Okay," Mulder sniffles.

Instead of going with Scully he stays with the baby and wishes that what had happened was just a cruel joke that someone would come along and retract. No one does.

* * *

Later

Since Scully is still out like a light, a nurse gently suggests that Mulder might want to go home and look in on his children. He agrees to, but promises to be back shortly. The nurse nods. Obviously this is something she's seen before.

He's barely in the house when the nanny appears. "I should have called you back..." He'd called home as soon as he'd gotten to the hospital so the nanny wouldn't wonder where they had disappeared to. "But things got complicated. Bad."

Michelle's eyes widen with fear. "Is Dana-"

"She's okay." Mulder sighs. "I mean, physically. I'm not even sure she realizes what happened yet. The baby...didn't make it. A little girl. Stillborn."

"Oh God." Michelle's hand goes involuntarily to her mouth, as if not saying the baby is gone would keep it from being true. Then she does something unexpected, and gives Mulder a brief hug. "I'm so sorry."

"Everyone is," he says with a nod. "I need..." He never finishes his sentence, but leaves her staring after him, but he doesn't look back. The pity is already too much to bear.

The next thing he does is to go wake up Page and Sammy. The sleepy children follow him into his and Scully's room, and he gathers them onto his lap. They look up to him with curious eyes.

"Something bad happened to day, Kiddos," he begins.

"What?" Sammy asks, beginning to look alarmed already.

"Mommy had a car accident. It was very foggy out and someone didn't know that their light had changed to red until it was too late, so he hit her car."

"Is Mommy hurt?" Page squeaks.

Mulder shakes his head. "Besides some cuts and bumps, she is okay." Tears begin to gather in his eyes again. "But, um, the baby Mommy was going to have died. She was born too soon, and couldn't live outside of Mommy's body yet."

"Oh no," Sammy says. Then he sticks his thumb into his mouth, which is something Mulder hasn't seen him do since he was younger than the twins.

"Did dying hurt her?" Page wants to know, in that casually cruel way children don't even know they have.

"I don't think so," Mulder tells her, although it's a guess. Babies at twenty weeks gestation can feel pain, but since she didn't survive, he hopes she died immediately during the accident.

"Good," Page says fiercely. "Babies shouldn't hurt." Sammy nods his agreement.

"After Mommy gets home from the hospital, we're going to have a funeral for the baby. Do you know what that is?" he asks, and they shake their heads. "Okay, when someone dies, they get buried in the ground-"

"And have stones with their names on them," Page says, obviously thinking of movies or TV, since she's never been to one in person yet.

"Right. There won't be a stone right away, though, since we have to order it. Anyway, when they put people into the ground their family and friends are there to say goodbye. That's called a funeral."

Sammy stops sucking his thumb and looks up at his father. "We don't get to see the baby again until we're in heaven, right?"

"Right," Mulder tells him before dabbing at his eyes with a tissue.

"God will take good care of her," Sammy tells him.

"I know." ::But I just wish it was us.::

"Mommy can have another baby someday, right?" Page wants to know.

"Um, yes. The doctor checked to see if her insides got hurt in the accident, and she's okay."

"Poor baby," Page says mournfully. "Poor Mommy too."

"And Daddy," Sammy adds, throwing his arms around Mulder's neck. The little boy doesn't protest when he feels his hair getting wet. Page hugs them both, too.

In the background a faint burst of song from Michelle's stereo drifts down the hall.

_Broken heart pushing us, hear the rain fall_

_See the wind come to my eyes_

_See the storm broken now I'm nothing_

_Speak to me, baby in the middle of the night..._

A door closes, and the music fades away. Mulder pulls away from his children, and tries his best to smile at them. "You're good kids. I'm going to go back to the hospital soon, and it's time for the two of you to go to bed."

"No time for a story, huh?" Sammy asks, looking a bit more downcast.

"Actually, your mommy is probably sleeping, so maybe there's time for a quick story."

"Okay!" Sammy starts to scramble off the bed, and is soon out the door.

Page is immediately on his heels. "No stories with babies!" she hisses to her little brother, and Mulder feels himself well up again.

* * *

Washington National Hospital  
Meanwhile...

A low black fog has descended into Scully's room. She's comfortable in its thick velvet, but an annoyance a distance off pushes some of the fog away. A voice.

"Dana?"

With effort, she manages to open her eyes, and realizes that the fog was in her head, not her room. Looking up, she sees a ghost out of her past.

"You're awake," Daniel Waterston says, looking mildly pleased.

"Doctor Waterston," she says stiffly, horrified that her old mentor seems to be the doctor treating her. When the nurse had gently reminded her the last time she'd been awake that she'd lost her baby, she hadn't been told who her doctor was. It hasn't been interesting enough for her to ask ,either.

As if reading her mind, Waterston says, "I'm not your doctor, Dana. I was in the hospital earlier tonight, and heard that they brought you in."

"Oh." Scully relaxes a little. It occurs to her that he was probably the one she heard asking about her when she first got to the hospital. "Why were you here? In the hospital, I mean," she adds when her question sounds ruder to her ears than she intended.

He grimaces. "I had a heart attack in April, and I was getting a check up."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she tells him.

"Not as sorry as I am to hear about your accident," Waterston tells her. "You'll have to forgive me for eavesdropping, but I heard your husband talking to a nurse about making funeral arrangements for the baby you lost." When she looks around, he adds, "From what he said as he left, I think he went home to check on your children. He promised not to be gone long."

"Thank you."

"I never thought of you as a mother," Waterston remarks.

"Surprise," she says, feeling a stab of indignation.

"I didn't mean to be insulting-"

"-but it comes naturally to you," Scully finishes the thought for him.

He shakes his head slowly. "I just didn't think you'd be happy with a life like this."

"Like what?" she asks icily.

"An FBI agent, married to her partner, mother to his children... those sorts of things are hardly passions. Not like medicine."

The fact that Waterston seems to know a lot about her life after leaving him upsets her, and she lashes out. "Is that why you wanted to see me? To remind me once again what a bad choice I made?" She struggles to sit up a little. "That's in rather poor taste, considering what I've just been through."

"You're only angry because it's true," Waterston says mildly.

"What's true?" she asks, suddenly feeling unbearably tired again.

"You left medicine because you couldn't handle what we had between us. You were scared."

"What was between us was the wife you never bothered to mention."

Waterston gave her a pitying look. "I know I scare you...because I represent that which is ingrained not only in your mind but in your heart - that which you secretly long for."

Scully makes a derisive sound. "There's nothing I want that's related to you."

He gives her a long look. "Maybe you actually believe that, Dana. But we both know that's not true. I'm the life you could have had, and you know it."

"Get out!" Her hand reaches for call button. "Or I'll get someone in here to make you leave."

"I'll go. But you'll want me to come back later." He turns on his heel and leaves.

She allows herself to slump onto the pillow.

* * *

Later

"Scully?" At first Mulder thinks that his wife is sleeping, but he sees that instead she's staring at the ceiling. He feels a twist somewhere low in his belly, but walks in anyway. "Hey."

She seems to shake off some of her lethargy, and looks at him, but without expression. "How are the kids?"

"Okay. I explained what happened to Page and Sammy. I think they understand, at least as well as they're able to."

"Page isn't even six yet, Mulder. All they'll know is that there was going to be a baby, and now there's not."

::Which is not much less than we know, too.:: He thinks to himself. "Sure."

"I've been thinking. Maybe God took the baby away because we didn't deserve her. Didn't want her enough." Despite her words, it doesn't sound like an accusation. At least not one solely aimed at him.

This time the pain is in the center of Mulder's chest. "Scully, you know it's not our-"

Her face scrunches up. "Do I know? Do I know that it's not our fault that she died without even knowing us for a single second?"

"You do," he insists. ::God help me, even though I didn't want this child at first, I know that it was nothing we did wrong, nothing we did made this happen.:: he thinks, and actually believes with some effort. "You know that there are babies who are completely unwelcome that make their way into this world by the dozens every day. Babies whose parents are druggies, children themselves, or even worse."

"If it's not our fault, then why our baby?" Scully practically shouts. "What did she do, we do, to deserve this?"

"Nothing." He looks at his hands. "This just happened."

"I don't accept that," Scully tells him. "I think you should go home."

"Scully-"

"Please."

Since he can't bear the look on her face a moment longer, he leaves and curses himself for being weak enough to do so.

* * *

The Next Morning

Scully glares when the man enters the room. He smiles, as if he feels welcome.

"I thought I made it clear that I didn't want to see you again."

"Come now, Dana, we both know that you don't mean that."

"The hell I don't," she growls.

"In fact," he says smoothly, "It occurred to me after I left last night that I'm not the one you're angry with."

"Right."

"Seeing me has made you angry with yourself," Waterston tells her, sounding completely sure of himself.

"I'm angry at you for intruding on my life, and annoyed with my husband for insisting on combating emotions with logic. Me I'm not angry at beyond picking the wrong time to buy teething biscuits for my youngest child." She feels a dull ache as she says this. Christopher will still be the youngest now. "Nothing about you has made me mad at myself."

He shakes his head with an unbearably smug look that makes Scully want to punch him. "I did some research last night, Dana. Married for six years, six children under the age of six...You weren't that Catholic when I knew you."

"I come from a big family and my husband was an unhappy only child after losing his only sister. That we'd welcome many children into our lives is hardly surprising." Her voice trembles at the end and she reminds herself that Mulder had begun to show some enthusiasm about the baby once he'd regained his health. "Every one of our children has been a gift."

"And you've wasted yours," Waterston tells her. "If you hadn't run off like a frighten child when things got too intense, you could have been a great doctor by now-"

"Under your tutelage, you mean?" Scully asks suddenly.

"I'd like to think so," Waterston agrees. "I'd like to think we'd be happy together now."

Scully slowly shakes her head. "Daniel. Even if I hadn't left medicine, I still would have left you."

"Dana-" he begins his protest, but she cuts him off.

"As soon as your daughter Maggie confronted me, I knew that I couldn't stay with a man like you. I could deal with one who was ruining his own life by inches, but not one who didn't even acknowledge that he was doing the same to his wife and daughter.

"That's why I left. Not because I was scared of medicine, or scared of you. I was afraid that if I didn't make a clean break I'd become cold and callous too. Just like you," Scully concludes.

"If that's how you feel..." Waterston says stiffly.

"It is. Maybe it's not too late to make things up to Maggie. I think you should go and find out. Immediately."

He gives her a smoldering look, but leaves without another word. Mulder passes him at the doorway and Waterston doesn't spare him so much as a glance.

"Who was that?" Mulder asks, sinking into the chair next to her bed.

"Someone I once thought I knew, but didn't," Scully says, and changes the subject. "Did you make the, uh, arrangements?"

"Yeah, I did. They're all set."

Tears begin to glint in her eyes as she asks the harder question. "Did you see her?"

"Yes. She would have been perfect, Scully," he tells her with a deep sigh. "Do you want to see her? I think you still are allowed to."

"No," she says quickly. "I don't think I can."

"Okay. I thought you might want a closed casket service, but I can change that if you change your mind."

"Thank you, Mulder."

"I, um, they had outfits at the funeral home, which surprised me. You know, really tiny ones, to fit babies that small. They said the one I picked is something called 'eyelet lace'. It's a beautiful white dress anyway..." Mulder wraps his arms around her, and they spend the next several minutes sharing their grief for what might have been but would now never be.

* * *

June 4th, 2000

At the funeral, Emily clings to Missy's hand, and Mulder feels haunted when he looks at his blonde niece. This was the child that his manipulations kept Scully from losing. But the universe has once again conspired to have her mourn the loss of a daughter. And this time, her loss is truly his as well, not one that he shares from afar.

As the service concludes, Mulder looks down so intently at the small white casket that's nearly hidden by the white roses on top of it that he doesn't realize at first that his mother-in-law spoke to him. "What?"

"I asked if the kids were ready for me to take them," Maggie repeats calmly.

"Oh. Sure, I guess they are." He looks over his shoulder and sees that they're crowded around Scully.

"Okay, then. I'll bring them by tomorrow afternoon."

Mulder puts his hand on her wrist to stop her. "Thank you for doing this, Maggie."

She shakes her head slightly. "I just wish there was more that I could do."

"So does everyone," Mulder tells her quietly.

The kids go willingly enough with their grandmother, and Scully kisses each one good-bye before rejoining Mulder. They're standing together when they're approached by Teena Mulder.

Although he feels terrible for being surprised, it does startle Mulder that his mother has chosen to attend the ceremony. His father is there, silent and red-eyed, but Mulder never doubted that he'd care about the fate of his lost granddaughter.

After a moment Teena speaks. "Fox, Dana...I'm sorry that you've had to experience the loss of a child as well. It was something that I hoped would never happen given how healthy and lively your children have invariably been, but then, so was Samantha. I'm just...so sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, Mom," Mulder says as warmly as he possibly can. Teena's words clearly cost her, and he doesn't want her to think he doesn't appreciate her effort. "I guess of anyone, you'd know how we feel."

Teena nods slowly. "God willing, neither of us will ever repeat the experience of out-living one of our children."

"Yes," Scully says faintly, and she tightens her grip on Mulder's hand. He can't blame her.

Thankfully, the rest of the goodbyes to funeral goers are less unsettling.

* * *

That Night

For the longest time the only sound in the house is the cats' sleepy purring and the pump for the twenty-nine gallon aquarium Mulder long ago insisted on setting up in the living room because the twins have shown his affinity for fish.

On the couch, Scully rests against Mulder's chest, and his arms are loosely wrapped around her. She tilts her head back to look at him. "I wasn't entirely honest at the hospital."

"No?" he asks curiously.

"That man, the one I said was no one, he used to be someone I was involved with a few years before I met you."

"Oh."

"While I was at the hospital he visited me twice, and arrogantly tried to convince me that I would have been better off staying with him than ending up with you. I'd forgotten what a condescending prick he could be."

"You still like him that much, huh?" Mulder asks lightly.

She shakes her head emphatically. "I once considered spending my whole life with this man. What I would have missed!"

"I don't think you can know what you would have missed, Scully. I mean, how many different lives would we be leading if we made different choices. We...We don't know." ::Or you don't, I mean, Love. I know. Would that I could tell you...:: He thinks to himself.

"What if there was only one right choice and all the other ones were wrong?" she asks. "And there were signs along the way to pay attention to."

"Mmm. And all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and we wouldn't be lying here together."

"No," Scully says, pushing her head back under his chin.

"No?" Mulder asks, puzzled.

"I don't believe that. No matter what, you and I would be here, be here together tonight. No matter what choices we made along the way."

"You really believe that?"

"With all my heart," Scully tells him firmly.

His arms tighten around her. "Me too."


	88. En Ami

Summer 2000  
Melissa Scully's home  
6:53 a.m.

Melissa Scully has just finished hanging up the phone when she hears the familiar "whaps" of the newspaper and bundled junk mail hitting the doorstep. Tying the dark robe around her waist, she opens the door and finds the expected delivery at her feet. Absently, she tosses most of the mail into the trash, save for a couple of bills, and then unfolds the paper. Then she frowns, puts it down, and walks out the door.

A few conversations later, she is none the wiser, but it appears none of her neighbors subscribe to "The Goochland Guardian." She isn't surprised, but she is curious, since someone's taken the time to attach a note to it. This sounds like something Dana would be interested in, she thinks, munching on a hummus-filled pita bread. She almost picks up the phone, but thinks better of it and decides not to bug her younger sister this early in the morning.

It isn't long before Emily wanders into the kitchen, her face solemn with sleep. "Hello," she says.

Melissa smiles at the little blonde girl. "Good morning, Emily."

"Today's when I get shots, right?"

The redheaded woman nods. "I've got an idea, honey. Why don't we go someplace different today?"

Emily stares questioningly. "Where?"

Melissa taps the newspaper. "How would you like to talk to someone who was actually touched by an angel?"

This gets the little girl's attention. Melissa thinks it's funny that her daughter's into angels, but then again, she was into fairies when she was Emily's age, so she supposes it's not too far off. "Really?"

"Really. We'll be back in time for the doctor, and maybe Alex, I mean, Daddy will take you out for some ice cream afterwards."

"Okay!"

* * *

Goochland, VA  
10:03 a.m.

Melissa Scully's surprised that she has anything in common with these people, or that she'd feel some sort of bond, but she does. Like her, Cameron and Irene McPeck's child was stricken with a disease, but they chose their own path rather than conventional medicine. Unlike her, however, it looks as if young Jason will be healthy for a long time, the "angel" having granted him with long-term healing, rather than continual shots like Emily. She sighs, watching the children play. Then again, Jason wasn't the product of alien experimentation, so it makes a strange kind of sense to her.

"Can you describe this angel to me?" she asks Irene McPeck.

The other woman shakes her head. "I think Jason can do it best. Jason! Could you come here, please?" she calls to her son, who is playing catch with his friends, as Emily prefers to sit quietly with the grownups.

The tow-headed boy runs over, his face ruddy and covered with a light sheen of sweat, as are most of his friends. "Yeah?"

"This lady, Mrs. Scully, would like to ask you about the angel."

Melissa's about to correct her, but she's wearing enough finger jewelry and accompanied by a child to give that impression. "Jason, what did the angel look like?"

The boy is a picture of shining honesty as he tells her, as it seems he's told everybody, "They looked like men. They came from the sky in a ball of light."

"Did they say anything?"

The McPecks are surprised that it's Emily who asks, but not her mother. Jason turns to her and answers, "They said not to be afraid. Then one of them pinched me kind of hard and then I was better right away."

Melissa blinks. "He pinched you? Where?"

He turns around. "Right here," he says, points to the back of his neck. Melissa stares at the fresh scar at the base of the neck, feeling chills go up and down her spine. That's what Alex had when he got sick, she remembers, he said he pulled something out, but it made him sick. And when he came back from Mexico, the scar was gone.

"Perhaps we're not so different after all." She musters up a smile, patting the boy on his head. He takes that as a sign to leave, and his friends pick up their bats and mitts, ready to play ball again.

"You're a believer, too, aren't you?" Irene McPeck nods her head. "I knew it."

"I wish I could see an angel, too," Emily says, looking at the boys playing.

Cameron McPeck smiles warmly at the little girl. "I'm sure you will," he says, "if God blessed my Jason, I believe He will bless you, also."

* * *

When they get back to the car, Melissa and Emily are surprised to find an older man sitting in the passenger seat of the car. He has just used the cigarette lighter to light his cigarette when he looks up to find a redhead and a little blonde staring at him. "Who are you?" Melissa asks as he starts to smoke away.

"Just a messenger," he says, sounding like a dry academic rather than passionately devout like the McPecks.

There's something about this man she doesn't quite trust, but she's learned to go with her instincts. "Could you get out of my car and put out that cigarette? My daughter is sick."

His large pale eyes are sharper than his wrinkled face, traveling from the mother to the child. Then he steps out, and crushes his cigarette under his foot. "You know, your daughter could have that same miracle," he says conversationally.

She fights a shudder as she tells Emily to get in the car, but feels the goosebumps on her arms nonetheless. "Who are you?" she asks again.

"Someone who knows what Alex Krycek suffered from, what your daughter's illness is," he says, "someone who could cure it."

"You did that?" Melissa finds herself blocking her daughter's view of this man. She turns her head slightly towards Jason, oblivious to any manmade machinations about his miracle.

"You're not at all curious? About the chip that's been put in that boy's neck?" He shakes his head. "I've taken considerable trouble to prove my intentions. The newspaper at your door. The elaborate demonstration of curing this boy's cancer. You see, I'm dying myself." He raises his hand, realizes there's no cigarette, and smiles pleasantly enough. "A dying man who wants to make right; to share his secrets; to bequeath this cure to millions of others just like that boy."

"So you want to give it to her." Melissa frowns slightly as she gets into the driver's seat.

The tall gentleman shakes his head, bending down to talk to her through the open door. "To you, Melissa Scully. Your sister and brother-in-law would never appreciate the gift I'm giving."

"Why are you telling me this?" She stares at him. What does he have to do with Alex? she wants to scream. Or Dana? Or Fox? But there's something about him that forbids these questions, that seems to prove by mere mention of these relations that he's a dangerous man.

"I've made you my offer." He nods at her. "If anyone at the FBI, even your erstwhile lover, hears a breath of this, rest assured," he closes the car door, "I'll take it to my grave."

She starts the car, leaning forward as if to block his view of Emily, then drives off without looking back.

"Mommy, who was that?" Emily asks, worried because her mother, who never drives fast like her daddy, is going really, really fast.

"Nobody," she says, then glances at something her daughter's holding. "What's that?"

"I dunno," the blonde girl says, bending the edges of the business card absently. "It's not mine."

"It's not mine, either," Melissa says, "I think we should stop at Grandma's house."

"Okay!"

* * *

U.S. Botanic Garden.  
Washington, DC

Melissa Scully is walking through the garden, but it's with hesitation and fear, two previously unknown emotions than her usual peaceful meditations in this place. Her large green eyes nervously skitter about, trying to find the tall, disturbing old man who seems to have infected the plants, even the atmosphere, with his hidden presence. She starts when a voice from behind says, "I'm glad you came."

She taps the bent business card. "The number was fake, there was no way I could call you." Her dark red lips turn downward disapprovingly.

The old man lights a cigarette, oblivious to the once-healthy and placid atmosphere. "I know you're a caring mother," he takes a quick puff, "a woman of compassion."

"Why me?" she asks, feeling bolder since they're in public. "Why not Dana or Fox? Why not even Alex?"

He smiles around his cigarette. "Please. Your dear Alex would try to sell it to the highest bidder, you know that's the truth. As for your sister and brother-in-law, they would squander it... either way, what I've worked for my entire life would be less than nothing..." He exhales, then taps the filter at the smoke. "My legacy would be as substantial as this smoke."

She tilts her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Are you dying of lung cancer?"

He coughs a little, taken aback, then chuckles. "It would be poetic, but no. Cerebral inflammation - a consequence of brain surgery I had in the fall. The doctors give me just a few months."

"So if you have this miracle cure, why don't you use it?"

He nods approvingly, and the rebellious part of her rankles at the thought of even coming close to being liked by this dubious old man. "We'll need to take a trip," he says. "It'll require a few days."

Melissa dismisses him, "My daughter is waiting for me." As she turns to leave, he puts a hand on her upper arm.

"I know I'm a perfect stranger to you, Melissa Scully, and you have no real reason to trust me. The truth of the matter is, I do have access to these miraculous chips, but the genetic research that makes them work is closely guarded. There are men outside this garden who would kill me if they knew what I'd offered you." As she looks around, he adds, "They'd kill you, too, in the blink of an eye. I've destroyed a lot of things in my life, including the people most precious to me. All I want is a chance to do something in service to man before I go."

* * *

Maggie Scully's Home

A man in a dark jacket and sunglasses walks up the neatly trimmed path, tries the doorknob, and opens it easily. Walking inside, he can hear an older woman talking with a little girl, and they laugh, out of sight. He sees a light blinking on the answering machine, and wonders if they even heard the phone ring, then hits the play button. The machine states in its disjointed, pre-recorded fashion, "Call received, 8:01 p.m.." Then a woman's voice says, "Mom, I'm sorry to leave Emily with you, but one of my friends needs me. Emily, be a good girl for Grandma. Talk to you later."

Krycek frowns, then pulls out his cell phone. Tapping out familiar numbers, he hears is Melissa doing a friendly, if generic message, then the beep sounds. "Melissa? Don't worry about a thing, I'll be sure to warm something up for you when you get back, okay? Bye." Then he disconnects the voice changer from the cell before turning it off. Walking into the kitchen, he calls out, "Emily? Mrs. Scully?"

"Daddy?" a girl's voice asks.

Krycek comes face to face with his little angel and the Scully matriarch. "Hey, sweetie," he says, smiling as he picks Emily up from the chair. "Did you get your shots today?"

She nods, making a face. "Mommy said you'd get me ice cream."

He shakes his head, adjusting her weight on his torso. That woman will never cease to get him in trouble. "I guess Mommy didn't tell you Daddy's short on cash." When she gives him an uncomprehending look, he sighs. "Never mind. Where is she?"

Emily shrugs. "I dunno."

Her grandmother shrugs as well, but when the girl turns away, she gives Krycek a concerned look. "Melissa still has her, well, bohemian moods," she says, "but I'd think this is one of those days she'd stay at home."

"Yeah," Krycek agrees, then focuses his attention on Emily. Now he wonders how Mulder and Scully do it, risking their lives, and, by default, their children's, with what they do, and yet still keep fighting. Not like he's suddenly on the side of the angels by any means, but he knows Melissa's just a pawn in this game, most likely started by one of the FBI agents' erstwhile foes. He hugs his little girl, conceived by the worst means possible, and his eyes suddenly glitter coldly, like dark emeralds. Those idiots have no idea they're messing with the wrong asshole, and the corners of his mouth turn up as his mind reels with stratagems of how to get Melissa back.

"Alex?" Mrs. Scully's voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Mrs. Scully, would it be all right if Emily stayed with you tonight? I'm gonna find Melissa. "

The older woman nods slightly with understanding. "Should I call Fox and Dana?"

Krycek shakes his head, kissing his daughter's cheek before putting her back onto the booster chair. "You be good for Grandma, all right, devochka moya?"

"Dad-DY!" Emily pouts. "I'm moy angelochek!"

"Are you teaching her Russian?" Mrs. Scully asks, a little surprised as father and daughter embrace each other quickly, then give each other a solemn look.

Krycek's head jerks up. "Oh no," he says quickly, "she just picked it up."

"It's all right," Maggie Scully smiles. "I think it's marvelous that she's learning another language."

He nods to both females, and leaves. He wants to talk to Melissa soon, about Emily's education, about raising kids in general, about families, about... anything, really. But right now, he's gonna rip heaven and hell open to find her first.

* * *

At the same time, the old man is driving down a dark road, and lights up a cigarette. Melissa gives him a pointed look, "Could you not smoke?"

He glances at her, then back at the road. Then he sighs, rolls down the electric window, tosses the cigarette out and rolls the window back up. "It's time I quit," he says simply.

"By the way," she says, "what's your name? You could have at least had the courtesy to leave a false one on your business card, like the phone number."

"At this point, names are unimportant," he says, taking a left turn.

She snorts, looking out the window. "Liar."

"I've been called worse," he says placidly in his cultured tone, and she doesn't doubt it. "Would it surprise you to know that even Mulder and your sister don't know my name? What makes you think I'd tell you my name when these FBI agents can't even look me up in the phone book?"

In spite of herself, Melissa laughs. "For precisely that reason. Otherwise, I'll be calling you Mr. Chimneystack, Old Geyser, Mr. 7-Eleven-"

"7-Eleven?" he sputters. "Whatever for?"

"For the really cheap smokes," she says. "For you, at least. I'd rather have chili and cheese nachos for my carcinogens."

To her surprise, he doesn't toss her out in the middle of the road. Instead, he chuckles. "I see. Well then, you can call me Mr. Spender, for lack of a better pseudonym."

She nods, then does a double-take. "Do you know an Agent Jeffrey Spender?"

The fact that she knows that name seems to startle him, and she'd revel in her small nugget of knowledge if she still weren't so damn scared of him. "How do you know that name?"

"He helped me once," she says, looking at him carefully.

"Ah," he says, and doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive. Neither does she push it, because, for just a moment, she saw something other than the calm, calculating façade the old man seemed to carry so naturally. Something that looked a little like fear, like sorrow, and to her, something like hope.

* * *

The morning sun wakes Melissa Scully, who is slumped against the window of the passenger seat. Blinking, she turns to look at the driver and sees she hasn't awoken from her nightmare at all. "Where are we going?" she asks.

"To see an old friend," the old man says, his eyes on the road.

"I could take over if you let me know where to go," she offers. "You look like you could use some rest, Mr. Spender."

"I'm fine," he says shortly, and is surprised when she chuckles.

"It doesn't take a psychic to see you're far from 'fine'," Melissa says, "I've been on enough road trips to know when someone's five minutes from a car crash."

"I see," Mr. Spender says brusquely, and, like her younger sister, seems very reluctant to relinquish even a little control. "Very well, then," he says, pulling over to a wide shoulder of the road, "we shouldn't be too far off."

"Good," she says, waiting for him to unbuckle his seatbelt before doing so herself. Much as she'd like to ditch this guy, she has no money, no idea where she is, and certainly no protection if the people who would kill him for the miracle cure would try to go after her. They do a trudging version of a Chinese fire drill, then fasten their seatbelts before she pulls back onto the road. "Forward, I take it," she says dryly.

"Yes," he answers. He closes his eyes, then asks, "Have you ever looked back?"

"Why, is there someone following us?" Melissa adjusts the rearview mirror, giving the old man a look when he chuckles.

"No, I mean at your life," he says. "You live like a gypsy, wandering from city to city, never permitting yourself to put down roots or be attached to one place or person. I believe only recently have you come close to anything like settling down with your daughter Emily. Do you intend to keep her once she gets better?"

"What do you mean?" She frowns.

"Unlike your sister, you like to follow your heart, rather than your head," Mr. Spender says, his eyes still closed. "But you have a restless spirit, and wandering feet, with a willingness to new ideas that would put even Agent Mulder to shame, and I'm wondering if it is only your daughter's illness that keeps you bound to one location this long."

"Of course not!" Melissa snaps. "I love Emily. I wouldn't leave her, healthy or otherwise!"

He opens one baggy eyelid. "Are you sure?"

"Even a phony astrologer could string enough constellations to snow me better than that." She shakes her head, "I've had better readings out of a tea bag."

Mr. Spender glances at her. "You should know I don't believe in any of that hocus pocus," he says, "just know that this old man has been around long enough to know better than you think, even if I've had more than my share of regrets. And before I die, I'd like to prove that I'm capable of something more." As they come up to a small road branching off the main one, he adds, "Turn here, on the left."

As she turns, Melissa feels like she's heading down a dark path, and feels a strange sensation she can't quite name. Déjà vu? A past life? Or something more mundane, like fear?

* * *

Melissa Scully pulls up to a small house in the woods. Far from abandoned, a woman looking to be in her 60s, is tending the plants around her house. "Her name's Marjorie Butters," Mr. Spender says by way of explanation. "She's got quite a green thumb. Plays a mean game of Scrabble if you're interested."

"Is she your sister?"

He chuckles. "Not quite. You could say that I'm her angel. Marjorie's 118 years old." They get out of the car and he calls out, in a manner of one expecting a friendly welcome, "Marjorie!"

"Hey!" They laugh as he embraces her. "I'm glad to see you," Marjorie says, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

He smiles, "I thought I'd surprise you."

The older woman waves at her dirt-spattered attire. "I look an absolute wreck. I've been trying to get in some bulbs before spring."

And suddenly, Mr. Spender remembers his manners. "Oh, Marjorie, this is Melissa Scully. She's a very good friend of mine."

Melissa resists the temptation to roll her eyes at the obvious lie. "Nice to meet you." She shakes the other woman's dirty hand, feeling a kindred spirit, even if it was through the unfortunate knowledge of Mr. Spender.

"My pleasure," Marjorie says warmly. "Well, come inside. I baked some fresh bread this morning and there are tomatoes in the garden."

As she walks in the house, Melissa notices the scar at the base of Marjorie's neck and fights to keep her expression normal. She recognizes it recently matching Jason's, and the old man leans in next to her, speaking in a low voice, "To have such compassion...to visit this woman and see her joy...must be why you would do anything for Emily." Without another word, he walks into the house after Marjorie.

* * *

At the same time, Mulder's at home reading page 25 of "The Washington Post," thankful that nothing paranormal's jumping out at him from even the seediest parts of town. Scully's still taking the baby's death hard, but is throwing herself into family and work rather than taking time off to actually grieve. ::Guess some things don't change,:: he thinks, flipping the page and wondering if perhaps there's a secret code to be worked out using every five letters in the politics section. He's fairly certain that the kids would poop out from their mother's doting and nonstop schedule this weekend than the other way around, so he wisely decided to stay out of their way.

He's still squinting at the paper for his newly-developed code when the kitchen door slams open. He looks up and frowns. "You're not Scully," he drawls.

"And you're as observant as ever." The intruder glares at him. "You've got to help me."

Mulder's bored enough to toy around today. "Why?"

"Melissa wasn't there for Emily's doctor's appointment yesterday, and she would never leave Emily with her grandmother because of that." Then the one-armed man throws down a paper with his human hand, "This was on her kitchen table."

Mulder picks up the paper, and his heart sinks. The banner reads "The Goochland Guardian" rather than the local DC rag. A note has been taped onto the front page story, "Miracle Ends Controversy". He doesn't need to read it to know that the damn note says, "You are the God who performs miracles. You display your power among the peoples. Psalm 77:14." Mockingly, the top of the newspaper reads, "If It's News It's News To Us". ::Yeah, it's news to me, too,:: he thinks, what the hell is the Smoking Man up to with Melissa? Aloud, he says, Okay, so she reads hick newspapers and flakes out on appointments. Is there a problem?"

"She'd never flake out on a Transgen Pharmaceuticals appointment and she left her cell phone at home," Krycek says succinctly, "and Emily told me about her quote-unquote 'field trip with Mommy' to Goochland yesterday morning. Surprise, surprise, she mentioned an old man who smoked a lot."

"Aw, shit." Mulder sighs, putting the paper down.

"Yeah," Krycek seconds that emotion without irony. "So, you gonna help me or what?"

Mulder pulls out his cell phone. ::The things I do for this man,:: he thinks, hitting speed dial. "Ordinarily, I'd wait until you said 'please', but the world would end before that. Hey, Scully," he interrupts himself, "mind swinging by your mom's place? I got a feeling Emily needs more people to watch over her," he answers his wife's question, "No, she's not there. Don't worry, we're looking for her." Mulder pauses, listening, then nods as if she can see him. "Thanks. And yeah, if we need more help, I'll call." He hangs up. "One of the benefits of having an FBI wife is that she's got a gun."

"Yeah, well, Melissa knows how to use her switchblade," Krycek retorts, dragging Mulder out of the house.

"Please tell me she stabbed you," Mulder makes a face as they jump into Krycek's car, "I can't be the only one injured by a Scully woman."

Krycek smirks, peeling out of the driveway at an alarming speed, "Guess I don't like the rough stuff as rough as you."

"Just drive," Mulder says sickly, and not just because Melissa's been kidnapped by the Smoking Man.

* * *

When they stop at a gas station, Melissa saunters over into the dingy little building, tossing a quick "I need to use the bathroom" over her shoulder while Mr. Spender fills the tank. When she gets into the cramped restroom, she exhales, then tugs at the choker on her neck. She never thought she'd have to resort to using one of Alex's toys, but then again, she never thought she'd get caught up in what she usually deemed her sister and brother-in-law's world. What is she thinking, it's also Alex's world, too.

She twists the crystal attached to the choker, hoping against hope that her lover is right and that the tracking device, whatever he called it, is doing its job. Looking at the mirror, she sees it blink once, making the gem sparkle, and then it winks out, as he said it would. Please, please, please, she prays to whoever is listening, let Alex find me.

Satisfied that her choker's normal, she uses the toilet, flushes it, and washes her hands, proceeding as if it's a normal stop on the road. Mr. Spender's back in the driver's seat, and she gets in the passenger side.

He offers her a roll of candy. "Lifesaver?"

She shakes her head, feeling the irony even if he doesn't say so. Even though it's daylight, she can see his aura's darker than even Alex's has ever been. Shrugging, he starts the engine. Neither of them see a black-haired man staring after them, then getting into his black car.

* * *

1:04 p.m.

Later, in a motel near a lake, the erstwhile Mr. Spender parks the car. Melissa Scully is asleep. The old man puts on a pair of black leather gloves with practiced ease, then looks over at the sleeping woman. He tenderly brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and looks at her wistfully. "You'll do," he says softly, then carries her out of the car.

* * *

At the same time, someone is pounding on Mulder's door. Mulder answers it in a gray t-shirt and jeans, pretty much the same thing he's been in since this whole mess started. Checking the peephole first, he sees a familiar trio in somewhat familiar gear. Switching their outfits around, Frohike's in Byers' attire, Langly's in Frohike's sleazy outfit, and Byers, for the second time in Mulder's recollection, is casual in Langly's t-shirt and jeans. Or at least, he hopes the former FCC guy has something in his closet other than suits. "If you came in clown suits, you'd be less likely to scare the neighbors," he drones.

"Ha, ha." Langly brushes past him into the house, followed by his two compatriots. "Hey, who's the Frohike-wannabe?"

"Who's Frohike?" Krycek scowls up from what looks like a giant remote control.

Oh yeah, they haven't exactly met, Mulder remembers, until now. "I am, you punk," Frohike scowls back at the other man in a black leather jacket. "I'm guessing you're the one in need of our kung foo."

Krycek stares at them. "*These* are the guys?" he asks Mulder. "You're gonna get her killed!"

While various Gunmen grumble, Mulder makes quick introductions. "Alex, this is Frohike, Byers and Langly. Guys, this is Alex, who's, uh, living with Melissa."

"You what?" Frohike looks aghast.

Oh boy. "Guys, focus. Did you find anything on Melissa?" Mulder asks the Gunmen.

"We started with her credit cards to see if she purchased any airline tickets," Langly says.

"And ended up hacking into some Defense Department node..." Frohike butts in, glaring at Krycek while he pulls out Melissa's laptop from his suit jacket.

"Where they demanded we immediately identify ourselves or face prosecution for espionage or crimes against the government," Langly finishes.

"Okay, what does the DOD have to do with Melissa?" Krycek frowns.

This time, it's the mustachioed Gunman who answers, "When we went into her computer we found a series of deleted transmissions." He boots up the computer, then shows them the incriminating evidence.

"E-mail that had been erased from her subdirectories but not her hard drive," Frohike adds, then says slowly, "a series of communications."

"From someone named Cobra," Langly says quickly, sensing danger his shorter friend didn't seem to from this 'Alex' guy.

"Who the fuck is Cobra?" Krycek leaps to his feet, and now the Gunmen see the man's in fighting shape. "Melissa would have told me about him."

"You'd think," Frohike says bitterly, "guess she's not one to kiss and tell."

Bullshit." Krycek glares down the shorter man. "You guys are tech heads," he says, tossing them his strange contraption. "Melissa set off her GPS device, but the damn antennae hasn't got a specific fix on her. Do something with it."

Now Mulder goggles at the one-armed man. "She's got a GPS device?"

"Hey, as long as you know what to look for, you can find any signal." Langly shrugs while Frohike tinkers with the machine. "But if your friend's got a specific signal, it should be okay if there's no outside interference."

"Well, we can find where she is, but what about the why?" Mulder says when Krycek grabs the laptop from Byers. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Finding out the why," he says, opening up the laptop and typing away with one hand, using his false left hand for the larger keys. "If this Cobra is working with the Smoking Man, I know some other ways to get some intel."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Melissa wakes up in what looks like a woodsy cabin. She's wearing a green silk nightgown, but can't remember getting here, or dressing herself in this outfit. Hurriedly, she feels the choker around her neck, relaxing when she feels the small crystal. Looking in the mirror, she makes sure it's not blinking or doing anything to attract attention, and then she finds her clothes in a folded pile on the drawer.

It doesn't take long for her to don her long red dress and storm out, finding Mr. Spender pouring coffee in the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?" he asks.

"I don't," the redhead snaps. "I don't care who you are, 'Mr. Spender,' you're not winning my trust by treating me like some Barbie doll in my sleep. I can see why Dana and Fox, much less Alex, don't trust you."

His expression grows grave. "I was only trying to make you comfortable," he says, then takes a sip of his coffee.

Her large green eyes take in the rustic view from the window. "Where are we?"

"Milford, Pennsylvania," he replies simply.

"Pennsylvania. Well, I've hitchhiked farther than that," she says, leaving the cabin. To her chagrin, he follows her out, and she takes a deep breath, facing her executioner.

"Keys are in the ignition," Mr. Spender says, surprising her. "You're free to go, if you wish. The choice is still yours."

What choice? Melissa thinks darkly. I could take my chances and probably get blown up along the way back home, or get molested in my sleep by some weird old man. Either way, it's not looking pretty, and now she understands why Alex was so reluctant to even mention his relationship to this skeezy old man. She's about to curse Alex, but then remembers Emily, the initial reason why she went along with this shit in the first place. Emily. Dammit.

She doesn't see the black-haired man watching from the bushes as she heads back to the cabin, resigned, but neither would she care at this point. Her life isn't hers anymore, and she realizes sharply that it's been Emily's for quite some time, but it took this sick old man to show her that. Mommy's coming home, she thinks, not looking at Mr. Spender as he closes the door behind her, but I'm taking this old man in a body bag if it goes that way.

* * *

It takes less time than Mulder did for Krycek to not only read between the lines, but connect the dots. The one-armed man slams his real fist on the table. "F*ck it all," he mutters, slouching in the chair.

"What, no roses?" Frohike mutters, still hunched over the tracking device.

"F*ck your little dog, too, Mulder," Krycek says dully. "Turns out Cobra's a federal fugitive, e-mailing Melissa from the DOD. Bastard's working on a shadow project for advanced research."

"Okay, so she attracts nerds, too." Langly shrugs, "so what's the big deal?"

Krycek turns his cutting green gaze at the tall blonde man, who withers quickly. "Somebody pretending to be Melissa hacked into her computer and was catching all her e-mail. I'm guessing the smoking bastard was passing himself off as a MILF in distress in order to win Cobra's trust. You guys notice the last five exchanges hint at a meeting where they're going to exchange information on the project Cobra's working on?"

The Lone Gunmen look at each other sheepishly. "Well, we thought they were gonna hook up for something else," Frohike mutters, and Mulder stands between his old friends and current semi-fugitive sister-in-law's lover... man, he's really gotta make a few normal friends to make up for weird family relations.

Krycek stares at the Gunmen. "Whatever you have to do, fix the damn machine," he says, "if you think the smoking man's rough with his colleagues, you should see what he does with his women."

At that, Mulder gets to his feet. "What's your weapon status?" he asks the man in black.

The double agent looks mildly surprised, and then a lazy grin slides across his face. "Now you're speaking my language, tovarich."

Mulder scowls. "Don't call me that."

* * *

6:22 p.m.

Melissa finds herself plotting numerous ways to kill her captor, not knowing that her lover is thinking the exact same thing. She starts when there's a knock at the door, and then rolls her eyes. Took him long enough to develop some idea of courtesy, she snorts inwardly as she opens the door.

The old man, however, drops any semblance of being a gentleman as he states without preamble, "We'll be getting final instructions from our contact tonight. He's invited us to dinner. I took the liberty of getting you something to wear." From behind his back, he holds out a very revealing black dinner dress.

Why am I not surprised? Melissa thinks as she takes it. "I see," she says noncommittally. He may be a perv, but at least he's a perv with expensive taste.

Mr. Spender notes her appraisal. "I'm glad you like it. I look forward to tonight." Then he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Of course you're looking forward to tonight, Melissa shakes her head, as the damn thing seems to be a glorified apron, you're looking forward to seeing my bodacious tatas fall out and my ass on display. If she had any shred of philanthropic illusions about this whole affair, they are quickly flushed down the toilet.

* * *

That evening, Melissa's wearing the glorified apron, er, dress as well as her crystal choker, and of course, Mr. Spender's gussied up in a tuxedo. Figures. They walk into an elegant restaurant and are smoothly seated by the window. Not looking at the other diners, Melissa takes a sip of water and asks, "So what does he look like?"

"I'm not quite sure," the old man admits.

She smiles briefly, At least he's honest about something. "Do you even know his name, or is that a mystery, too?"

Now the old man's got his steel back. "He is to human genetic science as Oppenheimer and Fermi were to the advent of nuclear warfare."

Oh, goody, Melissa thinks, we're dealing with Dr. Frankenstein. Aloud, she says, "Aside from arm candy, why am I even here?"

Mr. Spender smiles tightly. "This man - call him Cobra - he needs assurances that the science he's going to hand over won't fall into the wrong hands. I've told him about you, about Emily." He pauses, then nods his approval for the waiter to pour the red wine. When the waiter is gone, he continues, "He's expecting to meet you here." Then he raises his glass in a toast, "Well, to the future." Melissa raises an eyebrow, then raises her glass before taking a polite sip. "I also have a bit of a confession to make."

"Oh?" It's the only thing she can say that's short and won't involve a string of curse words.

He leans forward, unaware of what murderous thoughts are going on in her head. "What we are being given is not the cure for cancer." He enjoys her look of sickening shock, then adds, "It's the cure for all human disease."

"What?" Melissa blurts. "How?"

He points up. "Mostly extraterrestrial."

Of course. And then the other puzzle piece falls into place. Fuck altruism. "You'd be cured, too."

His smile turns indulgent. "Theoretically, yes, I can be cured. But for what?" His expression changes, and Melissa finds a disconcertingly familiar look on the old man's face. "At the end of the day, I don't have anything to look forward to. Or anyone, for that matter, Melissa." As she stares at him, he seems to realize what he's just said, and stands, "Would you excuse me?" Without waiting for her reply, he leaves the table.

What the fuck? Melissa goggles, not even bothering to scope out the restaurant even though she's left to her own devices. I guess you have to be pretty damn cocky to be a part of a global conspiracy to fuck with both people and aliens, but this Mr. Spender is something else. In a daze, she polishes off half her red wine, plus a chocolate dobash slice.

It isn't until the waiter returns to remove her empty plate that she notices a piece of paper tucked under it. "Calico Cove, first light of day," it reads. Careful not to show surprise, she scans the room without seeming to, a habit developed from years of being in strange bars in strange places, but aside from the waiter, nobody's nearby to have dropped it off. Damn that old man, she thinks, I would've paid more attention otherwise.

* * *

Early the next morning, Melissa Scully and Mr. Spender drive up to a motor boat tied to a dock. When she gets in the boat, the old man unties the mooring. "Calico Inlet's 15 minutes out. South end," he says briskly, talking to her like some office gopher rather than mad scientist bait.

"Then what do I do?"

He doesn't look at her when he answers, "I don't know. Wait, I suppose. And be careful."

If I was careful, I wouldn't be here, she thinks mutinously, then starts up the motor. And if I hadn't grown up around Dad, I wouldn't know how to work this damn thing. Sighing, she takes the boat down the lake, not seeing another soul and regrets being here under these circumstances. Alex would love this place, she thinks, quiet, secluded, woodsy, and I could teach Emily how to fish like my father taught me. Aside from the forced football education, she'd really loved spending time out on the boat, just sitting peacefully with her father, occasionally touching on recent events in their lives, but mostly doing nothing while taking in the tranquility of very little luck with fish.

A dreamy smile on her face, she notices she's got company when she hears the other motorboat before she sees it. The driver, Cobra, she assumes, is a fairly good-looking man in his 40s, more Dana's type if she weren't already married. "Finally we meet," he says, his voice full of intensity and admiration. "You're just as you described yourself, certainly more so last night at dinner. I only wish we could continue to correspond, but it must end after this. I hope one day we can take some time and meet your daughter as well, when I'm not a marked man." Without waiting for a response, he hands her a diskette. "This is it, the science I promised you."

Melissa's put two and two together, and she doesn't like the results. "No, keep it," she says, putting it back in his hand. "I love Emily, but you don't have to risk your life for hers. I'm sure she'll do just fine with her current treatment." She smiles, but he looks confused.

"Melissa?"

She nods, then pushes his boat away from hers. "Take care," the redhead says, hoping against hope that he's able to elude Mr. Spender and anyone else.

He nods back reluctantly, but then falls into the water as a gunshot echoes around them. Melissa yelps, diving to the floor of the boat, her heart pounding. I'm going to die, she thinks, her fear overwhelming her mind, I'm going to die here and never see Emily again, or Alex, or Mom... Another shot echoes across the lake, disorienting her. She has no idea where the shots are coming from or who's shooting, and frankly, she doesn't care.

Facedown, her breathing is fast and shallow as her arms are wrapped over her head, a futile protection against any bullet. More shots follow, and she thinks she hears a car screeching away, but isn't certain. It's only when there's silence does she breathe easily. Perhaps they killed each other, she thinks deliriously, perhaps Mr. Spender was killed by the others, or he killed them and ran off, or perhaps the others killed him and are waiting for me.

She doesn't move, frozen by fear, the motor boat floating with the current of the lake until she hears a man call out, "Melissa? Melissa!" Her heart beats quickly again, but doesn't dare raise her head just yet. Then the man yells, "Ty v poryadke? Vsyo pad kontrolem!"

She smiles in spite of herself. Only her idiot lover would ask if she's okay and tell her everything's all right after a shootout. "Alex!" Melissa sits up in the boat, and a familiar figure in black waves at her. She looks around, seeing the other motorboat empty of its driver, with no telltale bubbles showing Cobra's location or life. Her heart heavy, she starts the motorboat up again and steers towards her lover. A small part wishes she'd kept the diskette, but seeing Alex's face banishes any fears or doubts she has about her decision.

* * *

That evening, back at Maggie Scully's home, there is a tearful reunion with mothers and daughters embracing, and sisters holding on to each other. And for a while, Krycek's concern was touching until Melissa finally lost her temper. "I'm fine!" she snaps, punching his shoulder. "Dana checked me out, and I'm okay!"

An understandable silence follows, and then Mulder's oddly timed sense of humor makes him guffaw. "Even though the smoking man got away," he says, "just seeing Alex Krycek getting slugged makes my day."

Krycek glares at him, his pride and anger keeping him from rubbing his arm. "I'm glad you feel that way," he growls, "since it was your fault he got away in the first place."

Mulder stares at him in disbelief, then at the others. "Hey, I blew the damn windshield out, but I didn't want to be roadkill," he says, his hands up in apology.

Scully shoots him a look, "Language."

"Roa'kill, roa'kill, roa'kill," Sammy singsongs, and Page chases him out of the room, followed by Emily, into the kids' room. For the sake of furthering the peace, Frohike's in another room watching over the rest of the kids rather than facing a losing battle against Krycek. However, Byers, along with his blonde compatriot, remains with the rest of the adults.

"So that's it, then?" Langly asks. "No body, no disk, no smoking man?"

The Scully sisters and their men look at each other. "Nope, not a thing," Mulder says.

"Yeah," Krycek mutters, looking at the floor.

"That's too bad," Byers says, "it would have been nice to have seen even some of the research, or gotten a hint from Cobra."

"But if there was a disk, that means it's possible there is a cure," Melissa says, holding Krycek. "I'm sure Cobra wasn't the only one working on it, even if he came the closest. And I hope they come to you next time," she looks at her sister and brother-in-law, "I'm sure the professionals could keep them alive better than I could."

Mulder can't say anything out of guilt and knowledge, but is saved from trying when Scully clasps her sister's arm. "I'm glad you're all right," she says, giving the double agent a grudging glance, "but if Kry - um, Alex, hadn't given you that GPS device, I don't think you would've been found as quickly as you were."

Melissa smiles, her fingers on the crystal at her neck, then kisses Krycek on the cheek. "Isn't he sweet?"

The FBI agents and Lone Gunmen gape at that description, while Mrs. Scully smiles back. "All right, we'd better get dinner ready," she says, and manages to bring a semblance of normalcy to the odd gathering.

"Okay if I bring Frohike to help?" Langly asks.

Mrs. Scully nods. "Tell him to go around through the kitchen," she says, looking at her eldest daughter and her boyfriend. She's glad Melissa's not only found someone who makes her happy, but loves both her and Emily, even odd biological bonds aside. Now, if only she can find some very tolerant ladies to make Fox's odd friends happy...

* * *

Later that night, after Emily has been tucked in bed, the reunited lovers are sharing the master bed in Melissa's home. "Alex?" Melissa asks. He's been fidgety all night, and she wonders if the recent events have pushed him away from her. "What's wrong?"

"Did my aura turn purple again?" he says laconically, then turns away, his breath escaping in a hiss. "Sorry, you're the last person I want to be assholic to tonight."

She smirks. "Please don't walk on eggshells on my account."

He chuckles, then wraps his arms around her. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Of course," she says, lifting her chin reminiscent of her mother and younger sister, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. "It's about time you realized that. But since you're not as spiritually intuitive as I am, you're forgiven."

"Thank you," he shakes his head slightly. "Too bad it took me this long, but," he digs awkwardly into the pillowcase until he finds what he's looking for, "Melissa Scully, ti viy-desh za me-nya?"

She stares at him. "What?" Her arms are still around his neck, but it looks like she's in a state of shock.

Amazing, Krycek thinks, she can handle a weekend with that smoking bastard with no life-threatening effects, but the moment I propose, she's all catatonic. Or maybe her Russian's not as good as I thought. "Will you marry me?" he restates the question, popping open the little box to reveal a gold ring sparkles with her birthstone set on top. "Is that a yes or a no? Your reaction's not what I expected, but I'd rather hear yes."

Instead of looking at the ring, she looks into his eyes. "Do you mean it?"

He forces himself to look back at her, to be honest with her as well as with himself. "I've been meaning to do this for a while," he says softly, "but seeing how easy it was to lose you, and possibly Emily, too..."

Melissa nods, and places a hand on his cheek. "It scared me, too," she says. "But if I'm marrying you, it's out of love, not fear."

"So," Krycek says, hoping third time's the charm, "is that a yes?"

"Da!" she laughs, and grabs the small box out of his hand. "For someone who deals with shady characters and conspiracies, you don't seem to like things vague, do you?" she teases.

He smiles. "Only the really important things," he says, kissing her. As she slides the ring on her finger, he notes, "Wow, nice fit."

"Yes, we are," she smiles at him, admiring not only the ring on her finger, but the thought that actually went into it. "Should I call my mother with the good news?"

An unfamiliar, embarrassed look sweeps across his face. "I, uh, asked her first before we left her house."

For the second time that night, Melissa Scully is stunned. "Oh..."

"She said it was okay," Krycek says quickly, "but she wasn't sure what you'd say. For that matter, neither did I."

"Does Dana know?"

"Does she have to?" he says huskily, kissing her ring before moving to her lips.

When they come up for air, it's all she can do to stay on topic. "Ah," Melissa closes her eyes as he trails kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her body, "mmmmm, not yet..."

"Ti ochen' nuzhna mne," Krycek moans when her hands dive into his boxers. "Oh!"

She smiles at him. "I need you more," the redhead breathes, and shows him just how much she needs him as she spreads her legs. For the rest of the night until well into morning, they continue to discuss in both Russian and English how to increase the simple pleasures between a man and a woman.


	89. Requiem

August 13th, 2000  
5:30 p.m.

Colorful mylar balloons hang a mere foot above the two women's heads, but Teena and Maggie still manage to look dignified anyway. As Mulder herds some young partygoers by, he throws the pair a nervous look. Their mothers never talk, so seeing them with heads bent, in deep conversation, can't be a good sign.

He lets his guard down as he snaps the traditional baby-smears-cake-on-self photos of Christopher. The happy little boy thoroughly enjoys the frosting that's a much deeper yellow than his hair, and squeals with delight as he gets some into his mouth. Turning, Mulder expects the grandmothers to be watching the baby, but they're glancing meaningfully at him and Scully instead.

He decides to bite the bullet and walks over to them, the camera still in hand.

Maggie smiles brightly at him. "Fox, can you believe that little Christopher is already a year old?"

"Time flies," he says, trying to think of a way to ask what they were talking about.

His mother saves him the effort. "Yes, time does fly. Maggie and I were talking about how big Page is getting, too. Six years old next month."

"Six years old and starting school," Maggie adds.

A sinking feeling opens in the pit of Mulder's stomach, and he's not the least bit surprised when his mother says, "Public school."

For the past several months, Maggie has tried to convince them to send Page to Sacred Heart. Teena, on the other hand has been lobbying for a secular private school. Neither he nor Scully haven't dreamed of them joining forces...

He puts on his best smile. "She's looking forward to attending that school with several of the children she's gone to preschool and kindergarten with. Dana and I agree with many of the other parents that having familiar faces around will ease the transition for the children."

"Oh," Teena says faintly.

"That is nice." Maggie's voice sounds reluctant.

"Yes," he says brightly. "We think it's especially nice for Page considering that first grade will be the year she won't have siblings to play with during the school day."

They nod, and he thinks they look faintly uncomfortable, and perhaps ready to change the subject. "Why don't we get some cake? I think Scully is saving us pieces with yellow roses."

* * *

10:30 p.m.

It ends up being a late night. Mulder insists on putting the kids to bed and letting her get ready for bed, since, as he put it "You did the lion's share of getting the party ready." Which is true, but it makes her feel a little guilty to leave him the task of settling all six kids for the night. Fortunately, even though it's Sammy's birthday the next day, his party is going to take place at school and spare them the tedium of two days in a row of entertaining.

When he finally joins Scully a half hour later, she puts her book aside. There's a pensive look on her husband's face that arouses her curiosity. "What are you thinking about, Mulder?" she asks at length.

"Something I want," he says in what she considers an unnecessarily cryptical manner.

"Which is?" she prompts.

To her frustration, he just shakes his head. "I can't say."

"Oh, come on, now, Mulder. We've been married a long time, nothing you could request would shock or modify me. Though I have to draw the line at public fornication. We have our reputations, such as they are, at the FBI to think of." She expects him to smile at the mental image of doing it in the street, but he doesn't.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks softly.

"Of course."

"I want another baby." And when he turns towards her, she can see from the look in his eyes that he's being completely honest. "I don't want to pressure you if you're not ready to try again, but...I'm better now. Completely recovered. I can't think of a better way to celebrate and affirm that. But like I said, if you're not ready-"

She cuts off his comment by throwing her arms around him. "I love you, Mulder," she tells him fiercely.

He looks a little surprised. "I figured as much, but I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"I love you because you're kind, considerate, and willing to let me believe that having another baby is your idea."

"It is my idea," he protests.

She shakes her head. "Half your idea, maybe."

"So I take it that you're amicable towards the idea?" Mulder asks, and she likes the way hope lights up his eyes. It's something that she's only been seeing again for the past couple of months, and until it returned she didn't know how much she missed it.

"Definitely."

* * *

Later, Mulder watches Scully as she sleeps. He stretches out on his back and sends silent thoughts up to God, or whoever it is that might be listening. ::Please, please let me have William back. I've done all I can to bring my promise to life. Don't let us have lost our daughter only to lose him too. Please.::

"Mulder?" A sleepy voice startles him, and he looks down at Scully with a sheepish expression. For a second there he was wondering if God had chosen to respond aloud.

"Yes, Dear?"

"Are you still awake?"

"Given that we're having this conversation, I appear to be," he deadpans.

"Is all of you awake?" she asks, and he has to stifle a laugh. Not because her busy-fingered investigations are humorous, but because she's inadvertently discovered a ticklish spot he wasn't aware of before. "Oh, yup." She sounds happy about that.

It only takes a moment before he hardens in her grasp. "I notice you're awake too," he says in what is an admirably normal voice, considering what she's doing to him. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

"Well," She says without stopping her stroking of his sensitive parts. "You know what they say about trying, right? Try, try, try again. By my count I think we're up to try, try tonight. We should cover try again, shouldn't we?"

"Absolutely," Mulder tells her, and it's only a moment before he's deep within her. Trying to conceive a baby is hard work, but he for one is willing to sacrifice his time to the effort.

* * *

Hoover Building  
Late August 2000

For a long period of time, the only noise heard in the basement office is the sound of an adding machine. The man using it, special Agent Chesty Short, begins to mutter in Mulder's direction. "Lariat car rentals. Totals..." He holds the tape up to his face and whistles. "Would you like to see the figure?"

Mulder gives it the briefest appraisal before handing it back. "Is that a lot?"

The look on Agent Short's face is one of outraged surprise. "A lot? Gas, expenses...the motel rooms alone. By FBI standards these numbers are out of control."

"Since we're married and it doesn't violate protocol, Agent Scully and I usually save the FBI money by sharing rooms," Mulder says in a deadpan.

The look the accountant gives him is anything but amused. "You're under evaluation. There has to be a point when we say no."

"You can't really compare what we do to other departments in the Bureau," Mulder protests.

Agent Short nods grimly. "Right. This business with aliens."

"Well, there's more to it than that," Mulder ties to explain.

"But, at the end of the day you'd say aliens are your real focus."

"That's the reason I got started, yeah," Mulder says, becoming defensive.

Short shakes his head and consults a folder. "Investigating your sister's abduction and the government conspiracy around it. Both of which have been resolved, correct?"

"Nothing has been resolved," Mulder tells him.

Short doesn't seem to be a sympathetic man. "You haven't done any investigating on her in quite some time, Agent Mulder. I assumed this meant that you closed the case."

Mulder glances down at it. "Yeah, I guess so," Mulder reluctantly agrees.

Agent Short gives him a long look. "So, what exactly is left to investigate?"

* * *

Krycek's Apartment  
Washington, DC

It's a rare afternoon that Krycek is actually at his apartment rather than at Missy's place, and he receives an unexpected guest. On the other side of the open door stands Marita Covarrubias, looking a whole lot healthier than she'd been the last time he'd seen her.

"You're not an easy man to track down these days, Alex," she says dryly. Her eyes wander the place and he squelches the urge to explain that it's sparse because he's moving in with Melissa officially, not just a box at a time, now that they're engaged.

Instead he says, "Marita. I thought you'd be dead by now." Then he pauses. "Not that I wish you were, just-"

"Save it, Alex," Marita snaps. "This isn't a social call."

"I didn't suppose it was," Krycek says wryly and steps back to let her in.

Ignoring him, Marita studies the photos on the wall. She points one slender finger at a photo of Emily and Page playing dress up. "Which one is your daughter?"

"The one with the shorter hair," Krycek tells her nervously. "Why?"

"And the other child is?"

"My niece. More or less." There's another brief urge to mention the engagement, and he wonders if it will keep happening. Good news wants to be told to everyone, he supposes, even to someone like Marita.

She nods, then pulls something out of her purse and hands it to him. "This is her, too, isn't it?"

His eyes widen as he looks down at the photograph. Its green cast makes it clear that it was taken with night vision equipment. In the photo Scully is sleeping on a hotel bed with an infant Sammy and toddler Page at her sides. "Where-"

She hands him another photograph, which takes his breath away completely. "And this is your daughter's mother, right? Agent Scully's sister." It's a photo of him and Missy the day they met. Before he can recover his breath, she hands him third photograph, this time of Emily as a two-year-old.

"But, but this is before Missy even found Emily," he squeaks, bewildered.

"Someone has been watching you all for a very long time," Marita agrees. She spreads out the remainder of the photos, which include ones of Mulder and Scully's kids playing in puddles, and others of an outing they took with Emily just that summer.

"Why? Who?" he demands to know.

She just shakes her head. "I don't know. I thought you should know that someone's keeping tabs on you, though."

"Why do you care?" Krycek asks, honestly curious.

She gives him a feral smile. "In a way we're like siblings, Alex. Two kids abused by the same family. I don't feel that I owe you much, but I think I owe you this."

The thought of someone else having ties to him makes him uncomfortable, so he changes the subject. "How did you get the photos?"

"I stole them out of the smoking bastard's mail."

Krycek is surprised; his first thought was that the old bastard was suspect number one. "You've seen him?"

"He's going downhill fast."

"Good." He hadn't looked great through the sight of his weapon, but it had been hard to tell at a distance. Her confirmation is reassuring.

"There was no return address on the photos, sad to say," Marita adds.

"At least I know there's something to look for," he says fiercely. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, help me," she tells him, and he actually listens as she outlines a plan to get revenge on the man who took so much from them both.

* * *

X-Files Office

When Mulder returns to the basement, he finds his wife inexplicably staring at his poster.

He gives her a sheepish look. "I think I'm in big trouble."

"Oh, Mulder, how many times have they tried to shut us down?" Scully asks.

"Yeah, but I never actually assaulted an auditor before."

The look she gives him is one of amused disbelief. "Did you hurt him like you have Skinner?"

Mulder grins at her. "I reduced his vision a little bit. And which time hurting Skinner did you mean when you asked that?" Just then the phone rings. Mulder flips on the speaker phone. "Mulder."

"Agent Fox Mulder?" a voice asks, "My name is Billy Miles. I don't know if you remember me."

"Oregon, seven years ago," Mulder says promptly. "You had multiple abduction experiences. I'm here with Agent Scully."

"Billy, are you all right?" Scully asks.

"Yeah. This may seem weird, me calling like this, but, um, I don't know where else to turn."

"It happening again, Billy?" Mulder asks with concern.

"Yeah, but not to me this time," Billy tells him. Then the dial tone begins.

Mulder's first impulse is to turn to Scully and ask her if she'd like to go and waste some taxpayer's money, but the thought leaves him with an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. If they go off to Oregon, one of them won't be coming back. And since things have confounded him with surprising changes, he can't be positive that he'd be the one taken. He stares at the phone held in his hand.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asks, giving him a worried look.

"Yeah. I just wish Billy hadn't hung up like that."

"Oh," Scully says, and takes the phone from him. She hits three buttons and hands it back. "The magic of Star six nine."

"Sixty-nine is the magic number," he tells her with a leer that makes her roll her eyes at him. There's a click on the line that tells him that the call has connected, even though there's silence at the other end. "Billy? It's agent Mulder. We seemed to have been disconnected."

"Sorry about that," Billy replies nervously.

"That's no problem. Look, what I was going to tell you is that if you'd like to come to DC to discuss the problem, I'd be happy to meet with you. I'm sure agent Scully would be as well. Unfortunately, we just got reamed out by accounting about travel expenses, so I don't think there's enough cause to justify us coming to you at the moment."

"Uh, okay. I'll buy a plane ticket and let you know when I'm coming." Billy sounds surprised rather than annoyed.

"Okay, then. See you soon," Mulder tells him. When he hangs up he notices Scully's look of disbelief. "What?"

"You're not going to suggest we fly out there just to piss off accounting?"

"'I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir,'" Mulder mutters. There's not a snowball's chance in hell that she'd believe him that going off to the west coast is going to lead to their kids having a single-parent family, so he has to improvise. "That's what they expect of us. It's more fun to keep them off balance by playing nice."

Something like relief passes over her face. "I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation."

"Don't worry. I fully expect that you'll leave me and take all my money if I ever do anything crazy like staying on the straight and narrow."

"My husband, the stand up comic," Scully complains, but she doesn't seem too upset to him.

Mulder hands her a pair of sharpened pencils and waves towards the ceiling. "You know you want to, Scully. And if we're here in the office, we'll naturally go through more office supplies."

For a second she looks uncertain, and then surprises him by throwing one of the pencils at the ceiling. It flies straight and true and embeds itself in a small section of naked tile where one of its predecessors had fallen out. He gives her a suspicious look. "You've done that before. You must have."

"Beginner's luck," she tells him with a perfectly straight face.

"Uh huh."

* * *

The Watergate Apartments  
Washington, DC

Marita and Krycek arrive at one of the apartments and knock. A blonde woman whose name badge identifies her as Nurse Greta, opens the door.

Sitting in his wheelchair, the smoking man's complexion is nearly as gray as the wreath of smoke about his head. He turns tired eyes to his guests. "I've been hoping to see you, Alex."

"Cut the crap, old man," Krycek snaps.

"You haven't changed," the smoking man says with a sigh. "I hope we can all move forward...Put the past behind us. We have a...singular opportunity now."

"A singular opportunity?"

Some life returns to the old man's face, and Krycek can barely stand to witness his pitiful enthusiasm. "There's been a crash in Oregon. An alien ship has collided with a military aircraft. Recovery is all-important. It's Roswell and Corona all over again - 50 years later. It's our chance to rebuild the project."

Before Krycek can ask him what makes him think that they'd be interested in resurrecting the project, Marita asks the old man, "How do you know someone hasn't already recovered it?"

"It's never quite so easy," the smoking man tells her, but he doesn't look like he feels that there's much of an obstacle in their way.

"You've always liked things the hard way," Marita says with such bile that Krycek stares at her. For a moment he finds himself wondering what manner of abuse she was alluding to earlier.

He pushes the thoughts away, suddenly horrified by the possibilities. "What makes you think we'll help you?" he asks, mostly to distract himself.

"My golden boy and girl, who else would I turn to?" the smoking man pontificates, neatly ducking the question.

"If we're at the top of your list, I'd hate to see who's on the bottom," Krycek retorts. "I can tell you have a plan in mind. Spill it."

The smoking man turns pleased eyes to him. "I've always admired your directness, Alex. Now..."

* * *

That Night

There's a knock on the door, and Scully is more than a little startled to see Krycek standing on the steps, without Missy or Emily to act as a buffer.

He smiles at her. "Can Fox come out and play?"

"Hi, Alex." She tries not to let her confusion show. "What can I do for you?"

Krycek pulls a piece of cardboard out of his pocket. "I got this ticket for a free game of bowling and your sister suggested, well insisted actually, that I ask your husband if he'd go with me."

"Oh, that's sweet," Scully tells him, mentally adding 'and very odd'. "I'll ask him," she says, leaving him in the living room.

To her surprise, Mulder is actually willing to go. "Really, Mulder?"

"I like bowling," Mulder tells her. "And it's well-lit and public. We'll have to behave."

"Are you sure?" Scully asks, feeling deeply confused.

"I'm pretty sure things will go fine. And if I were ever going to murder him in public, I wouldn't use a bowling ball to do it. Much too messy."

"Well, okay. Have fun." She reaches up to kiss his cheek and wrinkles her nose when she feels stubble against her lips. "You need to shave when you get home."

"So you're saying the Miami Vice look isn't doing it for me?"

"I just don't like the scratchiness, Don."

"Okay, as soon as I get home," he promises.

She shrugs after he leaves, wondering if she ought to call the Vatican and report a possible miracle.

* * *

Mulder keep up his easy-going façade until he and Krycek are seated in the man's car. "So what is this really about?"

"What, the husband and boyfriend of two sisters can't spend a nice night together drinking and bowling?"

"Sure they can. As long as those two men aren't us," Mulder tells him as Krycek shifts into drive. "We're obviously not bowling."

"Yeah, we are. But first we're going to my apartment. I have something I need to show you."

Krycek lives entirely too close for Mulder's comfort, so it doesn't take long before they're pulling up in front of his building. "How did you manage to hang onto this place?" Mulder asks him as they get out. "This neighborhood is in fair demand, and you disappeared for a while."

"Being a bad man pays well enough," Krycek says shortly. Mulder doesn't comment since it's clear that something other than his presence has the man agitated. "Come on." Krycek told him. He pushed the door to the apartment open and led the way to the table in the small kitchen. "Well, look."

Mulder's first worry is that they're going to be crime scene photos, but they're both more benign and sinister than that. He studies them carefully before looking up at Krycek. "I didn't know that you were a photographer. They're a little rough, but they've got some promise."

"I didn't take them," Krycek says sourly. "They were given to me."

"Why?"

"Why were they taken or why were they given to me? They were given to me by a sometimes friend who found them and was concerned. As to why they were taken...someone's watching us."

"Someone's always watching us," Mulder tells him without emotion. "This doesn't change much. Why are you showing me?"

"Because this worries me!" Krycek bursts out, surprising them both. "Someone is watching our kids. I'm used to being under the microscope, and I'm sure you are too. But there's something more vicious about this. They've never made overt threats towards little kids before."

This made Mulder raise his eyebrows. "Uh, what about my sister? What about how Emily came into being?"

"All right, you've got me there." Krycek sighs. "I thought you had a right to know that the kids are being watched, though."

"Thank you," Mulder tells him, meaning it. Krycek shrugs. ::He's changed.:: Mulder thinks to himself after noticing that simple gesture. ::He's not the bastard who is only looking out for his own skin. I guess Missy and Emily are to blame for that.:: Because of these thoughts, his tongue seizes control before his brain can object. "Alex, if something happens to me, will you help Scully watch out for the kids?"

Krycek looks shocked. "Are you actually admitting that you're a mortal man?"

"I guess. But if something keeps me from protecting them, will you help her?"

"Yes," Krycek says simply. "If something happened, I'd help her."

Mulder's curiosity gets the best of him. "Why?"

"Because Missy would want me to."

"Fair enough."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, though," Krycek tells him confidently. "So I won't ask you to promise to look after Emily." He gives Mulder a sidelong look. "And I know that a boy scout like you wouldn't even need to be asked anyway."

Mulder holds up his fingers. "Scout's honor."

"Whatever." Krycek snorts. "You're buying the first pitcher of beer once we get to the bowling alley."

"I thought you said that being a double agent pays well."

"It does." Krycek smirks at him, and Mulder can't find it within him to argue against mere cheap bastard-ness.

* * *

Three Days Later

"I'll get it!" Mulder quickly volunteers when there's another knock at the door. He's been trying to evade Scully's questions about bowling since the last time they had a visitor, so he doesn't want to be the second to greet again.

His welcoming smile turns to a look of confusion when he realizes that Billy Miles didn't arrive alone. Instead a young woman carrying an infant is standing by his side. Billy doesn't seem to notice Mulder's reaction, because he holds out his hand. "Agent Mulder."

"Nice to see you Billy."

Scully's arrived by this point, and she threads her arm around Mulder's waist. Now that there are two puzzled people looking at him, it seems to finally sink in with Billy. "This is Teresa, you helped her too."

"I know," Scully says warmly, but she gives the ring on Billy's finger a pointed look. "Are the two of you...?"

Both Billy and Teresa turn bright red. "Uh, no. No," Billy stammers.

"Oh." Scully doesn't look embarrassed by her mistake. "Agent Mulder and I married not terribly long after we met you."

"I thought I saw toys in the yard," Teresa says shyly.

"Six kids require a lot of toys," Mulder says lightly.

"Six!" Billy whistles. "You folks have been busy."

"Like you wouldn't believe." Scully's voice is dry. She turns to Teresa. "You can put your baby in the playpen if you'd like. Our youngest is taking a nap. Actually the twins are too."

"Thanks."

The baby's feet have barely touched the bottom of the playpen when there's a small stampede. April and Page immediately go to Scully, but Sammy looks sheepish when he notices that there are strangers in the living room with his parents. "Oh, guests."

"Hey Buddy, this is Billy and Teresa. When we first met them Mommy started to believe in aliens."

"Yeah?" Sammy asks, looking interested. "Mommy believes in aliens?"

"I said 'started to.' She still has a ways to go, Son."

"No ghosts, though," April comments. "I don't see nuffin' she tells me. But there are ghosts!"

Sammy gives his sister a wide-eyed look. "You see ghosts too?"

When she notices the amused looks on their guests, Page says "Our house is haunted" in a rather matter of fact tone.

Billy Miles grins at her. "I wouldn't expect less from your folks."

"Hey." Scully snags Sammy and draws him and the girls into a hug. "Why don't you guys go and play? We're going to be talking about boring grown up stuff."

"Like taxes?" April asks, earning four strange looks from the adults.

"Something like that," Scully agrees, but she looks up to Mulder when they run off. "How does she know about taxes? She's three."

"Who knows," Mulder replies, as mystified as she is.

The adults settle on the couch. Scully glances at their guests. "If you two aren't involved, there must be a different story behind the two of you coming here together."

"Uh..." Billy trails off and shoots his friend a look. She nods, so he continues. "The problem I started to tell you about on the phone? It's her husband. He's disappeared."

"Billy and Ray work together," Teresa tells them. "For the police department."

Billy Miles grimaces. "I've never thought of myself as a cop but it's been three years now. My dad got them to fudge the psych qualifications. People look at me askance anyway, as if they expect me to draw my gun and point it skyward any minute now."

"You've never, um...have you ever been able to get over the abductions?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I have. But, um, people haven't. No one really believes it." He fingers his wedding ring. "The woman I recently divorced sure didn't. And my dad still denies it ever happened - that any one of us was taken."

"Does he deny that it's happening now?"

Billy Miles repeats what he's been told by his father by rote. "There was a crash. A Navy pilot hit an unidentified aircraft outside of town. Now, the military found their jet but the other craft hasn't been recovered."

"Why not?" Scully wants to know. "Why hasn't the military gotten involved in locating the other craft too?"

Billy shrugs. "It's our county and we're in charge of coordinating efforts but my dad has really been no help even though we have a deputy missing." Beside him Teresa stiffens, and he gently touches her shoulder to reassure her.

"You find the UFO and he won't be able to deny the truth," Mulder tells him. He pretends not to notice Scully's questioning look. She might think that he's going to volunteer to aide in the search, but nothing could be farther from his mind.

"The truth is well and good," Billy tells him, his voice suddenly firm. "But I'm more interested in finding Teresa's husband."

Scully give the young woman a gentle look. "Do you mind telling us what happened?"

Teresa nods. "Ray and I have less difficulty than Billy and Felicia did. Ray and I have abductions in common, so that wasn't a problem for us. And you can imagine, it has the potential to be a big problem."

"So he was taken like the two of you?" Scully asks.

"Yes, but he kept it a secret from almost everyone. No one where we live wants to hear the a-word, and he saw how bad it's been for Billy..." She pulls a folder out of the baby's diaper bag, which is something Mulder can relate to. He's used baby bags to carry definitively baby unrelated things over the years too. "His experiences were a lot more terrifying than mine. He was taken many times and tested. I have extensive medical records on him and photos of his scars."

Scully glances down at them to be polite, but she wants to hear more of Teresa's story. "Are you under the impression that he's been abducted again, and that's why he's missing?"

"I saw him taken with my own eyes, Agent Scully," Teresa says stiffly. "There's no impression about it."

"I'm sorry for my wording-" Scully begins, but the other woman cuts her off.

"It was last week. We'd stayed up late after going to a family b-b-q. I'd just put the baby down when I heard Ray shout. I ran towards are room, and it was absolutely flooded with light...Ray was holding his arms up over his face, but somehow he sensed I was there. 'Go hide!' he yelled, but I didn't. I meant to, but I couldn't leave him alone like that...then he was gone in a flash of light."

"I'm sorry." Mulder told her sincerely. At a loss, he wonders what it is that he might be able to do for the people sitting in front of him. Go with them or not, he's not going to be able to keep either of them from being abducted. Then inspiration hits. "Aren't you concerned about yourselves?"

"What?" Billy Miles asks.

"You've been abducted before. Aren't you worried that they're coming back to your town to collect the whole set of you?" Both of their guests' faces look immediately alarmed. "Maybe you should spend some time over here on the East Coast. Until things blow over."

"I don't know..."

Scully frowns a little at the young police officer. "If you stay maybe we'll think of a way to help Ray. At the moment I'm drawing a blank, and if Mulder had anything he'd of blurted it out by now."

Billy looks like he's going to object, but Teresa gives him a beseeching look. "Okay, maybe a few days. Can you recommend a good hotel?"

* * *

11 p.m.

To Mulder's surprise, Scully looks very sad when she lies down. Drawing her into his arms, he kisses her forehead and asks, "What's wrong?" ::You're supposed to be happier this today, but you don't look it.:: He thinks to himself.

"I feel bad for Teresa," Scully confesses. "To have gone through what she has, and to lose her husband too..."

"We don't know for sure that he's really gone," Mulder objects. "At least not for good. She and Billy came back, didn't they?" ::And Krycek did too. Oh shit, will they be looking for him now? No, no, we're not in Oregon. It will be fine.::

"Yes. But they weren't gone so long. Ray's been gone almost a week."

"He'll be back," Mulder tells her with a conviction he doesn't dare explain. ::Someday. He'll be back someday. And this time neither of us are going anywhere, Love. The danger is on the other side of the country.:: Yawning, he kisses her again. "Aren't you familiar with the expression 'don't borrow trouble'?"

"Of course."

"We'll think of something to get him back, Scully. But not now. It's late. We're both tired."

"Are you really tired?" Scully asks innocently, but she's trailing a lazy finger down his chest.

"Well, not that tired," Mulder tells her, before making her squeal in surprise by playfully pushing her over.

* * *

Outside

Krycek turns on his car, but doesn't bother with the headlights yet. Instead he drops his binoculars and flips open his phone and hits a number on his speed dial.

"Your worries seem pretty baseless to me, old man." He's still mentally cursing himself for peeking into Mulder and Scully's bedroom at the exact wrong time. Scully's an attractive woman, though he thinks she pales in comparison to her sister, but he'd just seen quite a lot more of Mulder than he ever bargained for. Missy would tell him it was karma for spying on family, he was sure. "It doesn't look like either of them have any intention of going to look for that UFO you misplaced."

"Are you sure?" The old man's voice is stringent.

"Pretty damn sure," Krycek growls into the phone.

"Then you won't have to look over your shoulder when you go and get it."

"Who says I'm going out there?" Krycek asks. Mulder isn't the only one who enjoys sharing a bed with a fiery redhead, and he's loath to leave Missy now, not with their engagement still shiny and new. It's had quite the positive effect on her libido, not that there was anything wrong with it before.

"Of course you will, Alex. If you don't-"

"If I don't, what?" Krycek asks harshly. "You're too weak to harm me, and in case you haven't noticed big chief, all your braves have been captured and executed by the Calvary."

"You'll do it, Alex. I know you."

"Fuck you," Krycek snaps the phone closed and puts on his lights. It's too late to tell Emily a bedtime story, but maybe he can tell one to Missy. One that involves acting scenes out. Perhaps something out of the Victorian age erotica collection The Pearl.

* * *

6:30 a.m.

"Mulder. Mulder, wake up."

At first Mulder squeezes his eyes more tightly shut and tries to hang onto his dream which involves him and Scully frolicking naked on a beach, but she's shaking his shoulder hard enough to make him dizzy. He looks up at her blurrily. "What?"

She looks upset. "They're gone. The hotel called and Teresa and Billy are gone."

"What?" Instantly awake, Mulder sits up quickly. "What do you mean they're gone? They checked out?"

"No. The baby was still there. Teresa wouldn't leave her. Get dressed, I told Skinner that we'd go and check it out."

Swearing silently, Mulder throws on some clothes and follows Scully out to the car.

* * *

Drawmore Hotel

Feeling a sick sense of déjà vu, Mulder quickly turns his head when a police officer walks by cradling Teresa's daughter in his arms. ::This can't be happening.:: He thinks to himself, but when they reach the room he knows that it is.

At first the room might just be mistaken for one that had hosted a wild party, perhaps one for bulls who had been thrown out of china shops. But there's more there than can be explained away by drunken exuberance.

Near the baby's borrowed crib, there's a puddle on the floor. It's mostly dry now, but it's faintly green and the carpet it rests on is singed, blacken by a chemical burn. Scully is looking down at it with concern. "We've seen something like this before. I lost a shoe to this stuff."

"I thought they'd be okay here," Mulder confesses, and his voice sounds a little broken. "I can't believe it came here after them."

"Don't blame yourself, Mulder," Scully soothes him. "You couldn't have known. I thought that they'd be okay here too. And if they weren't safe here, who's to say there's anywhere on Earth that would be safe?"

The thought sends a chill crawling up his spine. ::What if there are no safe havens?::

Both of them jump a foot when Billy's phone lets out a shrill burst of complaint. Mulder bends down and pushes talk, mostly to make it stop. "Hello?"

"Who's this?" a voice on the other end demands to know. "It's not Billy, I know that much."

"My name's agent Mulder. I'm an FBI agent. I'm sorry to tell you this, um,"

"Ritchie," the man supplies.

"Right. Ritchie. But it seems as though Billy and his friend Teresa have disappeared out of their hotel room. We're investigating that right now."

"Oh, shit." Richie moans. "I was calling to warn them because they got Gary, too."

Mulder doesn't need to ask who they are. "I'm sorry to hear that your friend is missing too."

"No man, you don't get it. He's not just missing, they fucking took him!"

"Who are you talking about?" Mulder feels he has to play dumb now.

"Do you know Billy, or are you just investigating him disappearing right now?"

"I worked on a case when he and his friends were abducted years back," Mulder tells him.

"Then you know about the aliens," he says, and waits for Mulder to object. When Mulder doesn't he goes on. "Me and Gary saw something last night, out in the woods. I figured that it could be one of those UFOs that everyone said Billy claims to have seen, so we went out there to take a look. I was shining my flashlight in the dark looking for the UFO and uh, the beam hit this spot in space - like it bent the light."

"And then what happened?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I yelled, 'Gary!' And I looked...but he wasn't there, you know? He wasn't anywhere, Man, and then the flashlight got really hot and I dropped it. I think it's still out there. Melted, probably."

"You got a pen, Richie?" Mulder asks him abruptly.

"Yeah, why?"

"Take down this number. Someone heading the investigation ought to be able to keep you up to date on what's going on here, and maybe you can tell them what you've told me. It might help."

"Sure." Richie snorts. "As if anyone is going to be able to bring him back."

"Stay positive," Mulder tells him before hanging up on him.

"Mulder, where are you going?" Scully asks as he quickly heads for the door.

"Men's room," he says, knowing that she won't follow him there.

Huddled in a stall, Mulder pulls out his own phone and dials a number. "Krycek, listen. There have been several abductees taken again in the last week. I know you've never talked to us about your experience, but given what Duane Barry was claiming before you disappeared, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened to you. Two people have disappeared from Oregon and two from DC. Watch your ass."

"I will." Is all Krycek gets out before Mulder disconnects the call.

* * *

Krycek's Apartment

Marita Covarrubias gives Krycek a somewhat interested look as she sips tea from a cup Missy gave him at one point. "Who was that?"

"Mulder," he says shortly. "There's been a change of plans. We're not going to Oregon."

"Why not?"

"Because we're being set up, that's why the hell not!" Krycek paces. "The old bastard is trying to get us sent off in the UFO, not have us find it. I don't care how much he's planning to pay us, I'm not going back with them again."

"It was terrible, then?" she asks, but her voice is almost totally devoid of sympathy.

"You know it was. They experimented on you too. Though in your case from the comfort of Earth."

"But you got her out of it." Marita points her thumb in the direction of Emily's photo.

"My only consolation, believe me. I'm not putting myself in the position of losing her now to make that old asshole happy. He can find some other patsy to do his dirty work when we fail to show up."

"We're going to see him, Alex," she says mildly. "I think we owe him an explanation in person. And perhaps something more..."

Krycek listens in rapt attention as she outlines what she has in mind. In another life, maybe he and this frosty blonde might have ended up together, he decides. But maybe they wouldn't because they're clearly two sides of the same coin.

* * *

Hoover Building

"Are you sure?" Mulder asks his wife. Who looks annoyed.

"I told you twice already that I don't mind staying here to talk to the gunmen while you and Skinner go run an errand. Although I wish I knew what that errand was."

"So do I," Mulder tells her. He can't imagine what Skinner is asking him to go and look at. His phone call fifteen minutes earlier had come as a complete surprise, especially considering that it was already after the time they ought to have left the office. On a normal night they might have missed him all together.

She throws her arms around him. "Be careful."

"Sure," he tells her. "I'll be back soon."

"Get a room." a sour voice says from the doorway. Mulder isn't surprised to see that it's Frohike.

"Jealousy is so unbecoming," Mulder quips and heads for his car.

"This is some really strange stuff," Langly comments a few minutes later. All three gunmen are pawing through the copies of medical records that Scully had faxed to her from Oregon.

Scully barely hears him because her attention is on the file she's holding. "This just can't be."

Frohike appears at her elbow and tries to make sense of what she's holding. "What are you looking at?"

"More medical records. Billy Miles and other known abductees from Bellefleur, Oregon all experienced anomalous brain activity."

"Electro-encephalitic trauma," Byers says, having located that in a file he's holding himself.

"Which is exactly what Mulder experienced earlier this year," Scully says in a small voice.

"Which means what, exactly?" Langly asks.

"It means we have to tell Mulder that he's in danger, too, not just the returnees." She reaches for the phone.

"What if it's just coinci-" Langly trails off as Scully pitches forward in a faint. He tries to catch her, but she manages to hit her forehead on the corner of the desk.

"Oh shit, that's going to leave a mark," he says as he lowers her the rest of the way to the ground. "Don't just stand there! Call an ambulance. And get Mulder on the phone."

The other gunmen are startled by his unusual assertiveness and pull out phones.

* * *

Meanwhile...  
The Watergate Apartments

When Krycek and Marita arrive, the smoking man is looking out the window with a disappointed expression.

"Looking for your ship?" Krycek taunts. "No one went to find it."

"We've failed, then. Perhaps you never meant to succeed. Anyway...the hour is at hand, I presume."

The nurse tries to keep Krycek from wheeling the smoking man out of the room, but Marita blocks her.

Nurse Greta looks alarmed. "What are you doing?"

"Sending the Devil back to Hell," Krycek says grimly. He then pushes the Cigarette Smoking Man's wheelchair to the top of a flight of stairs.

The Cigarette Smoking Man gives Krycek an ominous look. "As you do to Mulder and to me...you do to all of mankind, Alex."

"As if you and Mulder are the same type of man." Krycek snorts. "He's a fool, not evil."

After a moment he gives the wheelchair a fierce push, and watches impassively as the old man flies down the staircase and lands in a boneless heap at the bottom. However he does wince when the empty chair lands on the man. He and Marita exchange a look, then walk down the stairs, shove the chair out of the way and step over their nemesis.

Somewhere inside of the house there's a forlorn little cry. Neither Krycek nor Marita hears it as they walk off into the night.

* * *

Meanwhile...  
Somewhere in the Woods

"So," Mulder looks around where they're standing. "What are we doing out here? I'm guessing it's not for a weenie roast."

"There was a sighting out here last night," Skinner tells him. "I do pay attention to your reports now and again, Mulder."

::And of all the times to decide to!:: Mulder thinks nervously. ::I'm supposed to be avoiding UFOs not looking for them, dammit.:: "Right...Well, I don't see anything out here, do you?"

"No, not yet anyway," Skinner tells him as he studies the sky. It's dark earlier than usual, most likely because they've predicted rain.

"Maybe it was just a crackpot," Mulder suggests.

"I guess-" Both of their phones begin to ring. Skinner is quicker to answer his, and looks over at Mulder. "Scully passed out and hit her head. The gunmen are bringing her to the hospital. You can talk to them while we drive."

"Right," Mulder says before beginning to speak to Byers. "Do you have any idea why?"

He and Skinner climb into the car and take off. All thoughts of aliens are pushed out of Mulder's mind as his friend explains to him that she just fell for no apparent reason. "There's got to be a reason, Byers. People don't just faint for no-"

Skinner's car stutters to a stop. The lights won't work, and nothing happens when Skinner pushes on the gas. "Of all the times to break down..." Skinner mutters. "Hand me the flashlight under your seat, would you?"

"Sure." Mulder fishes it out and hand it over. "Do you think it's the alternator? My dad used to whack ours when it stopped working."

"Maybe," Skinner grunts and gets out of the car.

Skinner is still trying to get the hood up when it happens - a flood of white light fills the interior of the car. It's so bright that he's got to use an arm to shade his eyes, but he still sees Mulder's face. The other man looks both surprised and horrified.

"Mulder!" he shouts, running to the passenger side of the car. Before he can make it all the way there something like a giant invisible hand throws him back, and he lands heavily in the dirt. By the time he's on his feet the car is empty.

"Mulder?" Skinner looks up at the sky, and sees that the light is retracting towards a triangular ship that he hadn't noticed before. It hovers there for a moment, then zips away leaving Skinner to stare at the dark night sky in anguish.

* * *

Memorial Hospital  
That Night

Skinner looks a little lost when he timidly enters Scully's hospital room. She doesn't seem to notice him at first, but then she looks in his direction, and he's instantly tongue-tied.

"Agent Scully. How you feeling?" he asks at length.

"I'm feeling fine. They think it's just dehydration," Scully says thinly and touches her forehead. "No concussion, but I'll have a goose egg for a while. They ran a few tests to see if there was anything else that could have made me pass out but I'll probably be out of here tonight."

"Well...um..." Skinner looks pained, and it's clear that he's not going to be able to say what's on his mind.

Scully looks like she's about to cry herself, but she takes pity on him and softly says, "I already heard."

"I lost him." Skinner says in a broken voice. "I don't know what else I can say. I lost him. I'll be asked...what I saw. And what I saw, I can't deny. I won't."

"We will find him. I have to." Scully's tears overflow. Skinner is about to leave, but pauses when she begins to speak again. "I can't raise six kids on my own. I mean...I'm capable, but I just can't do this without him."

"We'll get him back." Skinner repeats.

"Yes." She agrees because neither of them can allow themselves to think otherwise.

* * *

Later  
Missy's House

Missy gives her fiancé a frustrated and confused look. "I still don't understand."

"I told you. There's someone watching the kids. They could be in danger."

"I know. But explain how that connects to your bizarre desire to move yourself and Emily into my sister's house." Missy complains.

He takes a deep breath. "How else am I going to keep them all safe? I told you when the twins were born that I'd look after those kids. I mean to do it."

"Alex, that's noble but..." It is only with effort that she doesn't snap at him that nobility is not something that's normally one of his motivating factors.

"And Fox asked me to look after them. You don't want me to break a promise, do you? Besides, I'm just talking about nights. When they're most vulnerable."

"But what if I'm not willing to include my child in this plan?" she asks, beginning to sound angry.

"Our child!" he snaps. "You know you want her to be safe, Missy. You know it."

"But I don't want her away from me every night!"

He gives her a long look. "We don't always get what we want. Sometimes we have to do what's best for others instead. If I could be two places at once, I would be, but it's not possible."

"You have all the answers, don't you," she says icily.

"This time I do," he says evenly.

Eventually Missy succumbs to his logic and gives in.


	90. Within

Early September 2000  
Hours Later

The sky is beginning to bleed pink into dark blue as Skinner's car pulls into Mulder and Scully's driveway. He glances over at his passenger and sees that her eyes are closed. "We're here." he says purposely a little too loud, hoping that he won't have to do more to wake her.

"Thanks for the ride," Scully says to his relief.

"No problem. One of Mulder's strange friends said that they'll bring your car by later this morning."

"Great." Scully covers her mouth to trap a yawn.

"Whose car is that, though?" Skinner asks, pointing.

"You don't even want to know." Skinner stares, since for the first time in hours she's showing emotion. Annoyance. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Right." Skinner tries to think of something supportive or otherwise inspirational to say, but fails. She's already heading for the door, so he shrugs and backs out of the driveway.

* * *

It's very quiet in the house. Scully feels guilty for not having been there to help Michelle get the kids to bed, but morning will come soon enough and with it the necessity of telling the kids that Mulder is missing.

There's light spilling out in the hallway from under the door of Michelle's room, so Scully knocks softly.

When she opens the door, Scully finds herself struck by how young the nanny looks. Scully is only ten years older, but the weight of the world is making her feel twice the girl's age. If not more. "Dana! I wasn't expecting you to be home for hours."

"You weren't waiting up?"

"No. I couldn't sleep so I decided to read for a while." Scully could see a book lying spine up on a chair. "So, they released you. You're okay, then."

"It was just dehydration. I'll be fine." She finds herself thinking that it's nothing 48 hours of sleep couldn't cure. Not that she'd even be getting eight.

"I'm sorry-" Michelle begins, but Scully cuts her off.

"Right now we're operating on the assumption that he'll be fine. Please don't offer condolences just yet."

A faint pink creeps across the nanny's cheeks, and Scully feels a modicum of guilt when she mumbles "Of course."

"Where's Alex?" Scully asks, glad for a change of subject. "I saw his car out front. Did he come with my sister?"

"In the guest room, and no." Michelle gives her an anxious look. "He insisted on spending the night since you weren't here. That's okay, isn't it?"

"Yes. I'm going to go talk to him. Good night."

"You too." The light is doused seconds after Michelle closes the door, so Scully decides that she must be trying to sleep again.

It's not okay with her that Krycek is there without Missy, but she upset the girl enough without complaining about that too. And it's not as though the nanny could have kept him out if he was bound and determined to get in.

Too tired to spare any diplomacy for her sister's beau, Scully opens the door without knocking and flips a switch, flooding the room with light.

"Krycek."

He sits up and rubs a fist across his eyes. "They let you out sooner than I expected," he says before yawning.

"Why are you here?" she bluntly demands to know.

"I promised."

"Promised who?"

"Mulder. I promised if anything happened to him I'd help you protect the kids."

"From who?"

"It's a little complicated-"

"Never mind. We'll talk about it later." Scully walks away, unaware that she'd see a look of astonishment on his face if she turned around.

* * *

Morning

Without Mulder there, Scully barely sleeps. It's not the first time that he's been gone, and not even the first time she didn't know when he'd be back. But it is the first time since she met him that she ever truly wondered if he would be back. Given this, she only makes it to the shallows of sleep, rarely pulled under by deeper waves. Any time that she does manage to dream, it's of terrible things happening to Mulder, and that makes her afraid to sleep, too.

When she forces herself to get out of bed, she feels as though she didn't sleep at all. It hardly comes as a surprise to find both nanny and pest in the hallway when she exits the room.

"Are the kids still asleep?" she asks them.

"Yeah."

"Good. Let them sleep in."

"Okay," Michelle says quickly. "What are we going to tell them when they wake up?"

It was a good question. It was her first instinct to just tell them that Mulder was away on a case by himself. Since he'd done it before, they'd accept that explanation. It wouldn't work, though. People were bound to forget that Page and Sammy were old enough to understand if someone slipped up in front of them.

"The truth," Scully says at length.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Krycek asks worriedly.

She glares at him. "They're bound to find out, so they'd feel scared and betrayed, instead of just scared. And I want to talk to you in private. Now."

Michelle excuses herself, but the other two barely notice. "Why did you say that Mulder asked you to protect the kids?"

"Because he did ask me to."

When she looks at his face, he seems to be telling the truth, which only convinces her that he has become a better liar. "Why would he do that?"

To her surprise, he sighs. "I knew you'd never just accept the simple truth. Here, let me show you."

Once he's in the guest room, he digs through a duffel bag and takes out a folder which he hands to her. "He asked me to help you protect the kids if anything happened to him just after he saw these."

As she looks through the photos, it becomes much more plausible that Mulder extracted that promise from someone he can't stand. "He asked because you're ruthless."

"Yes. And an interested party." His finger points at Emily in a picture. "Someone has been watching the kids for a long time. I don't know who."

"The smoking-"

Krycek shakes his head. "No. Marita stole the pictures from his mail. He didn't send them to himself."

"So we have other enemies," Scully says bitterly.

"Don't we always?" Krycek doesn't sound cynical, which makes her unaccountably sad. "I know you'll hate me for it, but I'm going to stay here until Mulder gets back. I owe him a debt and it's time to repay it."

He didn't say 'if he comes back' which is probably why she doesn't refuse immediately. Instead she tries a different tactic. "What about your kid? Whoever our 'friend' is, they've been watching her too."

"I know. I've been giving Missy some shooting lessons, but I think she'll be safer spending the nights with us."

Scully grits her teeth. The idea of not one, but two more people in the house doesn't fill her with joy. The thought of boarding houses is summoned up and quickly dismissed. "Right. We can put a bed in Page's room."

Krycek studies her face, but she doesn't protest, which is obviously what he's been expecting. "Missy wants her tonight, though. So she can get her ready for the first day of school."

Which, Scully realizes, is the next morning. "Fine."

* * *

When the kids wake up later in the morning, Scully kisses the little ones but gathers Page, Sammy and April and brings them to her room. Although she doesn't realize it as she settles them on the bed, this is the second time they've received bad news there in just a few months.

Before she can even think of where to begin, Sammy gets to the point. "Where's Daddy?"

"That's something we need to talk about," Scully says softly. "Daddy is missing."

"What's missing?" April wants to know.

"It means we don't know where he is," Scully tells her.

"He's lost?" Page asks.

"Yes. He's lost."

"He should ask for directions."

Even though she's depressed, it's all Scully can do not to laugh. "Not that sort of lost, Sweetie. I mean that we don't know where he is, not that he doesn't know where he is."

"Why not?"

Scully stares at her children. Even though she swore to tell them the truth, there's no way that she's going to tell her children that their father was abducted by aliens. It would frighten them, and despite her high opinion of Skinner, she's not sure she believes his account. "His phone isn't working, so we can't figure out where he is."

"Is he hurt?" Sammy asks. "Like in the hospital?"

"No. I don't think he's hurt." And she hopes that he isn't. "Just lost."

"Will he be home soon?" Page asks.

"I don't know when he will be home. We'll all have to pray that he will be home soon," Scully tells them.

"Okay."

"Guys, even though we're going to pray, it might be a while before he's home. I hope not, but I want you to know that now."

"But I want him home now!" April says, surprising her mother with her outburst.

"So do I. So do I."

* * *

The Next Morning

Mulder is missing, but life goes on. Even for Scully. Less than 36 hours after being released from the hospital, she's already submerged in day to day life. Still, her mind wanders constantly.

"Are you done, Mommy?" Page looks impatient and Scully feels mild surprise that she's been holding a hairbrush for who know how long.

"Uh, sure." Page's straight blonde hair looks neat, so Scully must have brushed it. "You look great."

"Thanks. Is Emily gonna be in my class?"

First grade, Scully thinks. Her first day of real school and her daddy is missing it.

"Mom?"

"Yes. I forgot to tell you that Auntie Missy called me a couple of days ago to say so." Just then a car appears in the driveway. Scully looks out the window and a familiar redhead is behind the wheel. "It looks like they're here now."

"Yay!" Page grabs Scully's hand and pulls her towards the door. Mulder was going to bring Page to school so Scully could take Sammy and April to meet their new teachers. Missy volunteered to fill in for Mulder, and though Scully's grateful to her sister, she can't help but feel that Page ought to have a parent their too.

Page, however, doesn't seem upset that her mother has made the painful choice between her and her timid three-year-old sister. In fact, she smiles up at Scully and says, "Tell April that preschool is fun and the teachers are nice."

"I will. Give me a kiss."

Page does, and is about to skip off when Scully stops her. "Wait. I almost forgot to take a picture of you."

"For Daddy," Page says, quietly breaking Scully's heart.

* * *

Missy is in no hurry to get the kids to school, so Scully takes the opportunity to speak to her while the girls go to look for something they absolutely must bring with them. A toy of some sort. She wishes her life was so uncomplicated.

"You have to talk to him, Missy. The last thing I need is your boyfriend underfoot-" Scully says as soon as they're alone.

"Fiancé," Missy corrects.

"What?" Scully gapes at her.

"I'm sorry, Dana... I was hoping to break the news at a happier time, but I'm not sure there's going to be one any time soon."

"Are you pregnant or something?" Scully asks impatiently.

"I don't know yet," Missy admits.

"So Krycek asked you to marry him, what, to do the right thing? That's a first."

"Dana! First of all, I said I don't know yet. And second, I hadn't planned on saying anything to him until after I know one way or the other, so you can just cross that off your list of possible motives. Not all men are like Fox."

Scully stares at her, torn between saying it's a pity, or a blessing. Missy doesn't notice. "Aren't you at least a little happy for me? It's the stable family thing you and Bill have been wishing on me forever."

"Missy-"

She hurries on before Dana can make a swipe at Alex's likelihood at providing stability. "And I think a little brother or sister would be a good thing for Emily. She's a sweetheart but even I can tell she's not as mature as Page. And I've wanted a little boy since you and Fox had David and Jared..."

Scully gives her head a slight shake in effort to clear it. "You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"So this is surprise, not disapproval?" Missy asks archly.

"Yeah. I'm happy for you. Really. But I want him out of my house, and in yours."

"So do I. But he's a stubborn man."

"You're well matched there," Scully says pointedly.

"Yes, of course. I'm the only hard-headed Scully," Missy says dryly. She notices that the kids are back and grabs her purse. "Come on, girls."

* * *

As Scully's fingers brush the lump on her forehead, she hisses in pain and drops the foundation she's been trying to apply to it into the sink. Her fingers automatically reach for it, but she stops. It's not as though a bit of flesh colored makeup is going to disguise her injury.

Instead she stares hard at her reflection. Although it has only been a couple of days since Mulder's disappearance, and since she was last able to sleep soundly, unattractive purple rings her eyes like faint bruises. The fact that she's pale only serves to accentuate them. Without quite planning to, she grips the edges of the sink and leans her head against the mirror with a sigh.

"Mommy?"

She looks up quickly, and sees that her younger daughter is staring at her with some concern. "What's up, Sweetie?" Scully asks, trying to pull herself together, if only for April's sake. April didn't have too much to say about anticipating her first day of preschool, so Scully wonders if that's what's on her mind now that she realizes that she'll be going soon.

April sits on the closed lid of the toilet and doesn't say anything at first. She seems occupied by swinging her feet and letting her slippers bump against the porcelain. Eventually her bright brown eyes lock onto Scully's tired ones. "We're going to miss Daddy for a long time."

Something like fear ceases Scully's heart for a second, at least it doesn't until she chides herself for being dumb enough to believe even for a second that Mulder is dead and their daughter somehow knows this. "Why do you say that?" she asks carefully.

April shrugs her little shoulders. "He's far and far 'way."

"We don't know that for sure," Scully tells her quickly.

"Uncles said," April replies stubbornly.

Scully sighs. She knew that telling the kids was the right thing to do, and clearly this has just been proven. There's no way the lot she knows would be able to keep a secret of that magnitude. "They're good guys, April, but they're just speculating." Upon seeing her daughter's blank look, she adds. "I mean they're just guessing. Daddy could be back very soon."

"Yeah," April says, slipping off the toilet and running for the door. "But he won't."

Bewildered, Scully just stares after her. There's still twenty minutes to go before she has to drop Sammy and April off, and it's already been a long morning.

* * *

Hoover Building  
An Hour Later

Scully's way into the basement office is blocked by several men who are ransacking the office. None of them bother to look up when she gets there.

She blinks in disbelief before asking "What are you people doing? This is my office."

One agent looks up and gives her a cool look before returning to what he was doing. "I realize that."

"Why are you here?" She demands to know.

"We're gathering evidence."

"For?"

"If we're going to locate agent Mulder, we need these things."

"You're wasting your time here-"

"With all due respect, Agent Scully, your opinion doesn't count for much."

This makes her bristle. "How am I supposed to work with all of you in here?"

"Scully?" She looks up at a touch to her shoulder.

"Skinner, did you know about this?"

"Not until I got here a few minutes ago."

"How am I supposed to get anything-"

"Don't worry about that for now. We're supposed to go have a conversation with someone. The one in charge of looking for Mulder."

"Who?"

"Our brand-new deputy director. Alvin Kersh."

"You're not serious."

"Wish I weren't," Skinner says. He steers her towards their destination.

* * *

Kersh's Old Office

Kersh looks up from packing things from his desk into a box. "A.D. Skinner, Agent Scully. Thanks for getting right over. I don't want to lose any time. We have one of our own missing and the only acceptable outcome is that we find him safe and alive. I'm sure the two of you agree."

"That goes without saying, sir," Skinner agrees, but he grimaces, as if nearly choking on the "sir."

"Doubly for agent Scully, I'm sure." Kersh bobs his chin in her direction. She doesn't in any way dispute his assumption. "Good. This comes at a stressful time, with my new appointment. But I'm thankful for your cooperation in the hunt for Mulder."

Scully gives him a look of mild disbelief. "Our cooperation? With due respect, there aren't two people better qualified to be directing this action, sir. We could be doing so much more if-"

Kersh shoots her a disapproving look. "We never assign people this close to a case like this, I'm sure you're aware. Right now, you and A.D. Skinner are our best leads to explain Mulder's disappearance. I want your statement taken ASAP."

"Your tone makes us out to be suspects, sir," Scully says and Kersh stares at her.

"Taken by who?" Skinner asks.

"My task force leader on this, Special Agent John Doggett. He's waiting to hear from you now." Scully's eyes widen in surprise, but she starts to follow Skinner. Kersh stops them with a look. "One more thing. Anything leaves this building about aliens or alien abductions or any other nonsense that might cast the Bureau in a ridiculous light - you can forget about helping to look for Agent Mulder. You'll both be looking for new jobs instead." He looks back down at his packing. "That's all."

Once they're out in the hallway, Scully looks up at Skinner. "I don't believe this."

"This isn't about finding Mulder. This is about Kersh covering the FBI's ass," Skinner gripes.

"Why do I get the feeling they'd be happy if we never found him at all?"

"Look... I saw what I saw. I have to make a statement in there. I'm not going to tell them it didn't happen," Skinner reassures her.

"Well, you heard Kersh. They don't want the truth. You give them the truth, and they'll hang you with it."

Skinner shakes his head. "They can hang me with a lie, too. I'm not going to sell Mulder out."

"What good are you to Mulder if you give them the power to ruin your career?" she asks, and he doesn't answer. "We will find him, but not by committing career suicide."

Even as she says it, the memory of April's innocence conviction that it would be a long time until they saw Mulder again returned unbidden.

"We'll bring him home soon," Skinner says, which doesn't reassure her much.

* * *

They no sooner enter the bullpen than a man they know to be agent Crane is rushing over to accost them.

Crane exudes an air of all business, which briefly reminds Scully of the old saw about all work and no play. Something that definitely does not apply to her boyish spouse.

His attention, however, is focused on Skinner rather than her. "Assistant Director, you can come on back with me. Agent Scully, I'll ask you to please wait on the wall until we call you." Skinner reluctantly follows him, and the look he gives Scully makes her worry what he's going to say when they take his statement.

Scully goes to sit, but a man already seated stands suddenly and crosses the distance between them. It only comes as a mild surprise when he enfolds her in a hug. "Dana, how are you holding up?" His blue eyes are filled with concern.

"About as well as can be expected, John," Scully says, sighing deeply. "I was startled when Kersh said you'd be heading the task force to find Mulder."

Doggett nods slightly. "I volunteered for the duty. They probably think I thought it would be a good career move." He doesn't need to elaborate on which They he means. "How are the kids taking it?"

Scully spreads her hands helplessly. "The big kids are upset, the little ones confused. Christopher looks for Mulder everywhere..." Tears begin to prick at her eyelids, but she forces them down. "And to make matters worse, my sister's finance decided to move in to help out."

"Why does that make things worse?" Doggett asks curiously.

She laughs, a short, brittle bark. "There's nothing like having a double agent in the house. I don't even want him in her house."

"If this guy worries you-"

Scully pats Doggett on the arm. "That's sweet, John, but he's not like that. I might dislike him intently, but I'm not worried about him being a danger to me or the kids. To strangers, maybe, but he takes this family business seriously. He and my sister have been dating for years, and they have a daughter. Who is also living with us at night, but that's a different gripe."

"Ah," Doggett says, seeming to be at a loss.

"So," Scully says, trying to sound more cheerful. "Which one of the kids hates you more for the move?"

Doggett smirks. "That would be Hannah, surprisingly. I thought that Luke would be the more upset given that he's in high school, but he said that his school was full of 'losers' so he doesn't mind the fresh start. Hannah, on the other hand, is devastated by the loss of her preschool classmates who are going to be in kindergarten together without her. She's spent the last 36 hours sulking."

"Maybe you can make her happy by bringing her over to play with my girls and my niece. If there's anything my house has, it's an excess of playmates."

"That would be nice. We should do that sometime soon."

When Skinner comes back out to tell her Crane wants to speak to her next, he looks surprised to see her chatting easily with Doggett. Before she goes to Crane, she says "This is agent Doggett. Mulder broke his son's leg a million years ago...so we've known each other a while."

"My kids and I crashed at their house for four months," Doggett tells Skinner cheerfully.

"Oh, you were the house guest," Skinner says a bit gruffly, but more nicely than Scully would expect him to treat what he must consider an interloper.

They're already beginning to talk about Mulder when Scully leaves them.

* * *

That Night

It makes Scully ache when she notices that Page and Sammy are putting on a brave face, and trying to distract the twins, who have been clingy since she got home. Trying not to sigh again, she calls them over and kisses them both on the tops of their heads. "Hey, I've got to get these guys into the tub. Why don't you go play Legos before bed?"

"Okay, Mommy," Sammy agrees with a serious nod of his head.

"Don't leave any on the floor for the baby to find later, okay?"

"Yeah," they agree, then go and find April and Emily to play with them.

It doesn't take her long coax David and Jared up the stairs ahead of her and Christopher. Five minute later the tub fills while she undresses the three little boys. All of them are fascinated by bubbles, so she puts a lot in to distract them before sitting Christopher in the tub chair. Then she gives them their toy boats.

While her youngest sons laugh and splash each other, she takes a pregnancy test. It's not the best time of the day for it, but she's pretty sure, so it'd only be confirming what she thinks she already thinks she knows.

Five minutes more tick by while she washes the boys' hair.

Once she looks at the results she flips down the toilet seat and sits down. Then she covers her face with her hands and cries. It's the first time since they've been married that Mulder wasn't nearby to learn the results of a pregnancy test. Deep in her heart she's already sure that it'll be longer before he finds out than when she was nervous to tell him that she was carrying Page. Something tells her it might be much longer.

When the three little men in tub get bored, she dries her face, rinses them off, and dries them too with big fluffy towels. Just a few minutes later all three are dressed in blue sleepers that are decorated with stars, and she at least is ready for them to go to bed.

Christopher is asleep almost as soon as his head hits the crib mattress, but David and Jared don't seem to look at their younger brother as an inspiration, but watch impassively from the vicinity of their mother's knees until she takes them by the hand and leads them down the hall to their room. "Come on," she encourages gently, and they toddle along willingly enough.

One bedtime story later, both pairs of hazel eyes are beginning to droop. Eventually they both sigh and lie down in the cribs that she and Mulder have been meaning to replace with toddler beds. Standing, she closes the book and puts it back on the shelf. She's about to leave the room when a small voice stops her. "When Daddy home?"

She turns back, and sees David's inquisitive look. How do you explain a situation like this to someone barely two years old? Shaking her head, she just says "Soon, Baby," and turns off the light.

A quick look into Page's room reassures her that the other children are still playing peacefully, so she goes to the master bedroom to write an e-mail to the gunmen.

* * *

Her fingers are flying across the keyboard as she fills the gunmen in about Kersh's insane manhunt, but even over the steady clicking, she hears the familiar squeak of the floorboard outside her bedroom door. Glancing at the doorway, she notices that something is blocking the dim light that spills under it at the edges.

She gets up, and hauls the door open, expecting to see one of her children on the other side. To her surprise, there's a faint noise as something plastic breaks, and it only takes her a second to realize that the hallway nightlight has just been assaulted. She turns her head to see who could have kicked the light out of the socket and soon sees a shadowed figure moving rapidly down the hallway.

A figure much too large to be one of the kids or even the nanny.

"Alex?" She calls tentatively, but the man, and she's now sure that it's a man, doesn't turn to look at her. She's only a couple of feet from her room, so she makes the decision to grab her gun out of the nightstand. It seems to take her forever to unlock that drawer and jam a clip into her weapon, but she and Mulder agreed when Page was a baby to always keep their weapons unloaded and locked away.

The figure is already thundering down the stairs when Scully returns to the hallway. "Stop!" she calls, but she is ignored. Thankful that she's not wearing any shoes that would slow her down, she races down the stairs herself, barefoot.

He gives her chase, and she's soon running in the yard, trying not to slip on the grass that the sprinklers have watered since dark. Whoever he is, he races ahead, and she collides with someone who steps out into her path.

Before she can land on her butt, strong arms catch her. "What are you doing?" Krycek asks her, giving her a look that seems to wonder if she's lost her mind.

"Following someone. I saw someone in the house- There!" She points, and Krycek turns to see someone run past the potting shed. In the faint light still exuded by the solar spotlight, they see a glimpse of a man's face. A face that looks a lot like Mulder's.

"Mulder!" Krycek shouts, and gives chase himself. It doesn't surprise Scully much when her future brother-in-law returns, alone and panting. He bends over for a second, with his hands on his knees. When he's able to talk again, he looks up at her. "He just disappeared. Why would Mulder run away from us?"

"I'm not sure that was Mulder," Scully says.

"What are you talking about?" Krycek asks, then understanding dawns on his face. "Do you think it's one of... them?"

"Mulder wouldn't run from us," Scully says grimly. "We better go in. In case it comes back."

Krycek shivers, despite the fact that it's still in the 70s. "Are you worried that-"

"I'm worried about everything," Scully says before heaving a heavy sigh.

* * *

Hours Later

Krycek's bladder wakes him out of a sound sleep, and he pads down the hallway towards a bathroom. The nanny's room, like the master bedroom, has a bathroom attached, but not the room that he's crashing in. As he leans a hand against the wall to help him keep his sleepy balance, Krycek finds himself marginally grateful that the toilets in these other bathrooms are full-size and not extra small like those in the elementary schools.

While he washes his hands he notices bathrobes that can only belong to Sammy and Page. There's as much stuff in the room that speaks of little boy ownership as for his sister, but Krycek imagines that will change in a few years. At least there are four boys, not four girls, given they'll be sharing bathrooms during their teen years.

He's about to return to his room when he hears snuffling coming from the baby's room. Before his daughter landed in his life, he would have been able to walk on by without any pangs of conscience, but fatherhood has changed him, so he finds himself opening the door.

Christopher is standing up in his crib, his tearstained face turned towards the door. For a moment he looks surprised to see Krycek, and then a little scared. Krycek smiles at him. "Hey, Chris. It's Uncle Alex. Remember me?"

At the sound of his voice, Christopher calms down and holds out his arms. Krycek picks him up, only a little awkwardly, with his good arm. "Let's go see Mommy, huh?"

Krycek knocks softly at Scully's door before turning the knob. To his dismay, she hadn't woken up. He considers waking her for a moment, at least until he realizes that she's sleeping with one of Mulder's shirts clutched in her hands. The tail end of it is near her nose and he bets that it smells like the missing man.

It's not something she'd want people to know, he realizes instinctually. She wouldn't want people to know that she's missing her husband so desperately, that there are cracks in the stoic facade she's thrown up since they got the news that Mulder is missing. He backs out of the room as quietly as he can. He won't even tell Missy.

Back in the hallway he wonders if he ought to wake up the nanny, but that seems like a bigger hassle than just helping the baby himself. "So which is it, Kid, hungry or wet?" He eyes the little boy speculatively, and decides that he's probably too old to be waking up in the middle of the night to be fed. Probably.

At the changing table he discovers that his instincts were correct. It doesn't take him nearly as much effort to change a diaper as he thought it would. Then again, if Mulder could do it, why couldn't he? "If Missy and I give you any more cousins, I guess I could do this part," he whispers to Christopher.

Christopher smiles up at him, but his eyes are drooping. Once he's gotten the sleeper buttoned back up, he ruffles the little boy's hair. "You know, I wonder if you and your big sister are going to stay blonds. Missy said that her dad was a blond too, until he was in his mid-teens. Your mom's pretty lucky having a sister and brothers. You too, of course. Who has more brothers and sisters than you? I always wanted some myself." It doesn't strike him strange to be confessing this to a one-year-old, given that the boy won't tell on him. "What I really wanted was a big brother, but it's sort of hard to get one of those."

Eventually the regularity of Christopher's breathing tells Krycek that it's safe to go back to bed. For just a second he finds himself pretending that he's the one who grew up with a houseful of siblings who might have protected him.

* * *

Hover Building  
Morning

Although efforts were made to clean up after agents ransacked the office, everything looks slightly off. At first Scully was determined to set things to rights, but she ran out of steam not long into the project.

Feeling tired of everything, she sits down and stares at Mulder's poster. Its single line of text is wrapped against her ring finger, and she wonders if Mulder's still wearing his wedding ring, or if it has been taken from him too.

"Dana?"

She looks up at the use of her first name, since it's a rarity at work. "Yes?"

"I've been hoping to talk to you alone," Doggett says, closing the door.

"Why?"

"I've talked to a lot of people, but I haven't gotten to ask you what you think happened to your husband."

"I don't know," she says, suddenly feeling wary. The look on his face suggests that he's heard a theory, and doesn't like it.

"Really? You're the only one who doesn't seem certain that they know what happened to him." Scully has to concentrate on not squirming like a naughty child when his icy blue eyes lock onto hers. "I'm sure you've heard the prevailing theory, though, that he was abducted by aliens?"

"I've heard it."

"But do you believe it?" She doesn't say anything, and he seems to take it for a yes. "I guess I just find it hard to swallow that a scientist, a serious person, could buy that. Ever see an alien, Dana?"

Scully bristles, hurt that someone she thought of as a friend could divorce that relationship from a case. "You want me to go on record? I will go on record to say this - that I have seen things that I cannot explain. I have observed phenomena that I cannot deny. And that as a scientist and a serious person it is a badge of honor not to dismiss these things because someone thinks they're B.S."

"So you think he was abducted?" Doggett asks.

"I don't know." She shakes her head. "Wherever he is now, he didn't go willingly."

Doggett is beginning to look frustrated. "Let's look at this logically. I know you trust AD Skinner, so I understand why you want to believe him. But what exactly does his story amount to? He put the hood to the car up, and while he was looking at the engine the interior of the car was filled with a bright light. He tripped. Agent Moldah wasn't in the car when he picked himself up. Why does that story say 'alien abduction' rather than another type of abduction? The man has enemies. Maybe the bright light was the headlights of an SUV."

"And the shape Skinner said he saw in the sky?" Scully asks.

"A low flying aircraft," Doggett says dismissively. "Can you tell me it's less plausible than the theory your boss has pinned his beliefs on?"

"No."

"All right then." Doggett looks somewhat relieved. The phone in his pocket begins to ring. "Sorry. I have to take this."

"You won't get much reception down here. Too many metal beams in the basement You're better off stepping outside," Scully tells him with a straight face.

"Thanks for the tip."

As soon as he leaves, she picks up the phone on Mulder's desk. "Skinner? Doggett's not going to be any help. He's dead-set against the mere possibility of alien abduction... I thought we could keep him in the loop, but it doesn't seem wise."

Doggett returns a couple of minutes later. "That was security. They have a record of Moldah having been here late last night."

* * *

Scully, Skinner and Doggett meet with the rest of the Taskforce in the Bullpen. Agent Crane is wearing a pained expression. He motions for them to take a seat, and they do with some reluctance.

"As you probably know, someone came into this office after hours and removed some material. Files. We don't know exactly what just yet." Crane says. He seems to think that they know exactly what he's getting at. They don't.

"Who did?" Skinner asks.

"The office here is secured by a pass-card lock and whoever came in last night used the pass-card belonging to Agent Mulder."

"You think Agent Mulder took the files?"

"We're wondering about Agent Mulder's state of mind. In your statement you said prior to his disappearance Agent Mulder had felt threatened by the FBI."

"No, no," Skinner denies. "No, that's not what I said. I said he felt the X-Files were threatened by budget cutting. There was an accountant here just last week, and he made the usual threat."

"Is there anything you're not telling us about Agent Mulder or his attitude? Do you think he'd ever retaliate against the FBI?" Crane asks.

"Agent Mulder was only after the truth."

"As are we, Assistant Director," Kersh says, glowering at the agents. None of them are cowed. Scully bites her tongue to keep from voicing her opinion on his personal quest for the truth.

"Agent Scully, Where were you last night?"

"I was at home," Scully tells him calmly. "With my children."

Crane nods, then turns to Skinner. "We see from your phone log, you were here until at least after 10:00."

"You think I came in here last night using Agent Mulder's pass-card?" Skinner asks, disbelief evident in his voice.

"You were the last person to see Mulder."

"Am I being accused of something?" he asks belligerently.

Crane doesn't have an answer for him. At least not one that comes from speaking aloud. He gets up and walks off without another word, and Skinner is hot on his heels, repeating his question.

Scully looks at Doggett. "Skinner is telling the truth. There's no way he'd lie about Mulder going missing in his presence."

"I believe him," Doggett says. "But that still doesn't tell us who used Moldah's card to get in there."

"You think it was Mulder?"

"If not him, then who?"

Scully doesn't answer him.

Doggett sighs. "All right. I got some light on this. Maybe you can help me out here, Agent Scully."

Scully gives him another wary look; his sudden use of her title strikes her as too business-like after his earlier familiarity. "What is it?"

Doggett hands her a file. "Agent Moldah's medical records-recent stuff, over the last year. Did you know about a medical condition? Either of you?"

"Yes, of course," Skinner says impatiently from the doorway. Scully only nods.

"So a year ago, he was hospitalized. Something to do with his brain?"

"There was a problem with his temporal lobe," Scully acknowledges.

Doggett pokes a finger at Mulder's file. "An undiagnosable condition, it says. Irregular brain activity."

"For a little while, yes. Then he got better," Skinner tells him.

Doggett shakes his head. "But he was back in the hospital again in October, wasn't he?"

Scully looks away. "Someone tried to 'cure' him by doing some brain surgery. It seemed to work. But he got an infection and it was hard to shake it. He was back in the hospital in October and sick again, though not as badly, off and on for months after that."

"But he recovered," Skinner objects. "There was a full recovery."

"When was that?" Doggett asks.

"In May," Scully tells him. "He was given a clean bill of health on the tenth of May," she adds, unwilling to talk about how Mulder had come home miraculously cured after his encounter with the sin eater.

"You're sure about the date?"

"Positive. It was just three weeks before we lost our youngest daughter."

Doggett blinks in shock. "You lost a baby?"

She shrugs and has trouble meeting his eyes. "I was involved in a car accident and the baby came too soon. She was stillborn."

"I'm so sorr,." Doggett sputters.

"It's hard, but you go on. We both tried to move on." Scully thinks about Mulder coaxing her to try again. The thought of whether or not that had been a good idea considering current circumstances surfaces, but she pushes it firmly away. Mulder will be back soon.

"Did he?" Doggett asks softly.

"What are you getting at?" Skinner demands to know.

"It's clear that this has been a rough year for him. To be so sick, to lose a baby... any person might crack under the strain."

"Don't be foolish," Skinner snaps at him. "You make it sound like he lost his mind and ran away."

"Mulder wouldn't leave his kids," Scully says adamantly. But even as she says the words, she's reminded of the close call their marriage had in the spring. Mulder was prepared to walk away then, if that was what she wanted him to do.

"Are you sure? I would have said the same thing about my ex-wife, right up until the day she told me she was leaving me." There's bitterness in Doggett's voice. "How far would Moldah go to find his truth? Are you sure he wouldn't take the opportunity if it arose?"

"The opportunity for what?"

"To end the mysteries in his life. Whatever it was he was trying to prove, how bad did he need to prove it?"

Scully feels a weight crushing her as she admits the truth. "It was his whole life once upon a time. But that was before. Before we got married."

Skinner looks confused. "Agent Doggett, what are you trying to say?"

"That Agent Moldah probably found himself in a place none of us want to go. Life-threatened, work-threatened, and all for naught. Nothing proven. The effort in vain. No motivation to go on left. Unless he rolled the dice, took one big last chance to make it."

"You think that Mulder was here? That he broke in to steal those files?"

"I don't see who else it could have been."

"Why?" Skinner asks. "To prove what he's known all along?"

"Or cover it up. Create doubt. To protect his kids by destroying evidence. I get Moldah, I really get him. I understand obsession, believe me. But the question is, how far would he go? I mean, so far as to stage his own disappearance?"

Skinner looks outraged. "Scully, I know what I saw. I not going to sit here and listen to this. I watched it happen."

Scully stares at Doggett. "Please don't report your suspicions. As a friend, John, I'm asking that you don't tell anyone that you suspect anything like that."

"I don't plan to. It wouldn't help anyone to find him, since we have no idea where he'd go." Doggett leaves them there, and they watch him, suspicious of what he's up to now.

When they're alone, Skinner puts his hand on Scully's shoulder. "I don't believe any of that."

"Neither do I," Scully says, but her voice is a bit shaky. "He wasn't depressed. He wanted to..." She trails off, not quite ready to tell anyone about her pregnancy. "He wanted to celebrate the fact that he's better. We had plans... he wouldn't leave on his own."

"I know."

Thinking about what Doggett said, however, she wonders briefly if he would leave to protect the kids. It's possible that he got a lead on whoever it was that was watching their family and Missy's and went to find the guilty party. She dismisses the thought. He wouldn't have gone away like that, even if it was his plan. He would have told her and Skinner. Wouldn't he?

* * *

Scully and Mulder's House  
That Night

"Who wants to hear a bedtime story?" Langly asks after they've been there for twenty minutes.

"We do!" Page says, speaking for the group.

"Upstairs then," Langly tells her. He picks up the twins, and the older kids nearly trip over each other in their eagerness to hear what they call "Uncle Stories." Langly looks over his shoulder. "You guys owe me one."

"Yeah, you love it," Frohike grumbles good-naturedly.

Skinner picks up a map and shows it to Scully. "These are records of microburst activity. What we read is UFO activity since Mulder's abduction."

"I think this is a waste of time," she says skeptically.

"No, it's not. Just look at them."

"I'm looking, and what I'm seeing is activity all over the southwestern states."

"That's right."

"Mulder, Billy and Teresa all disappeared from the northeast, not anywhere on this map." She reminds them.

"But if Mulder is on that ship, this is where he is now." Skinner points at the map.

"In the Arizona desert?"

"This is what we have to go on."

"Okay. Say this is true ... then how do we even begin to start finding him?" There's a long, awkward pause.

"We..." Frohike trails off. "Knowing where they're going, that's got to help us in some way."

"I get it," Scully says, suddenly animate.

"You get what?"

"What you saw, why they took Mulder, why they're in Arizona now-it all makes sense. Why do people refuse to believe in aliens and UFOs after all these years of sightings and eyewitness accounts? Why?"

"Because there's no real proof," Frohike says.

"Because, maybe, if there are aliens they're simply going around and they're... and they're removing all of the evidence before it becomes proof," Scully says. "This isn't Mulder who's going around and collecting this stuff. It's them. Someone is trying really hard to clean up any proof that might change people's minds about aliens."

"Why would they be in Arizona, then?" Skinner asks.

"Because they are looking to find that which is not in my computer or Mulder's computer or in the files that were removed from the FBI. They are looking to find the whereabouts of good, hard proof. That in this case exists in a person, in a boy named Gibson Praise."

"If that's true, then the boy is in danger," Skinner tells her.

"I know. But only if they get to him before we do," Scully says.

"Do you even know where he is? The last I knew, Mulder hadn't told where he'd put the boy."

"I'm not exactly sure, but I know who knows."

"Can you get in touch with that person?"

"Yes. You ought to go home and pack, Sir."

"Me?"

"I can't do this alone, and I don't think we can get John Doggett involved in this. He's just going to be getting in the way, looking for Mulder. He's not there, but John won't believe that if we say we're following a lead. No matter his faults, John is a good friend. And as a good friend, he's going to be completely dedicated to finding Mulder. Right now, that's only going to hurt us."

* * *

The Following Day

"Skinner, pull over," Scully demands.

He does as she asks, and she hastily unhooks her seatbelt and stumbles from the car. She gets a few feet away before she throws up the chicken salad sandwich that she'd eaten earlier in the day. Without having to be asked, Skinner hands her a bottle of water so she can rinse out her mouth.

"Food poisoning?" he asks a little sardonically. Neither of them had thought much of the meal that they'd been served on the flight.

"No," she says as she settles herself back into the passenger seat. "Bad timing." She wonders if he understands the subtext, but isn't up to talking about her condition.

Seeming to sense that, Skinner just glances at her before turning his face back to the road. "You feeling better? I need some navigation."

Scully nods, mostly to herself. "Agent Reyes said that we should meet her at a diner about ten miles from here. There's a turn off about five miles up and we take it."

"You sound as though you trust her," Skinner remarks.

"Mulder and I worked a case with her once, and Mulder's been in touch with her on and off since... so yes, I trust her."

"Good. It's nice to be able to trust someone in this mess."

* * *

Frank's Diner

As Skinner parks, Scully looks through the windows and catches sight of a familiar brunette sitting alone in a booth. Despite everything, she finds herself beginning to smile. Skinner is right, it is nice to be able to trust someone.

Reyes looks up when the bell over the door to the diner chimes. "Agent Scully."

"Agent Reyes," Scully replies, sliding onto the seat across from the other woman. Skinner looks uncertain for a second and chooses to sit next to Scully. "This is my boss, AD Skinner."

Reyes offers her hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you, sir."

"You too. I just wish it was under better circumstances." Skinner's voice is a little gruff. "Could you catch us up to speed?"

"Right." She nods to herself. While she gathers her thoughts a waitress appears and Reyes and Skinner order coffee. Scully asks for juice, instead. Reyes speaks in a low voice when the waitress leaves. "I got a call last night from Gibson telling me that something was wrong. I asked him what, and he said that agent Mulder was there in the dorm room with him."

"He said Mulder was there?" Scully asks, surprised.

"Actually, he said 'At least it looks like Agent Mulder. It's something that looks like him.' Before I could ask him to elaborate, I heard the sounds a struggle and him telling someone to let him go. After that I made two phone calls. One was to his school to have the resident advisor check on him, and as I suspected his room was empty. The second was to book a flight to get out here."

"I'm a little confused," Skinner says, and both women look at him. "What is your relationship to Gibson? I know that you're not his mother, at least."

At this, Reyes looks surprised. "He doesn't know?" Normally amicable, she shoots the waitress an annoyed look when the woman returns with their drinks.

"I guess it didn't come up," Scully says apologetically. "Skinner, this is the person that Mulder brought Gibson to when he needed to keep him safe."

"I guess you could look at it like my place was a stop on a modern underground railroad," Reyes says cheerfully. "Gibson and I have been in touch since, and agent Mulder and I placed him at the current school after it seemed like he was being made a while ago."

"So you're definitely an interested party, here," Skinner surmises. "Good."

Reyes holds out her hands. "At the moment, there's nothing more important to me than getting Gibson back safely. If the two of you are ready, to leave, I'll show you how to get to his school."

"I hope we get there first," Skinner says. The women exchange a glance. They hope so too.

* * *

Less Than an Hour Later

To Scully's vast dismay, Doggett is at the school, marshalling agents. He approaches as soon as he notices that they're there. "How did you know we were here? I tried calling you both early this morning, but I couldn't get through to either of you."

"It's a long story," Scully says halfheartly.

Doggett eyes Reyes. "Uh, hi."

He doesn't look any less confused by their presence, but he ignores them in favor of the business at hand. Addressing the gathered agents, he says "Footprints outside the boy's window suggest that they went out that way. Spread out!"

Agent Crane bellows, "The kid's on the loose! You have the photo! Move!" and everyone scatters.

Everyone but Scully, Skinner and Reyes, who just stand there and exchange helpless looks.


	91. Without

Arizona

Sand is kicked up when the other agents speed off. A hot sun beats down on the sand creating a hazy glare that waters their eyes.

"What do we do now?" Skinner asks Scully. This surprises her at first, since she's used to him being the one with orders.

She shrugs. "Same as them. Look for Gibson."

"Right."

Scully grabs Reyes' arm. "It's too complicated to explain, but whatever happens, don't shoot the thing that's pretending to be Mulder. And if he's shot near you, cover your face."

The look Reyes gives her is curious, but it doesn't hold the skepticism that Doggett's would. "I trust you'll explain later."

"I'll try."

The three of them go off in different directions, each calling Gibson's name.

* * *

Scully is still playing at looking for Gibson under Doggett's direction when she hears the boy yelling. Startled, she darts in that direction, keeping out of sight as much as possible.

When she catches sight of them, it feels like she's been doused with something cold. Although her eyes want to believe that the man dragging Gibson by the arm is her husband, her mind and heart know it isn't. Mulder couldn't radiate such an alien coldness.

Gibson doesn't seem to think that it's Mulder, either. He never uses Mulder's name, and she can't imagine Gibson ever being that terrified of someone he knows. "Stop it! Please! Let me go! Stop it! Let me go! Let me go!"

As she watches from behind a stunted tree, Doggett runs into sight. He, unlike she or Gibson, clearly believes that it's her husband. "Let the boy go! Let him go, Moldah!"

Mulder's imposter stares impassively at him. In his grip Gibson continues to struggle.

"Let him go, or I will be compelled to use my weapon. Now, I don't want to do that, Agent Moldah. I don't want to shoot."

"That's not Mulder," Scully says, coming forward.

Doggett looks stunned. "Where did you come from? And what are you talking about?"

"That's not Mulder," she repeats. "That's not my husband."

Doggett looks at her like she's lost her mind. "Of course it is!"

She shakes her head. "Let Gibson go! He won't tell anyone. None of us will."

"What the hell-" Doggett mutters to himself.

Its eyes study her, seeming to consider her words. To her surprise, it throws the boy roughly aside. Gibson lands on the ground with a yelp.

Concerned, Scully runs to him. Gibson looks up at her, cradling his ankle. Tears shine in his eyes and he points at a large stone half buried in the ground. "I hit that."

She quickly examines his ankle. "I think it's broken. I'll have to find something to splint it before we can move you."

"Yeah, okay," Gibson says through gritted teeth. He catches her eye. "It's really not him, you know."

"I know," she says, and starts to pay attention to Doggett. Though she and Gibson know that it's not Mulder, it's clear that her new partner doesn't. The man and alien have edged towards a ledge.

"Moldah! Where are you going? Jesus, no!"

The thing pretending to be her husband takes a deliberate step backwards and falls over the edge of the cliff.

Doggett is staring down in horror when Scully joins him. The body splayed on ground below looks very much like Mulder. And also dead.

The fact that the imposter might be dead doesn't bother Scully, but it clearly does Doggett. He turns to her with anguish filled eyes. "Oh God Dana. I didn't think that he'd do anything like that. He had to know that he was at the edge..."

"He knew," she says calmly.

Which irritates him enough to snap at her. "How can you be so... So cold? That's your husband lying down there!" Doggett points a finger before realizing that he's pointing at empty sand.

"The thing that you watched fall wasn't my husband," Scully tells him. "So why should I care what happens to it?"

"How can you say it's not him?"

She gives him a long look. He looks hot and tired, and pissed at her. "Do you think Mulder has super powers? Because I can tell you that he wouldn't just walk away from a fall like that. No man could."

Doggett is clearly at a loss for words, and doesn't have a reasonable explanation for his team when they catch up to him.

"Agent Doggett, where did he go?"

"I'm..." Doggett looks down at the bare patch of sand below them. Using the back of his hand he wipes sweat out of his eyes before looking at agent Crane. "He fell."

"Fell where?"

He just points down. Crane gives him an incredulous look. "How could he have fallen and then just gotten up and walked away?"

"I don't know!" Doggett snarls. "He just did."

"Right." Agent Crane pulls out his walkie-talkie. "Suspect was last seen below this ridge. Convene the search there." When Doggett makes no move to join the pack of agents that are scurrying off, Crane looks at him from over his shoulder. "Aren't you joining us?"

Doggett shakes his head. "I can hear the ambulance coming for the boy. I'm going to go with him to the hospital, and see if I can get anything out of him."

Crane seems to accept this. "I'll keep you posted on our progress."

"You do that."

By the time the ambulance arrives Skinner and Reyes have found Scully. Doggett looks at a loss when the paramedics load Gibson onto a stretcher. Scully gives him a tight smile. "Why don't you ride with the boy? We'll follow you."

"Thanks." The expression on his face suggests that he has no idea why he's thanking her.

* * *

Even though it's a weekday afternoon the emergency room is full of activity. Doctors and nurses fly by them, trailing the hems of white lab coats in their wake. There's not a lot for the agents to do while they wait for Gibson to be treated. None of them was asked to be in the exam room, and they hadn't insisted.

Of the four of them, Reyes seems the most uncomfortable with the silence. Something like relief appears in her brown eyes when she thinks of something to say. She turns to Scully "How is your son or daughter taking all of this?"

"My son or daughter?" Scully repeats blankly.

"Agent Mulder told me that you were pregnant when he brought Gibson to me..." Reyes trails off anxiously. What if something had gone wrong and she was bringing up a very sore subject?

To her surprise agent Doggett suddenly looks delighted. "You don't know why she's confused!" He turns to Scully. "Go on, tell her how many kids you have."

"More than one?" Reyes asks, and Doggett's smile gets bigger.

"Six," Scully says, suddenly sounding tired.

"Six?" Reyes repeats as though she's sure she's misheard.

"When we first met you, Mulder and I already had two children," Scully tells her. "Our oldest, Page, turns six this month. Sammy is five. April is three. David and Jared just turned two. And our baby, Christopher, is one."

Reyes notices that Skinner darts his eyes towards her with a questioning look, but Scully doesn't acknowledge his gaze. She chooses not to make an issue of it, because surely it has nothing to do with her. "Wow."

"That's what everyone says."

She tries to think of something to say, something reassuring to a person who might very well end up raising six children on her own. Nothing comes to mind. She could say that they'll find him, but how many times has the poor woman already heard that?

A doctor striding towards them spares her any further efforts to come up with something meaningful to say. The doctor's gray eyes scan their faces. "You're with the FBI, right?"

Scully quickly scans the waiting room, and Reyes believes that she knows exactly what she's thinking. They are the only people there who are not wearing shorts and sleeveless shirts, so I did not take a psychic for the doctor to figure out which particular group people were the FBI agents.

"Yes," Skinner says, speaking for them all.

"Gibson suffered a pretty bad break. At first we were not sure if he was going to need surgery to have a pin put in, but we x-rayed a second time and decided against it. We've put him into a plaster cast. It's old-fashioned, but more rigid which is what he really needs. It will be quite heavy though, so he will probably tire quickly on crutches." The doctor looks around the room again, for what they are not certain. "His parents haven't arrived yet? I should really be explaining this to them."

"The boy is an orphan," Skinner says gruffly.

"Oh. Then who-"

"He is to remain in FBI custody. So you're speakin' to the right people," Doggett informs the doctor.

"Okay then. As I said he's probably going to have difficulty getting around. He'll need help."

"And he'll get it. I assume that you will have some sort of written instructions for us," Doggett suggests forcefully.

The doctor looks faintly intimidated. "Of course. I'll have a nurse type them up for you."

"Thank you very much, Doctor," Doggett says dismissing him.

It only takes a second before the doctor wanders away looking for much out of sorts.

Scully stares at Doggett. "What was the plan? Find Gibson, and then?"

He looks chagrined. "The plan was to find Gibson, find Moldah, and bring Moldah back to DC. Moldah was no longer supposed to be a threat, so Gibson was not supposed to be in danger, and therefore there was no plan to continue to have anything to do with the boy. Obviously that has changed now."

"Obviously," Scully repeats.

Rather than get defensive, Doggett begins to question Scully and Skinner. "Why are you here? Unless someone broke protocol there was no request for your presence on the task force here. How did you even know that we were out here looking for him?"

"They didn't," Reyes told him. "I called them and asked them to come."

"Why?"

"When Gibson was in danger two years ago agent Mulder brought him to me. I helped agent Mulder find a private school for Gibson. Later on, when Gibson thought that his cover might have been blown, we arranged for him to attend school out here," Reyes explains. "When I got a call from Gibson last night telling me that he believed he was in danger again, I immediately called agent Scully. Until she arrived we had no idea that the danger that Gibson perceived was connected to an agent Mulder's disappearance." Which, strictly speaking is not true, but she does not think that agent Doggett needs to know that. "Actually, until I spoke to her, I had no idea that he even was missing."

Doggett swings his hard-eyed stare toward Scully and Skinner. "You didn't know that we were looking for Moldah out here?"

They are very good at feigning innocence and their expressions do not give them away. Or perhaps he just doesn't know them well enough to see the lies that their eyes hide.

He still looks suspicious, but he doesn't seem prepared to call them liars. "Since you are not part of the task force, and our only objective with the boy was to follow his trail in hopes of finding Moldah, perhaps the three of you ought look after him until Moldah is found."

"In DC?" Skinner asks.

"No. Here."

Scully shoots him an alarmed look. "Here? Wouldn't he be safer in DC?"

"If he's with three agents, I hardly see the venue adding to or detracting from his safety," Doggett says blandly.

"You're using this child. You're hoping that he will lead Mulder to you," Skinner says angrily.

Doggett shrugs. "I believe in utilizing all available resources. From what I've heard about you, you have a similar mindset."

This assessment clearly irritates Skinner. "I don't understand how a father could have consider a child a resource."

"I guess we'll have to agree to disagree," Doggett says, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

Oasis Hotel

It surprises Scully somewhat that Skinner proves to be very adept at making hotel arrangements considering that it had always been Kimberly's job to do that for him. He decides that rather than rent two rooms he would instead rent them a two-room suite. That way there are still two separate bedrooms but they share common room, so they can more easily look after Gibson.

The first thing that Scully does when they get to the hotel room is to have Skinner help her settle Gibson for a nap. Even though the boy claims not be tired. Her next order of business is to go to the bedroom that she and Reyes will share in to make a phone call home.

While she talks on the phone Reyes unpacks her own overnight bag. It doesn't bother Scully that her phone call is overheard.

"Alex... no, I just wasn't expecting you to answer... I don't think he's out here. John Doggett has different opinions, but... hopefully it'll only be a day or two before he realizes this is futile, and then we get back home... good. I'm glad they're doing okay. Yeah, can you tell them I missed them too? Thanks... no, sure put her on... Hi, Baby. I wish I was home too... looking for Daddy. You knew that... I'll tell him that, soon as we find him... love you too. Be a good girl for Michelle and Alex. Bye."

Reyes gives her a curious look. "One of your daughters?"

"That was April. My three-year-old," Scully tells her. "She wanted to make sure we're looking for father."

"Agent Scully-"

Scully tries to ignore the feeling of unshed tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "A couple of days ago, she told me that we weren't going to see her father for a long long time. It's easy to dismiss that, I mean she's three. But then, she already has a knack for knowing things that she couldn't possibly know."

"She sensitive," Reyes suggests in a tone that indicates that she's using a different definition of the word sensitive than the most people do. "I was like that too when I was little kid."

Scully sighs. "I bet no one wanted to believe you either."

"Pretty much."

"But I think no one _would_ want to believe her," Scully says. "Nobody wants him to be gone for very long."

"Of course," Reyes says quickly.

"I'm going to go check on Gibson," Scully announces before heading for the door.

* * *

In the next room the boy is lying on one of the full-sized beds, thumbing through a comic book instead of making any attempt to nap. The smile that Scully gives him is genuine. "X-Men, huh? I think it's only a matter of time before my oldest son gets into those comics too. He begged his father to bring him to that movie this summer."

"I saw it too," Gibson says, and winces as he pushes himself up with his arms. "Is that my pill?"

For a moment Scully is confused, because she's forgotten that she's holding a plastic cup of water and his pain medication. "Oh, sure. Here."

"Thanks." Gibson quickly downs the entire glass of water. He then gives her a hesitant look. "Do you want to know?"

"Know about what?"

"About Mulder," Gibson tells her. "He's not dead."

"I know he's not..." She trails off, realizing that any denials about her fears are useless when it comes to a mind-reader. "Maybe know is too strong a word, but I think I'd feel it if he were dead."

"Those dreams you've been having. Those come from him."

"You mean the nightmares?" she asks, thinking of Mulder being trapped, held down and tortured.

Gibson gives her a disapproving look. "They're not nightmares."

"Gibson, those are the worst dreams I've ever had-"

"Dreams aren't real," Gibson says making a finger of ice run down her spine. "These aren't nightmares. He's reaching out to us."

"Are you saying that we're dreaming about things that really happen to him?" she asks in a strangled voice.

"I wish I could tell you that they're not real, but I don't want to lie to you." Gibson's eyes are sad. "There is one good thing about these dreams, though."

"What could possibly be good about them?"

"As long as we have them, you know he's alive," Gibson says softly.

"You'll have to forgive me that it doesn't give me much comfort." It costs her a lot of effort to keep her tone even.

Gibson's eyes are luminous. "At least you don't have to claim them. You're entirely human."

"Sometimes I doubt that," Scully tells him. "You know... you know that nobody blames you for this. Not even a little bit."

He gives her a hard look. "I know you believe that. Now." Before she can reply he's picked up the comic book and started looking again.

Not knowing what to say, she leaves him to his own devices.

* * *

Washington, DC  
Meanwhile...

Still slightly resentful of Alex's decision to bring Emily to her sister's house every night, Missy has picked the girls up from school and brought them to her house for the afternoon. That way she has some time with her daughter.

Things are going pretty well as she engages them in making paper dolls. Once Emily gets up to use the bathroom, however, Page fixes her with a serious look. "Aunt Missy, I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead," Missy encourages.

To her surprise, Page looks around, apparently making sure that Emily isn't on her way back down stairs. "Is my Dad with the baby?"

Missy's brow creases. "What do you mean, Sweetie?" At first she thinks Page means Christopher.

Page doesn't mean her brother. "Did he die and go to heaven to be with the baby?"

"No!" Missy exclaims. "As far as anyone knows, your Dad is fine. He's just lost."

"Are you sure?" her niece presses.

"As sure as anyone else. Why do did you think he might be in heaven? Did someone tell you he died?"

Page shakes her head. "No one told me. I just thought it."

There has to be a reason, Missy decides. "If someone at school was teasing you, it's okay to tell me. It's not tattling. "

"No one said," Page insists. "I just thought...the baby couldn't stay here. So maybe Daddy went to take care of her."

"No...I know she was really little, so you're thinking that she needs to be taken care of like your little brothers," Missy notices her nodding. "But when a baby goes to heaven like she did, God is the one who takes care of them. He wouldn't take one of their parents away from the rest of the family to look after them because the rest of you need them more."

"Are you sure?" Page asks in a small voice.

"I'm sure," she tells her firmly, but a new worry arrives. "Page, did you tell Sammy and April about your theory?"

"Nope."

"Okay."

Emily returns a minute later, and the girls go back to playing like nothing important had happened. Missy wonders what she herself was thinking about at their age. It certainly wasn't about dead siblings, but missing fathers... that one she could relate to.

* * *

Oasis Hotel

The rest of the day passes rather slowly into night. Skinner looks more annoyed by their enforced sloth than anybody else. Gibson still pretends to be entertained by his comic books and Scully and Reyes try to watch a Lifetime movie on TV but the reception is fairly snowy. Skinner makes no attempt to amuse himself. Instead he paces the room.

Considerately, he waits until there's a commercial before he begins ranting. "I can't believe we're stuck here in this stupid hotel. If they want to find Mulder they ought to have us go back to DC. That's where he disappeared from. No matter what Doggett thought he saw today, it wasn't Mulder. It's asinine for us to stay here-"

A sharp knock on the door cuts him off in mid-sentence. Still looking aggrieved Skinner stomps over to the door and opens it. A surprised looking Doggett is standing on the other side.

He pushes his way past Skinner. "Good. You're here. I need to talk to you."

Skinner does not bother to conceal his impatience. "We're all ears."

"Has Moldah come by here?"

"Of course not," Scully says sharply.

For just a second Doggett's shoulders sag, but he quickly straightens up. "He's just disappeared. We combed every inch the grounds around the school, but we didn't find a single sign of him." He turns to Scully with accusing look. "And you don't look like that surprises you."

Scully gives him an icy look around. "I told you earlier. That was not my husband. The thing you saw? It's long gone by now. There's no point in continuing looking for it."

"Right. Because it's an alien. And it's beamed itself back to the mothership," Doggett says sarcastically. "I don't know what you guys are playing at. Maybe it's some sort of' haze the new guy thing'. I don't know. All I do know is that it's not very funny."

"Look at us. None of us are laughing," Scully tells him.

"New guy?" Skinner asks. "That makes it sound like you intend to stick around."

"Maybe I might," Doggett says stubbornly.

Before sparks can fly Gibson crutches his way over to the two men. "It's not gone."

"What?" they both ask simultaneously.

"The thing. The one that you were looking for," Gibson says, looking at Doggett. "It's not gone."

Doggett seems confused but Skinner pierces the boy with a look. "How'd you know it's not gone?"

The boy shrugs his shoulders. "I'm not sure where it is, exactly, but it still near enough."

"Near enough to what?" Doggett asks. No one seems inclined to answer him.

"To be a threat," he says cryptically.

"Then we should go look for it," Skinner says abruptly.

He makes a move to go for the door, but Doggett stops him. "Wait. Where are you going? Why are you ready to run off at a child's say so?" The new agent is clearly agitated.

Reyes looks surprised. "You must know that Gibson reads minds."

Doggett puts his hands on his face. "Another one." He groans. "I should have known. The second I saw you in Moldah's house..."

"They're not crazy," Gibson tells him. "You just don't understand."

"Clearly," Doggett scoffs.

Skinner ignores Doggett's breakdown. Instead he turns to Gibson. "Where do you think it is?"

"Still out there. Somewhere near the school. He doesn't know I'm gone."

"Right," Skinner says decisively. "Doggett. You and I, let's go look for it."

Doggett laughs abruptly. "Sure, why the hell not? But you two-" he points at Scully and Reyes. "Stay here and protect the boy. 'It' might not know that it's supposed to be out in the desert still."

"Okay," Scully says calmly. Reyes gives her a questioning look, but doesn't otherwise contradict her. "Call us if you find...anything."

* * *

An unexpected calm falls over the hotel suite once Skinner and Doggett have departed. Scully flicks through the TV channels, and Gibson begins to yawn. And keeps yawning.

"I'm going to take a nap," he announces. "For real this time."

"Sure, let me help you-" Reyes began, but he cut her off.

"I can do it. I'm not a baby, you know," he says, groping for the crutches leaning against the couch.

"No one said you were..." Reyes trails off as he leaves the room faster than she thought possible.

Scully looks over at the puzzled look on Reyes face. "Don't take it personal. Kids get like that."

"At how old?"

Scully lifts her shoulders and lets them fall. "Four? I hear it gets even worse as they hit adolescence. And it can't be easy for him, being so small for his age. People probably underestimate him on a regular basis."

"You sound like the voice of experience," Reyes remarks.

"I'm five-two fully grown. I was _always_ small for my age," Scully acknowledges.

"His whole life is rough. We keep in touch through e-mail, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that he's not happy," Reyes tells her, sounding depressed. "I should have done what I wanted to last year."

"What was that?"

"Try to adopt him."

"Why didn't you?" Scully asks curiously.

"Your husband didn't think it was a good idea. He thought trying to give Gibson a normal life wouldn't work out, and that he'd still be a target. Well, now he's got an abnormal life and he's still a target."

"I'm kind of surprised that Mulder told you that."

"He must have had his reasons. Can I ask you a question?"

"I guess so." Scully is instantly wary. That's usually code for uncomfortable topics.

"Why do you call him Mulder instead of Fox?"

Surprise makes Scully smile. "I tried calling him Fox, back when we first worked together. He grimaced and said 'I even made my parents call me Mulder. So please call me Mulder.' Ever since, he's been Mulder to me too."

"Fox is a lovely name. I can't imagine why he hates it."

"I've never gotten a good explanation, either. But I can tell you this - we have four little boys, and the words 'Fox Junior' have never come out of his mouth."

"We'll have to ask him someday," Reyes tells her, and Scully feels an unexpected welling of gratitude. There's nothing tentative in the other woman's statement. She really believes that he'll come back.

"Sure. Right after 'Where have you been?'"

* * *

Skinner returns alone about an hour later. He looks grim.

"No luck?" Scully asks eventually when he doesn't say anything. She's been trying to read a book and ignore the reality TV fair that Reyes finally settled on. It irritates her with its mindlessness.

"No. We looked everywhere and we didn't any sign of him."

"Maybe Gibson was wrong," Reyes offers from the couch. "Maybe he left the area."

"Maybe," Skinner says with a sigh.

Scully's phone begins to buzz, so she grabs it off the end table beside her. She notices that Skinner's expression is a little off, but doesn't think much of it. "Scully."

"Hey. It's Doggett. We didn't find anything."

"I know. Skinner told us."

"Who did?" He sounds really puzzled, which irritates her even more than the idiots pretending to be pirates on the TV.

"Skinner. You know, the man you brought with you to investigate the school again?"

"Agent Scully..." Doggett's slow voice says over the phone-line. "Skinner's right next to me in the car. We're pulling into the parking lot of the hotel now."

"That can't be-" Scully starts to say, but she drops the phone when Skinner approaches angrily.

She's still fumbling for her weapon when two crashes happen at the same time: the door to the suite bursts open, but behind her she hears Gibson shout "That's not Mister Skinner!" She turns her head in time to see a crutch fly through the air.

It hits a Skinner. Which Skinner, however, she can't be sure since she turned her back when Gibson shouted. Each of them is dressed in an identical fashion, and has identical scowls.

The one nearest her looks alarmed when she trains her gun on him. Looking past him, she catches Doggett's eye. "Which one did you come in with?"

A bewildered Doggett points at the one on the left. "Him. But Dana, how can there be two of him? Does Skinner have an identical twin?"

"Were you with him every second, Agent Doggett?" Reyes asks.

"No. We split up. Could someone explain-"

"Then which one he brought here doesn't prove anything," Reyes says. "It's impossible to know if the one he arrived with is the one he left with."

"Gibson?" Scully asks. "Which one is Skinner?"

The boy's face falls. "I can't tell. Not with them standing together like that. I'm not even sure I can tell while they're in the same room."

"Okay then," Scully says calmly. She pulls a long slender object out of her pocket. "I thought to bring this with me before we came out here."

Only one of the Skinner's eyes react to the revelation, but she's not sure how good a tell it is considering that the real Skinner probably had found out about it long ago.

Scully presses on the device, and the sharp metallic spike reveals itself. Looking at the two men claiming to be her boss, she asks them "Who goes first?"

"What do you mean?" one demands to know.

"The way I see it, the only way we'll know which one is the real Skinner is by stabbing both in the neck. Just enough to break the skin. At first. Again, who wants to go first?"

"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?" Reyes murmurs, but only Gibson seems to hear her say it.

"I will," the other one says, sounding disgusted.

Scully nods. "You two, if that one moves, shoot him in the neck."

"Right," Reyes agreed readily. Doggett still seemed dazed.

The first Skinner places his neck on the couch, and Scully dutifully wields the weapon meant to kill the aliens. Since this "Skinner" has volunteered readily, she assumes that it's really her boss. "Get it over with," he snarls, bolstering her conviction.

At least until she's got the spike pressed against the delicate skin of his neck. Then he grabs her wrist so quickly that she can only gasp as he forces her fingers to loosen their grip. She holds on as tight as she can, terrified to be disarmed, but it's a losing battle.

Until there's a sharp bang, and it stumbles away from her. Not quickly enough to keep her from burned eyes, however. She crumples to the floor, her hands pressed to her face.

"Get some water! And a face cloth!" Gibson shouts at someone. There's a scurry of feet, the sound of a running tap, and several seconds later someone reaches her side. Someone wipes a damp cloth across her eyes.

"Dana? Are you okay?" Reyes asks, sounding very worried.

"No. I'll need to go to the e.r. I think," Scully says, looking up at the blurry woman standing over her. "Who...?"

"I shot him," Doggett says, sounding more than a little awed. Reyes glances at him, and then down at the ground. Near him and Skinner is a puddle of green fluid, and some discarded clothing. "But where did he go?"

"Do you think he disappeared into thin air?" Skinner asks sharply. "He's right there on the floor. That's him, and you killed it."

They continue to argue a moment or two longer before Reyes and Gibson yell at them that they need to bring Scully to the hospital.

* * *

Two Hours Later

The doctor that treats Scully seems to believe that she's somehow come in contact with hydrochloric acid, because he spends nearly half the exam lecturing her on safety around toxic chemicals. She's too tired to bother trying to come up with a plausible story that's closer to the truth, so she just endures it.

She's still sitting in the exam room waiting for her chart to be signed off on so she can leave when Doggett appears. "How are you doing?"

"As well as can be expected. There shouldn't be any lasting effects."

"Good. I've put an APV out on the perp."

This raises an eyebrow. "What perp?"

"The guy who did this to you," Doggett replies, sounding as if this ought to be self-evident.

"John, there is no perp, not any more. You killed him."

"I think I'd know if I'd killed someone," Doggett says stiffly.

"You saw it! It dissolved after you shot it in the neck!" Scully exclaims angrily.

The skeptical look never leaves Doggett's face. "I saw something. I'll grant you that much."

"What's your interpretation of what you saw today with your very own eyes?" Scully asks. "Starting with early this afternoon."

"I saw someone made up to look like agent Mulder fall off a cliff."

"Someone?" she asks him sounding like she can barely believe her ears. "How do you explain that someone looking exactly like my husband?"

He doesn't look intimidated. "Actors. That would be my guess."

"Actors?"

Doggett frowns little. "Doubles. They say that Saddam Hussein had hundreds of 'em."

"And you think that the motive for hiring an actor to look like my husband is?" Scully asks impatiently.

All at once Doggett looks sure of himself. "To ruin his reputation. He has enemies. You've said so yourself. What better to way to ruin a man's reputation then make it seem like he's doing something crazy like kidnapping a young boy?"

"Sure. And how do you explain the dueling Skinners? More actors?"

Doggett looks confused for a second, but quickly regroups. "We were worried about you. After he splashed that stuff in your eyes, he took advantage of our confusion and ran off."

The look in his eyes causes Scully to feel a deep disappointment. She'd thought after seeing two Skinners he would believe the truth. But it clearly was not the case. She felt a crazy urge to laugh when she wondered what Mulder would say about trying to make a skeptic believe. If he were there to ask none of this would be a problem.

"How much longer do you plan to waste our time out here?" Scully asks him.

"As soon as you're cleared to leave, we've got a flight back to DC," Doggett says. "At least we should. Skinner is calling about tickets now."

"What about Gibson?"

"I'm taking custody of the boy."

"On whose authority?" she demands to know.

"AD Kersh's. It'd only put other people in danger if we returned him to that school, so it seemed best to have him guarded on a constant basis. I can't think of a better way to do that than to have custody of him."

"I suppose neither you nor Kersh asked him how he feels about it."

Doggett blinks. "He seemed to like Luke when they met last year. I don't think it strikes him as a bad deal."

"Except for the fact that you think he's going to be live bait to bring Mulder to you."

"No," he denies, but there's a lack of conviction in his voice. "I've been officially assigned to the X-Files now, so it makes sense to keep him near. That's all."

That's all, she thinks. If only.

* * *

Mid-Flight

Doggett and Gibson sit a few rows back, which is something that Scully feels a small measure of gratitude for. Friend or not, Doggett isn't someone she feels like talking to just then. And having a mind reader sit next to her would make her feel paranoid. He can probably read her thoughts from anywhere on the plane, but the distance gives her the illusion of privacy.

Watching him talk to Reyes before they got on the plane had been painful. It evoked her memories of leaving Kevin Kryder behind after resolving his case. The other woman may or may not have talked to Gibson about wanting him to live with her, but it was evident that he knew either way. And for all of Doggett's assertion that he was happy with his new arrangement, it was plain to see that he'd rather of stayed with her. Just as they were walking away, Scully thought she heard Reyes tell him that she'd look into being transferred to DC. Though she wasn't sure if that's what she said, whatever it was did put a smile on the boy's face.

The navy blue outside the jet's window insists that she ought to be able to sleep on the flight, but her brain doesn't agree. Instead her mind races as she tries to cope with conflicting emotions.

Even though she told herself repeatedly that they weren't going to find Mulder out in the Arizona desert, she's still vaguely disappointed. She's relieved that the exam showed that no lasting harm to herself or the baby would result from her encounter with the alien bounty hunter, but a bit ashamed too since she'd given her unborn child little thought all day. This baby feels more like a dream to her than any of the others have, and it bothers her that she can't figure out if it's because she's lost another recently, or because her husband isn't there to help her believe it's real. She has the impulse to keep the baby entirely to herself until he returns, but part of her is afraid that her pregnancy will be obvious long before then.

She's also resigned to the fact that Missy will most likely tell her within the coming days that she and Alex are expecting a baby too. Missy had tried to play off uncertainty, but she could tell that her sister was holding back, maybe because she didn't think she could deal with others having good news. And Scully wasn't sure that she could.

Most of all, she is conflicted about returning home to her children. It's what she wants more than anything, because it only took being apart from them for a few hours before she missed them intensely. She wants to gather them to her, and know they're safe. But she doesn't want to explain to them that their father is still missing. That they're no closer to finding him. She can't bear to break their little hearts.

But she knows that she will.


	92. Patience

The Scully/Mulder (and Krycek?) household  
5:37 a.m.

Scully shut the door behind her and locks it. She felt terrible about using the kids as a diversionary tactic, but honestly, Krycek said he'd promised Mulder to take care of their kids - why did he want to butt in on Gibson Praise, too? Honestly, as if John was incapable of taking care of kids... although she did share Krycek's reservations about John using Gibson to find Mulder.

The redhead frowns.

That's the *only* thought they're agreeing on, and her scowl deepens, thinking of how nearly the double agent had her thinking one more kid wouldn't hurt. As if Emily staying over wasn't enough, that Krycek wanted to bring a teen boy in as well? Sighing, she slowly sinks onto the bed. It's so tempting to lie down, but she knows if she does, she'll never be able to leave for work, and she's not even close to ready yet.

"Dammit," she sighs, and starts when the phone rings. "Jeez." Picking up, she says, "Scully."

"Dana, thank goodness," her sister says at the other end.

"Missy? What's wrong?" Scully wonders. It's rare that she hears from her sister in the morning, rarer still that said sister sounds grateful to be talking to her.

"It's about Alex," Missy says without preamble. "He thinks Emily should be staying at your place this weekend, but it's been *a week* since I've seen my baby..."

Any other time, Scully would be happy to hear these maternal sentiments from her older sister, but right now, with her hormones sending her into emotional loops, plus with Mulder missing and the dubious Krycek setting up shop as nanny - well, let's just say she's not quite in the right frame of mind to appreciate it. "Missy, he's here out of obligation, though I'm still not sure why," she admits, "but settling custody disputes between the two of you, well, I honestly don't think that's my job."

"I don't care!" Missy shouts. "Look, he has to listen to you 'cause you're his boss. Tell him he has to let Emily stay at my place this weekend or you're garnishing his wages!"

She would laugh if she could, or maybe she should replay that earlier argument to her sister. "I'm not his boss, he's my pain in the ass," Scully groans, and not just because this second argument's giving her a monster headache. The nausea's kicking in again, and with this kind of distraction, she's in no mood to fight, much less deal with her sister's relationship crap. "Missy, just talk to him," she mutters, willing her bile to stay in her churning stomach.

"Dana," Missy whines, and you'd think their birth order's been switched. "I've tried, and he's still fixated on this idea that all the kids herded together would make them safe."

"I know, but he's *your*," Scully almost chokes on the word, "fiancé, why don't you, I don't know," she starts waving her free hand, trying to think clearly, "blow him or something?" Then she hits her head. Man, she is *not* thinking clearly.

"Is that how you solve your problems with Fox?" Her older sister pounces on the opening. "Sex?"

"If talking doesn't work," Scully says between her teeth, "try shooting him in the shoulder."

"Da-naaaaaa," Missy drags out the second syllable, "I'm being serious!"

"So am I," Scully snaps. "Look, I know you, and when you set your mind to something, you get it done. Right now, you're wasting time trying to persuade me when you should be persuading him. I don't care what you do, take off his other arm and beat him over the head with it for all I care, just do it!"

Missy's about to snap, "Okay!" but finds that her stomach's starting to churn uncomfortably. When her stomach settles, she strives to remember the last thing Dana said and regain momentum. "Couldn't you give him a day off or something?"

"I'd LOVE to give him a day off." Scully closes her eyes, as if that would make the pounding and nausea go away. "If you want, I'll even DRIVE Emily over-" and claps a hand to her mouth, dropping the phone before running to the toilet.

"Hey, I can just drive over and GET her!" Missy yells back, before doubling over and clapping a hand to her own mouth.

When Scully gets back to the dropped phone, all she hears is a disconnected tone and she puts the cordless back onto the set. Groaning, she sheds her pajamas before hitting the shower, selfishly hoping that her sister is throwing up more than she did and not regretting the thought one bit.

* * *

The X-Files Basement Office

This is one of those days when she'd love to have a cup of coffee – or perhaps a shot of valium would do the trick. Nobody should have to deal with two arguments before a shower, and yet, she'd had just that with Missy and Krycek. In a way, she knows she should be happy that she has people to depend on, family to argue with, and then a shudder goes up her spine. She had automatically included Alex Krycek as part of the family. Yikes. Can this day get any worse?

She can hear male voices chattering in the hallway, getting closer. "So, this is where the bad kids are banished to," one says.

Another chuckles, "Put me down here I'd probably cook up a lot of crazy ideas, too."

She can hear the men laughing, and now she forgets about coffee or valium, she'd like an assault rifle. The two men, with Doggett in front, stop laughing when they see her. Idiots. It's clear that Doggett, Styrofoam coffee cup in hand, is surprised to see her, even though it is her office. "Good morning," she says levelly.

"Morning." He nods, with a casualness that would, to most observers, cover his tenseness. He turns to the two jokers. "Uh... I'll catch you guys later." They say nothing, but their posture and averted eyes display clearly what they think of the short redhead standing in the middle of the office.

"Are you sure you're in the right office?" Scully says, raising an eyebrow.

A lesser man would have been taken aback by the belligerent and commanding tone, but Doggett's time in the Marines and years with his ex-wife have made him mostly immune to this sort of thing. Mostly. "Sure am," he says mildly, "been here all weekend and early this morning and went over every X-File in the cabinet there to get an idea of what exactly you and Fox have been working on." He holds up his Styrofoam cup. "Just left to get some coffee." He knew it would be a little strange working with a friend, but after reading all those files, he's surprised things aren't stranger. Hell, he's surprised *she* isn't stranger.

Scully forces herself to breathe normally and give this friend-who's-turned-into-an-insensitive-prick/coworker a chance. After all, even she didn't come into this office with an open mind, and it's not like John had personally experienced weird shit before being thrown into an actual X-File. "Well," and she finds herself forcing herself to be not just civil, but friendly, "do you have any questions?"

"Just a few," he says, and she can see he's got at least a thousand, especially if he's read all the files he's claimed to. "Maybe first you could tell me where your area is here and... uh... where mine's going to be."

Now she's taken aback. Good question. Every thing in this room was so much hers and Mulder's, the mundane and insane objects alike all shared with her partner, that she wasn't quite sure where to put the new guy. She almost smiles. 'New guy'. Yeah, John was joking earlier, but apparently, Kersh's assignment is sticking. "We'll play musical chairs later," she says, "for now, we've got a case."

He raises both eyebrows. "Okay."

As she turns on the slide projector, he turns off the ceiling light. "Homicides: Two," Scully says matter-of-factly, as if she's run all the cases by herself for years rather than weeks, "in Idaho. White male, 62, undertaker by profession, he was killed on his front porch about ten feet away from his wife." She presses the button for the next slide.

"Holy God," Doggett breathes, as an image of a tall man fills the wall, the dead man's face and neck all torn and bloody. The ex-Marine-and-ex-cop winces as he stares at it.

"Cause of death was blood loss from numerous deep wounds ... from bites." She pauses, then addresses him in her teacher voice. "Any thoughts, any questions?"

Doggett walks closer to the image, squinting harder. "'Bites'?"

"On his head, torso and hands. Two of his fingers are missing, eaten off," Scully replies, a small smile on her face. For some reason, Darth Vader's "Now the student has become the master" comes to mind, and while it is fun being the one with more expertise in this office, for once, she hopes it won't remain the case for long.

"By what, an animal?"

Doggett's question brings her back to the here and now. "These were murders," she emphasizes the last word deliberately. "The bites on his wife appear to be human." The next button push shows the slide of the dead woman.

The lines in his forehead deepen as he sees the woman's picture. "I've seen some violent crimes, I mean, some seriously screwed up stuff, but, uh... this is extreme." He turns around to face her. "Is there demonstration of motive?"

She shakes her head. "Not according to local P.D."

Man, she's worse than the FBI instructors, he thinks, before he belatedly remembers that she *was* an instructor before joining Mulder in this basement office and those crazy cases. "Is there any pattern, uh ... ritual or anything?" Somehow, he isn't surprised when Scully shakes her head. So he gives in, something he rarely did in either basic or FBI training. "I gotta admit, Agent Scully, I'm at a loss."

Hate to go all Zen on you, John, but since Mulder isn't here, it's my job to get you up to speed. "Well, that's a good place to start."

* * *

Burley, Idaho  
11:18 a.m.

They pull up to the man's house in a blue rental, cops still swarming around the scene. A large red-haired man, hands on hips, turns and walks over when they step out of the car. "You the folks from the FBI?"

Here we go, Scully thinks. "Yeah."

"Yale Abbott, Cassia County Sheriff's."

"Hi. Agent Scully," she says, shaking his hand. "This is Agent Doggett."

As if she'd said the magic words, the detective ignores her once Doggett's introduced. "We like to think we can handle our own problems around here, but a couple hotshots up in the county seat seem to think this is beyond us," he gives a look of shared confidence to the other man. "Not that we don't appreciate your coming out all this way to give us a hand." He smiles in what he thinks is a friendly fashion.

"Well, I hope we can. I have to admit I'm a little baffled by what I've seen."

Detective Abbott raises his eyebrows and his britches. "Oh, really?"

Scully interjects in a brisk, business-like tone, as if she hadn't been rudely ignored by the big idiot, "Understand, Detective, that we've seen cases like yours regularly on our unit. Agent Doggett has only just been assigned to the X-Files." Even a blind man can see the detective's attitude is condescendingly polite, but she proceeds to ignore that. Somebody's gotta be a professional around here, and she'll be damned if it isn't her. "I can assure you that there's nothing baffling about human bite marks."

That smug-ass smile is still on his face. "Well, that's just what I was getting around to, ma'am. We're not so sure now that these bites are human." His heavy boots clump onto the porch, and they follow after him. "The bodies were discovered by neighbors, so there was contamination of the general crime scene. My boys did a real damn good job of separating the various shoe prints and pulling these. Come on over." Like a kid at show-and-tell, he shows them a dusted animal-like footprint with four toes. "Right there, see that?"

Doggett's finding that pleading ignorance in this scenario is better than faking knowledge. "What is it?"

"It's not human, I know that," the detective answers, drawing up his chest.

Scully hunches down, inspecting it. "It's not quite animal, either."

Detective Abbott doesn't bother to hide his condescension. "There's only four toes."

She stands back up, giving the detective a level look, as if he were shorter than her. That's not an unheard of birth defect," she says matter-of-factly, "no more rare than polydactylism."

The two lawmen stare at her, then at each other. "What did she just say?" the detective looks at his fellow man for a translation.

"I assume she means it could be human." Doggett turns to his partner. "Is that a fair assumption?"

Maybe I should just go home, take a nice long shower to wash the testosterone and stupidity off my skin, and play with the kids, she thinks, but her more reasonable side tells her that that would be acting as narrow-minded as the men. Dammit. When she answers, she doesn't bother to hide her irritation. "I say that assumption is the problem here. A strange print is found and immediately the most important piece of evidence is just thrown out to try and force an explanation. Maybe this print can help explain those bite marks." She waves at it, then unconsciously planting herself in front of it as if to protect it.

"How?" the detective asks.

She smiles sweetly, but Doggett can see there are steel teeth in it. "We just got here, detective, and you want us to solve something with a print you can't even identify?"

Though she be little, yet she is fierce, Doggett recalls from a Shakespearean play in a long-ago English class. Trying to smooth things over, he says, "Well, I have to say I've worked a lot of homicides but if the victims laid out here for any time at all in a setting like this, it'd be pretty remarkable if they didn't attract animals."

John, John, Scully wants to hit her head against the porch post, please don't tell me stupidity is contagious. "I think that post-mortem predation is definitely a consideration here, but I only see one print and if it were an animal there would be numerous prints all over here and in the yard." They look at all the deputies and technicians standing in the yard. And only now the local law start walking carefully, searching for any clues they may have inadvertently contaminated. "What do you think, Agent Doggett?"

I'm thinking that maybe I should look for another office, but Doggett says aloud, "I'm going to go take a look around." He makes his escape by going into the house.

"You know I got two old folks in the morgue mauled beyond recognition," the detective states the obvious, while Scully looks up at the porch rafters. "I have no motive to go on, no intent. There's not one shred of evidence that cries out for a human explanation, yet you stand there telling me flat out that what we're looking for is a man. Thanks for everything, Agent Scully. We'll take it from here." He starts to walk off, satisfied by the sound of his noise, er, voice.

"I'm sure your explanation will mollify all those hotshots down at the county seat, Detective, and relieve any general anxiety about what this thing might be ... but only until it strikes again." There's a slight smile on her face, but it's one that she'd recognize on her husband rather than her own. "And one more thing: I never said that what you're looking for is a man." She lets him leave, and she exhales, wishing it was possible to empty a bottle of wine without hurting her baby. Yeah, and Doggett might start believing in aliens today.

As if prompted, Doggett calls from inside the house, "Agent Scully." He waits until she joins him at the foot of the stairs. "That a second print?" he points to the bottom step.

She nods. "It could be, but I'm not sure if it tells us anything."

"Well, maybe there's no prints in the yard because whatever made these didn't go through the yard," Doggett says reasonably. "It came through the house."

"Well, if anything, I'd say this print leads up the stairs." Scully looks up, and so does he.

They go upstairs, and when he looks under the bed, Doggett calls out, "Think I've got another partial here." He knows this is still a trial period, for the both of them, it seems, but the whole thing is starting to border on the ridiculous. Just because there's a question of what might have killed the old couple doesn't mean it's some kind of mysterious X-File. After all, there were a few casefiles with mundane resolutions. "You know, there is a more obvious explanation."

"Mm-hmm," Scully says, still intent on the print.

"The more basic answer is what we're dealing with here is simply a man," he proposes, already knowing she won't like his answer. It seems she's determined to be stubborn about the whole thing, to make it an X-File. "A psychotic killer with a deformed foot. You're familiar with the principle of Occam's Razor?"

She turns and gives him a look. I'm a physician and a physicist, of course I know. But she simply answers, "You take every possible explanation and you choose the simplest one." Then her chin lifts, and she tilts her head expectantly. "Unless you have a simple explanation as to how a killer with a deformed foot leaves a print only every 25 feet."

"No." Not yet, anyway, he thinks.

"Or to what he'd even be doing up here," Scully continues, as he walks over to the window.

"I don't know," he grunts, trying to open the damn thing. "I'm trying to figure it out just like you are." Of course. Painted shut. What he needs is more clues, not some ironic metaphors.

Scully, on the other hand, goes into the small closet. Wow, the guy must be a mortician, she thinks, all dark suits and white shirts. Or Mulder gone monochrome. It would be a joke she'd share with Mulder, she thinks, looking up, and misses him all over again. "Agent Doggett," she says, and they both look up at the open hatch to the attic.

Helpfully, he grabs a chair, and she stands on it, then he boosts her up into the attic. She blinks, trying to get her eyes adjusted to the darkness. There are only slivers of light, which doesn't illuminate the room, but rather emphasizes how dark the damn place is. "There's gotta be Jungian symbolism around here somewhere," she mutters, suddenly feeling very weary. Is she missing Mulder so much that she's improvising wiseass remarks in his place? Granted, her snapping at the detective was well-provoked, but she usually didn't respond to idiotic provocation like that, even during her previous pregnancies.

"What do you see?" Doggett's gravelly voice interrupts her ruminations. "Agent Scully?"

She smiles and shakes her head. Of the two of them to go exploring in a dark and possibly dangerous place, it's a pregnant doctor rather than the ex-cop that's up here, though only one of them is aware of that. Her hand's on her gun as she replies, "Right now, not a heck of a lot." Her reply prompts him to haul his ass up there, finally. She tries to open a nearby window, but, like the bedroom window downstairs, it ain't budging. "If there was anything up here, it might have gone out that window."

Doggett reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small Mag-Lite. Switching it on, he asks, "You ever carry one of these?"

Let's just chalk this up to hormonal amnesia, she thinks, like I'll ever tell him. "No, never," she replies drily, pulling out her own Mag-Lite.

Must be my lucky day for finding weird clues, Doggett thinks, seeing two mutilated fingers on an old table. " 'V' for victory," he mutters.

"What?" Scully turns around.

Doggett straightens up. "You said the male victim was missing two fingers? Well, how did the fingers get up here?" He waves his flashlight at the ghastly sight.

Scully looks at the fingers, and the smell of bile makes her own bile rise. Turning away, she forces herself to swallow, and she amazes herself by answering calmly, "Well, from their smell, I'd say they were regurgitated." She doesn't bother to hide her disgust. "Recently."

"By what?"

Scully looks up at the attic rafters and isn't surprised to see some deep gouges in the wood. The ironies just keep on coming, she thinks, I catch the high claw marks, John gets the floor prints and slimy fingers. "I saw those marks on the porch, too," she notes.

Doggett looks up, too. "Looks like, to me... I don't know. Like it was... it was..."

She finishes the sentence. "Hanging there?"

* * *

McKesson Residence  
5:51 p.m.

Later that day, Scully is thankful she's done with both the autopsy and yet one more argument with Doggett about what might have killed the old mortician. Oddly enough, however, she was starting to lean towards "animal attack" when Doggett came in with that old newspaper clipping. Thanks to both clipping and autopsy, however, the detective and his crew are in the house, too. Goody. Scully is busy rooting around the cupboards and notes that the sight and sound of all those callous men wreaking havoc in the house is probably making Mrs. McKesson spin in her grave.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Doggett's checking out the deep gouges in the windowsill, latex gloves on hands. The detective thuds rather than walks over, his boots hitting the old wooden floorboards heavily with each step. "You see those marks, right? And the ones over here on the rafter?" the cop jerks a thumb upwards as Doggett looks up. "If you ask me, those look like claw marks. I don't care what kind of a savage he is, what did this isn't human."

Doggett's eyes crinkle at the edges, although his lips purse automatically, as if accustomed to watching his words. "Well, if I may speak for Agent Scully, I think we're both prepared to concede that point, Detective."

"Then you know what this thing is?" Detective Abbott raises his eyebrows.

"I've got a newspaper article I want to show you," the FBI agent says, reaching into his jacket. He hears Scully coming up the stairs, and times his reveal more slowly, since he'd like Scully to see the look on the detective's face when he shows the guy the article. "A rather strange account from 1956..."

Scully hates to steal the new guy's thunder – wait, who is she kidding? Even if it is John Doggett, she's glad to have something decent to show for it. "I found a photo album. I think it's our first break on this case."

The detective turns around. "What is it?" he says it out of bland courtesy rather than real curiosity.

She holds up the photo album, bagged in plastic. "The victim's daughter – Ariel - her dead body was pulled from the river here last week."

Detective Abbott barely nods. "I got that call. Had to come tell Mrs. McKesson the bad news. You trying to say there's some kind of connection?" He gives her a dubious stare.

Scully returns the stare and then some. "Well, you not only told her mother that her 62-year-old daughter was dead but that her body had been horribly and inexplicably burned. A daughter who, by the way, she hadn't even seen in over 40 years. Since 1956, to be exact - which is the date your article says those first killings started." Doggett glances at his newspaper article, then back at her.

As she expected, the detective turns back to Doggett. "Do you see the connection?"

Doggett hates to be made a fool of, he really does, but even he's not sure what's going on now. "I'm not, uh... sure where you're going with this, Agent Scully."

As if she's talking to a group of small children, Scully states simply but firmly, "The daughter is the connection."

And, like a small, and obstinate, child, detective Abbott asks, "How is that?"

How to explain a Mulder-leap to a man who hasn't met her husband, much less dealt with the unexplained on a near-regular basis? Even she's not sure, but she knows in her gut that that's the call her husband would make. "I don't know exactly," she admits, without apology, "but these killings only started up since her burned body has been found."

Now the detective stares at her in out-and-out disbelief. "Honest to God. You just jump at whatever explanation is the wildest and most far-fetched, don't you?"

Scully's only inward consolation is that Mr. Testosterone would be giving Mulder that same look, albeit with a little less condescension for having been born with a penis. "Well, I suggest that you jump at it, too," she snaps at him, "because her body may have been burned for a reason and you're going to want to exhume it in order to find out why."

Detective Abbott squints at her. "You want me to dig up a dead body when I have real people out there whose lives are in real danger?"

"Hey." Doggett steps between his partner and the cop, sensing either a pissing match or an all-out brawl, and uses both his body and his lowered voice as a buffer, or at least a more reasonable front of the FBI to the cop. He's relieved when detective Abbott gives his assent and leaves, but sees that his partner isn't too pleased about what transpired. Or at least, that's how he'd phrase it in his report, should it have to come to that.

She doesn't pull any punches when she asks, "What did you say to him?"

Oh boy, he thinks. "Well, I told him to dig up the body. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"What else did you say to him?"

He'd like the pause to last forever, and it shows. "Well, I told him that you were... um... a... leading authority on paranormal phenomena and who are we to argue with an expert."

She wants to scream, hit her head repeatedly against a wall, and tear her hair out, not necessarily in that order. "Look, I am not an expert," she declares. "I am a scientist who happens to have seen a lot. I am just making a leap here."

If he was Hannah's age, he'd be shifting from one foot to the next, biting his thumbnail. Hell, he'd do it right now if she weren't standing in front of him. "Well, I am sure you have your reasons."

"So, what, you told him to exhume the body when you don't even necessarily believe me yourself?" she says, not bothering to hide her frustration. Honestly, it's as if he'd never heard of the X-Files before coming to this small town.

This is one of those days when he'd cheerfully throw up his hands and walk out like that detective, but he's part of the X-Files now, and besides that, there's no way he'd let Scully tackle the bizarre cases by herself with a bunch of kids at home. Call him sexist or crazy, but he was both raised and trained never to leave a partner or a woman in the lurch. So he tries to make amends with the fiery woman who's as much a legend down in the basement as Mulder.

Sighing, he replies, "I told you I spent the weekend looking through that cabinet full of X-Files and I saw how pretty much every X-File broke - with a leap." His mouth purses a little. "Now, maybe I'm just an old-fashioned cop, but I don't take leaps. In my experience, leaps only get people killed," he explains, wondering if she'll at least give him a break.

Fat chance. "Well, I'd say that you're taking a pretty big leap believing in that article... about a human bat," she holds his pale blue eyes with her own. He stares back, then nods before walking away.

* * *

Slade River  
4:28 p.m.

For some reason, she isn't too surprised when the detective is attacked and killed by the monster, but it gives her no pleasure having her theory vindicated by his death. Scully wonders how Mulder continues to go out on a limb each and every single case, knowing that his ideas, even his very person, will be mocked, even though he's more than often right. Hell, she wonders how he's managed to put up with her skepticism forcing him to work that much harder, and that serves to remind her not only of her missing husband, but also to give her new partner a little slack.

Which is why she's gratified to see Doggett's willing to do a little give and take when it comes to linking the victims with the creature who looks like a bat, but kills with human intent. Granted, it took autopsying Ariel McKesson's body to do that, plus Doggett's article to put the pieces together, but at least he wasn't holding anything back.

She was relieved, of course, when she and Doggett found Myron Stefaniuk alive and well the next morning, having hunted all over the damn place trying to find him. Or at least alive and grumpy. Scully can understand why the old man doesn't believe, since fear and denial can be tempting alternatives when dealing with a bizarre death threat. Heavens knows she's had plenty of time and occasions with which to indulge in both.

Which is probably why she and Doggett are sitting in the rental car, watching Mr. Myron Stefaniuk through binoculars. While the old man is filling five gallon gas cans from a tank in his yard with a plastic siphon, Scully remarks, "You know, we've been out here for nine hours. The only thing this man seems to be in danger of is terminal loneliness," she mutters, and Doggett chuckles at her joke. With the evidence in front of them, however, Scully's less jovial and more depressed. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this is all just a," she pauses, hating to admit to yet another mistake in the same case, "a grand coincidence and we're wasting our time out here."

Now he looks at her. "You were so sure before."

She closes her eyes, rather than facing his look of disbelief and disappointment. "Yeah, I was sure of the facts as I had deduced them scientifically. Maybe I'm... I'm trying to force them into shape. Maybe I'm manufacturing a theory."

He's not letting up, not after all she's been through with not only him, but the detective and the old man. "Well, what happened to taking a leap?"

"Maybe I'm just trying too hard," she says miserably.

"To do what? To be Mulder?" She opens her eyes, and sees he's serious. "You know, I'm not Oxford educated. About all I know about the paranormal is men are from Mars and women are from Venus," and he's a little relieved to see a small smile on her tired face. "But I don't think you're wrong, Agent Scully."

Now she's curious. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugs. "Well, I'm no Fox Mulder, but I can tell when a man's hiding something." He looks out over at their stakeout subject. "Myron Stefaniuk fishes a woman out of the river who's been gone for 40 years. He has a brother he hasn't seen in over 40 years. A brother who just happened to hunt down some kind of creature over 40 years ago."

"Well, what does he have to hide?" Scully also looks at the old man.

Doggett finally allows a real smile to cross his features, which have been forced into a kind of mask for at least the last 48 hours. "Well, that's what I'm hoping this good cop work is going to show us."

Scully glances over at him and smiles back, then raises her binoculars again. They both watch as Stefaniuk hauls the last of the gas cans into the back of his truck. From a safe distance, they follow his truck, which appears to be loaded with more supplies than just gas cans, to his raft by the river. "That's good cop work, all right," Scully remarks when the old man places the gas cans on the raft and begins hauling them across to the island in the middle of the river.

"I got a good idea of who he's delivering to, don't you?" Doggett murmurs as they watch Stefaniuk continue his labors.

"How are you with boats, Agent Doggett?" she asks with a straight face.

* * *

Bird Island.  
9:17 p.m.

n a way, this is almost too easy, Scully thinks as she and Doggett join Ernie Stefaniuk in his cabin. It's as if the human bat is playing a gruesome game of connect-the-dots: the mortician and Mrs. McKesson leading to Ariel McKesson, leading to the detective's death, leading to Myron Stefaniuk, leading to Ernie Stefaniuk. So far, the old men are winning the odds, but it still feels odd to her, especially after seeing that bat nailed to the door.

"How's a man supposed to live when his fear becomes obsession?" Ernie looks from one FBI agent to the other. "You'd do the same thing. Who wouldn't who wanted to live?"

Doggett squints at the older man. "You never left the island?"

Ernie shakes his head. "44 years - I wouldn't dare knowing it was out there. That it could come back for me."

Doggett's eyes become more piercing. "You know something about it? About what this thing is?"

The old man takes a quick read off the man in the suit, then replies, "I know on the evolutionary ladder bats are real close by the apes and just as we came from the apes so might a man, sprung from a bat. To live and hunt like a bat but with the cold-blooded vengeance of a man."

Scully frowns. "Even if that were true, sir, how could it possibly find you out here on an island?"

"I needed to cut off all contact," he answers heavily. "Communication could be only one-way. My brother helped me." Ernie chokes a little, "And then there was my wife."

"It was her body your brother pulled in," Doggett says, understanding.

It's painful to watch, much less hear, Ernie's story. "She gave up everything to be with me. I forbade her to tell her mother. Forty-four years on six acres of island, she made only one demand. To be buried in consecrated earth. She was a Catholic her whole life," he gasps, tears running down his face.

Scully and Doggett look at each other before she replies. "Mr. Stefaniuk," she says, deciding to be direct, even though it's like adding more bad news on top of his pain, "it's killed four people. All of whom would have had traces of your scent through various degrees of contact with your wife's body."

Ernie's gaze goes from teary to sharp. "My brother?"

"Your brother's okay, Ernie," Doggett reassures him.

Ernie shakes his head. "But he had contact with Ariel's body. It'll come after him, too."

Scully jumps in to calm the old man down, his paranoia rising again. "He's all right. We spoke with him earlier today."

"Today? Today, he might have been fine but this thing hunts likes a bat," he says, his eyes wide. "It only attacks at night."

Doggett looks at Scully, and the phrase, Oh shit, is on their face, if not their lips. "Stay here," Doggett tells his partner, pulling out his gun. "Stay with him."

Scully nods, also pulling out her own weapon as her partner leaves.

* * *

While Doggett gets a face-to-face with a creature he didn't quite believe, Scully takes a look out the window before closing the drapes. As she tells Ernie about how she and Doggett tracked him down, it doesn't take long before even her not-quite-Mulder-leap makes her uncomfortable. "Well, I," she pauses, "I made the connections, but it was Agent Doggett that got us out here."

The old man's eyes are sharp. "You ought to be wishing he hadn't."

"Excuse me?" Scully says, surprised.

"The moment you stepped foot here," Ernie clarifies. "You're marked now, you know that."

There's no way in hell I'm sitting on this island, away from my children, away from the world, away from searching for Mulder, she thinks defiantly. "Sir, I'm here to protect you."

"And how are you going to do that? You thought of everything," he notes. "Except that."

Dammit, he's right, she thinks. Mulder would've taken that into consideration. Dammit! "Well, this thing, Mr. Stefaniuk," she says, forcing herself as much as him to believe, "is still flesh and blood. It can be killed."

He coughs rather than laughs. "What do you think? It's just going to come walking through the door, there?" he points, and they both look at the door. "It's waited 44 years. It'll wait out there as long as it takes until you can't stand it anymore." He lowers his head. "How long can you wait, huh? A lifetime? To live in fear like this, a young woman - are you prepared to sacrifice family, children and spend your life terrorized by a monster?"

Before she can or would answer, a loud beeping sounds from a monitor on the table. As they move toward it, she sees a radar display. "What is that?"

"It's ground radar," Ernie answers, nervous. "The sensor's set at ten feet high. Anything big enough to set it off is coming in through the trees."

There's a thumping on the roof, and Scully automatically points her gun upwards. She fires through the roof nine times, then five more times. Her eyes wide, gun still upraised, she asks, "You hear it?"

"No," he says, but there's no relief in his voice.

While she reloads, Scully says, "Maybe I got it. Maybe I killed it." Cautiously, she opens the door and looks out, but sees nothing. "If you've got a gun, get it," she says without turning around. Gun out, the petite agent closes the door and goes outside. Looking up at the roof, she sees more of nothing. Her heart hammering, she continues to inspect the perimeter with her weapon out, forcing her eyes to adjust to the murky night.

It isn't long, however, before she hears Ernie scream and spins around, seeing a shotgun blast explode through the roof. All of her maternal instincts, plus her more-than-human ones are telling her to run the hell away, but she can't. Running back inside, she sees the damn mutant bat savagely attacking Ernie. Hearing her, it looks up, its mouth bloody, and it almost seems as if it's telling her she's next. Without hesitating, Scully fires into its back, but the freak screeches and flies out. Running after it, she's surprised by Doggett coming in, looking like he's already met the monster.

"Agent Scully," he rasps, relieved to see she's all right, that he's not too late. When her eyes widen, he doesn't have time to turn around, the monster comes at him from above and slams him to the ground. Sonofabitch, Doggett thinks, the adrenaline keeping him angry and awake enough to fire as much as he can, but the damn thing still flies off, shrieking like a stuck pig. His head pounding, he grimaces as Scully grasps his arm to pull him up into a sitting position. "You okay?" he asks, rotely.

She forces herself to smile. "Yeah, I'm okay." Scully's already noted how he winced when she pulled him up, plus his eyes already unfocusing. "But you're not, Agent Doggett. Whoa, I got you," she says, gently laying him down. She's relieved that he's now out for the count, since she figures he probably wouldn't enjoy screaming while she checks out his battle scars. When the mutant bat screeches, Scully whips her head up, staring into the trees, trying to locate the creature. "Dammit," she sighs, pulling out her gun again, this is gonna be a long night.

* * *

X-Files Office  
Two Weeks Later

Sitting behind the desk, Scully closes her eyes, using Mulder's nameplate to tap out a rapid, but soothing, rhythm. Today was actually a good day at home. Granted, she's still getting used to the idea, much less the sight, of Krycek playing with her children, but she has to admit he's pretty good with them. She groans. Out of all the weirdness she's encountered on the X-Files, why does it have to be the stuff at home that's the weirdest? Her brilliant husband and partner, after sharing a haunted home and large family with her, being abducted by the freaky aliens they've sworn to fight against, who apparently asked Alex Krycek, of all people, to help look after the kids. Yes, Krycek, a dubious double agent, being not only her sister's lover and father of their artificially-created child, but also her children's nanny. What the hell happened to her life? "Okay, maybe he will be good for Missy, but it doesn't mean I have to like it," she glares, slamming Mulder's nameplate on the desk.

Doggett's eyes widen when he walks in. "Sorry I'm late," he says, "did I miss anything?"

Scully sighs, shaking her head while murmuring a mental apology to Mulder for abusing his property. "Um, no, come on in," she says when she sees Doggett hesitating at the doorway.

Doggett holds up a paper, seemingly businesslike, but more like a white flag, as he walks in. "I received a fax up in my old office from Ernie's brother, Myron Stefaniuk."

She sits up. "He's alive? Where is he?"

Handing the fax over, Doggett makes a face. "He doesn't say. He sent this from a small storefront business just across the state line in Wyoming. He's gone into hiding."

Scully scans the fax, then looks up. "Do you believe it, Agent Doggett?"

He can see that's a loaded question, especially in this office. "Believe it?"

"That this thing is still out there and someday it's going to come after us?" she asks. Not that she doubts his integrity or willingness to put himself in the line of fire, it's just that, yeah, this office, the casefiles, have a way of taking the most out of you, making you question not only your beliefs, but also your sanity at times. She's not sure how Mulder did it on his own for so long, but if she can't rely on John to be there, she might as well do this on her own.

"I'm pretty sure I hit it, Agent Scully. Pretty sure you hit it, too." His pale eyes hold her own, meeting her challenge. In a lighter tone, he adds, "The guys upstairs were making some noise about this case - about what's in our field report."

Scully nods. "Yeah. You'll get used to it." Her eyes fall on Mulder's nameplate, and she almost smiles. Okay, Mulder, looks like the new guy's staying. "Agent Doggett," and his eyebrows go up, "I'll see that you get a desk here."

"All right."

It feels weird, but she knows she has to say it. After all, it's the first time she's even close to getting along with someone in this basement office other than Mulder. "And I just want to say, um... thank you for watching my back."

The guy looks surprised, but also relieved. "Well, I never saw it as an option. I'm sure you don't either," Doggett says seriously. When it's apparent she's not going to press the issue, he goes over to the file cabinet and starts looking through it.

While he's occupied, Scully looks at the nameplate again. Hope you don't mind, Mulder, she thinks, but John's gonna be here a while. She doesn't quite smile, but there's something like it as she picks up the phone to ask about a desk.


	93. Invocation

Dexter Community Hospital  
Late October 2000  
11:02 a.m.

Life's full of ironies, Scully mentally observes as she squats down to face the silent little blond boy clad in white t-shirt and overalls, a young boy examined me, and now I'm examining a young boy. Earlier that morning, when she'd gone over to pick Doggett up for their current case, Gibson Praise, propped up on crutches, had silently appraised her and her unborn child, then smiled, and she appreciated his discretion. It also helped that Luke was hassling his father about how long he and Gibson could play videogames, right up until the frazzled man got to the door. Finally, the older Doggett had snapped, "If I hear a word about playing past ten from Hannah, you're both grounded," shuts up the younger Doggett.

The memory bringing a small smile to her face, Scully now holds up the lighted instrument, telling Billy Underwood in a gentle voice, "I'm just going to shine this light in your eyes, okay? You're doing great." The boy doesn't blink, and she nods, quickly putting the instrument away. "See? Nothing to it."

Doggett puts down the "Missing" poster when Scully turns to looks at him through the window. He nods, then turns when the middle-aged Sheriff Sanchez joins him at the window. "He won't speak?" the FBI agent asks.

The gray-haired man shakes his head. "No, not even to his parents."

Doggett's eyebrows go up. "Are they here, his parents?"

The sheriff nods wearily. "Oh, they've been here around the clock. I took his prints... It's him." He nods at the child. "Boy should be a teenager by now, but look at him. Explain to me how that can be."

That's more Scully's expertise than mine, he's about to say, but rather than confuse the guy further, only replies, "I can't say, Sheriff. I'm just here to find out who took him."

Now the sheriff's staring at the kid with a frustration born of bewilderment with the unexplained. "I talked to everyone at school and no one saw him come back or how. The boy just come out of the blue."

Scully leaves the room and closes the door behind her, raising an eyebrow when she sees two deputies carrying boxes down the hall. "Are those the case files?" she asks, joining the men.

Sheriff Sanchez turns, then nods. "Oh, yeah. Plenty more where those came from. There's lots of files. There's just not much in them." His expression grows sour. "We never even had a suspect."

Doggett nods, then points, "Have them set them over there, would you."

As the sheriff directs them to a table, Scully says quietly to her current partner, "Okay. Well, what we've got here is a healthy seven-year-old boy who was born seventeen years ago."

Doggett's expression doesn't change as he watches the men load the table with boxes. "Yeah, a healthy boy who won't speak."

* * *

A couple looking to be around the agents' age comes down the hallway, looking both concerned and purposeful. The woman with short curly blonde hair and blue eyes asks, "Excuse me? Are you finished with Billy?"

Scully looks up at them. "Mr. and Mrs. Underwood?

Mrs. Underwood blinks at them uncertainly. "Um, you're with the FBI..."

Scully smiles, but it's all business. "Yes. I'm Agent Scully, and this is Agent Doggett. We are, uh, investigating this case."

Mrs. Underwood's smile, however, is that of a mother reunited with her long-lost son. "It's a miracle, isn't it?"

Scully and Doggett look at each other, silently asking, Do you wanna take it? When Doggett steps away, Scully stops short of rolling her eyes. "Mrs. Underwood," she pauses, wishing she had more to go on, "whatever your son has been through, it has somehow affected his physical condition."

"So we've been told by every doctor here," Mrs. Underwood says, impatience wearing her voice thin. "We just want to take him home. After ten years, can we do that?" She casts a pleading look at the agents, then her husband, who holds her.

Before Scully can say yes, Doggett takes a large paper evidence bag from one of the file boxes. "Not yet," he says, walking into the room. "I want to talk to him first."

Scully's startled, but is willing to let him try another tactic. They all watch through the window as Doggett closes the door. "How you doing, Billy?" Doggett says in a friendly enough voice. "My name's John. I'm gonna have a seat over here, is that okay? Is that all right?"

When the boy doesn't answer, Doggett sits at the table, making sure he's within peripheral vision. "Billy, I want you to know that you're not alone," the FBI agent says in a reassuring voice. "I've talked to lots of other boys and girls who've been hurt just like you. Sometimes when they talk about it the hurt starts to go away. You want to talk about it, Billy?" he asks, while Billy says nothing, just drawing the same symbol with black magic marker.

Okay, maybe the kid needs to see the big picture, have more control of the situation, Doggett thinks. "You know, maybe you think bad things happened to you because you've been a bad boy... but I'm here to tell you, that's not true." He shifts his position so he's more in the kid's view. "The bad guy is the one who took you away and it's up to you and me to get the bad guy. See, 'cause as big and tough as I am, I can't do it alone," he says in a cajoling tone. "I need your help. Can you tell me about him, Billy? What's his name? What did he look like?" Eagerness makes his voice more abrupt than he'd like, but the longer Billy takes to talk, the farther away the kidnapping bastard will get.

Still no answer. All right, maybe a little bribery will do the trick, Doggett sighs inwardly, getting the dinosaur-covered backpack from the evidence bag and setting it on the desk. "You remember this, don't you, Billy? Would you like to have that back?" When Billy reaches for it, Doggett's relieved to see he's got some recognition of his life, remembering something precious, and pulls it out of Billy's reach.

On the other side of the window, Mrs. Underwood is aghast. "What is he doing?"

Scully is similarly flabbergasted, but doesn't want to tell her that Doggett's using an interrogation trick, albeit a juvenile, but sometimes effective trick. Before she can come up with some Mulder-like b.s. the woman will buy, Doggett says, "All I want is his name."

That's what sets off the formerly flaky woman and turns her into avenging mother, swooping into the room to pick up both her little boy and his backpack. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouts at Doggett. "He's only a little boy!" Cradling Billy to her chest, she carries him out of the room.

"Mr. Underwood...?" Scully calls after the father, who follows his wife out of the hospital. Dammit, Scully thinks, running in the room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snaps. Hell, she understands the stakes, but even she knows that pushing a child like that in front of his mother is asking for it. "Have you really worked kid cases before, Agent Doggett? Child abductions?"

Doggett stands slowly, holding her gaze with his own. "I worked the child abduction task force. I know the horror stories, but this kid can help us."

She shakes her head. "This isn't just a horror story. This is a biological impossibility."

"Well, that's your area of expertise," he says levelly. "I just want to put the person who did this out of business. Billy just didn't show up. He got away or was let go. And if he can talk, he can tell us by who. Or he can look at photos in the files and point to the man who did this so this doesn't happen to some other little boy."

Scully wants to shake the man, really, she does. "You are ignoring the fact that he is still seven years old."

"Failure to thrive," Doggett shoots back. "Isn-isn't that the term? I mean, aren't there diseases that delay puberty and so on?"

"I told you," Scully replies evenly, wishing she wouldn't see so much of herself in Doggett's understandable skepticism, "he's *not* *sick*."

"Good," Doggett says, not willing to admit any other implications of her statement. "Then he can talk." And walks away from the one person he least wants to talk to right now, yet the only person who probably has even a clue about what the hell's going on right now, closing the door behind him.

* * *

6:37 p.m.

Doggett takes a swig of coffee as he holds the cell phone to his ear, counting each ring as how many times the kids are tackling each other, trying to get to the phone first. On the eighth ring, a rushed voice says, "Hello!"

"Luke, you better be playin' nice with your sister," Doggett says, keeping the smile from his voice, even as it spreads across his face.

"Aw, Dad," the teenager whines, "she was the one who tackled Gibson, not me." A high-pitched voice in the background wails, while another yells, "It was Luke!"

Now he chuckles, and then realizes it's only been a few hours since he last did so, but it feels like years. Damn. "Hey, anybody gets hurt, I'm gonna have Agent Scully fix you up without any anesthetic."

His son chuckles, remembering his dad's last case and how banged up he got. "Hey, how's Mrs. Scully doing?" Luke asks.

"Uh," Doggett wishes for the hundredth time that the FBI couple would use normal appellations so that he and his kids could properly address them without tripping over themselves, "she's okay, I guess."

There's a pause. "Dad, you didn't piss her off again, did you?"

"How come I'm the bad guy?" Doggett sits up. "She's the one talkin' about how a kidnapped kid showing up healthy is a weird thing."

"Oh, boy, this sounds more like Gibson's thing," Luke murmurs, "hey, Dad, I'm gonna hand you over to Gib." Before his father can cut him off, he adds, "And you're eating a real meal, right? None of that vending machine crap."

"Hey," his father protests, but it's a weak one. In front of him, next to the boxes of files, is a mostly-filled coffee cup, a bag of peanuts, a bag of cookies, and a sandwich, all courtesy of vending machines. "I'm on a case."

"I know," Doggett can hear his son smirking, "after this, I'm gonna call Mrs. Scully and tell her you ain't eating right."

"Hi, Mr. Doggett," a new voice comes on the phone before he can properly chew out his oldest child. "Wow, don't take it out on me."

Now Doggett frowns sidelong at his cell. "You can't possibly read my mind at this distance."

The teenager laughs. "No, but I guess you're probably ticked off at Luke for talking to you like a kid."

He's gonna be a helluva shrink when he grows up, Doggett groans, or an even spookier profiler than Mulder. "Ha, ha," he makes a face. "Don't tell me you know the answer to the case already."

"I'm a mind reader, Mr. Doggett, not a fortune teller," Gibson says, and Doggett can swear the kid's smirking, too. "But if it makes you feel any better, even that doesn't help sometimes. It sure didn't keep me out of crutches or a cast."

Doggett nods, remembering that in the recent past, the teen's so-called abilities got him endangered by some serious wackos, one of whom seemed to be Agent Mulder himself. That still didn't sit right, how everything went haywire... ah, never mind, gotta focus on this case, he tells himself. "Yeah, well, I think Agent Scully's got the market cornered on weird explanations for medical conditions."

"Mr. Doggett? Why did Luke say this case was more my kind of thing?"

Now the agent sighs. What to tell him, when he's not even sure what's going on himself? What the hell. "I just said that Scully seemed to think it was weird some kid shows up healthy after being kidnapped for ten years."

"What's so weird about that?"

Oh boy. "Well, Billy was seven when he was taken, and he's still seven now. And he doesn't talk."

"Yeah, that is kinda weird," Gibson says, and even Doggett has to agree, given even the bare bones of the case, that it would certainly rate high on the weird-shit-o-meter. "Hey, Mr. Doggett, wouldn't you be worried if one of your kids shows up without aging or talking after being gone for ten years?"

Doggett starts to say something, but then gets hit by an odd sense of déjà vu that's irritated him while on the child abduction detail when he was on the police force. After all, neither Hannah nor Luke have been kidnapped, but for some reason, the sense of loss always resonated with him while working those cases, as if he had lost a child. "Well, yeah," he says grudgingly. "Doesn't look like his parents are too worried, though."

"They're probably happy to get him back," Gibson says, and there's a hint of envy in those words. "But it's gonna be hard for everybody, because it's so weird."

"As soon as me an' Agent Scully get to the bottom of this, everything should be okay," he tells the boy, and then wonders if he's reassuring Gibson or himself. Jeez.

"Just don't be surprised if she brings up aliens or the paranormal," the teenager says, sounding almost as old as the agent, "you guys are on the X-Files, remember, not the regular missing persons division."

"How could I forget," Doggett mutters. It seems everyone and everything has conspired to remind him what a crazy division this particular basement office is. When he hears his daughter whining in the background, though, he also remembers the reason why he joined the FBI in the first place. "Hey, Gib, could you put Hannah on?"

"Sure," Gibson says, taking no offense. "And don't forget to eat some real food."

Doggett's about to give the kid some wiseass remark, but then his little sweetheart says, "Hey, Daddy."

His grin's stretched from ear to ear, his eyes crinkling as he croons, "How's my little sweetheart?"

"Daddy, Luke's mean," she complains, and he can picture her matching pout.

"Aw, Sweetie, he's probably thinkin' he's the man of the house now." He grins.

He can still hear her pouting as she goes on, "But Daddy, they're drinkin' all the Coke and won't let me have none."

"Have any," he corrects her, but in the same soft drawl she's got. "Tell them I said to share, okay?"

"Okay!" his little girl says brightly. "Luuuuuke," she says in a louder voice, "Daddy says you hafta shaaare!"

The groans in the background indicate that they're busted, and they're probably thinking of ways to get her back, but not tonight. "Just one Coke, okay, Hannah? Otherwise your teeth are gonna fall out."

"Ewwwwwww." she grimaces, "okay, just one. An' Daddy?"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"I love you."

Damn if it doesn't get to him every time, his heart's just full to bustin', as his late father used to say. "Love you, too, Sweetie. You be good now, you hear?"

She giggles, "Okay," and he can practically see her dimply smile.

"Bye, Sweetie, an' tell your brother and Gibson I love 'em, too."

"Okay! Bye!"

When he hangs up, he frowns a little. Wait, did he just pass on his love to Gibson, too? Ah, whatever, there's enough to go around, he grins, opening up another file box. God knows this case will give him little reason to smile or anything like that, if the first box was anything to go by. Sighing, he picks up the cup and takes a large gulp of coffee, then opens the next folder full of what looks to be more fruitless interviews.

* * *

9:48 p.m.

Scully almost shakes her head when she walks into the office, seeing Doggett reading the files in an almost obsessive fashion. Guess Mulder's not the only one to forgo creature comforts on a case, she thinks, seeing the discarded junk food wrappers on the table. "You going to sleep here, too?"

Doggett sits up, surprised to see her there. "What time is it?" he asks, checking his watch as he does so. Just twelve before ten, he notes, it's not bedtime yet.

Smothering a smile at his reaction, Scully says instead, "I spoke with the doctors who treated Billy. I looked at his charts."

"And what, did you find something?" he asks, his eyebrows up.

"Yes and no," she says, deciding to soften the blow, since she knows he's not going to like what she's found. Hell, *she* doesn't like it, and she's supposedly the senior member of the X-Files. What showed up is that Billy is the same boy who was taken ten years ago."

That's the big news? Doggett wants to shout, but smothers his frustration. "We know that."

"No," she says, deciding to toss subtlety out the window. "I mean the *same* boy. He has no cavities. He has no tooth decay. He still has four baby teeth that he's never lost. He had a routine blood test six weeks before he disappeared in 1990. His cell counts, his enzymes, his hormone levels, they are all *exactly* the same as they were ten years ago."

"Now, how can that be possible?" he asks, hollowly.

*Now* you get the picture, she thinks. "It's medically *im*possible."

He hates to ask, he really does, but the cop in him is determined to see this through. "So, what's the punch line? Where are you saying he's been?"

How can I say this when I don't quite believe this myself? she wonders. "There are," she says, looking at the files, "X-File cases that describe similar paranormal findings. Alien abductees who came back with anomalous medical stats," she finishes, looking at him.

He starts to bite her head off, when he remembers Gibson's words, and sees she looks just as uncomfortable positing her theory as he is trying to wrap his mind around it. All right. "Well, that's one theory," he says, without any heat, "an' if that's the best science can come up with, 'anomalous', then okay."

She's surprised he didn't go for the jugular, but she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "I'm not saying that I can explain it, Agent Doggett, but this is definitely not normal." Then she tilts her head. "All right, so you think science came up short. What did your 'good cop work' come up with?"

Answering her challenge, Doggett gets another file. "I went back to the witnesses at the crime scene the day Billy vanished, to this guy, Ronald Purnell." He opens file to display the mugshot of a teenaged boy. "He was detained, questioned and dismissed as a suspect."

She looks at the stats, then at her partner. "What's your interest in this guy?"

"He's a high school dropout, convicted of possession, arson, and shoplifting since 1990," he says, closing the file.

When she sees the seal and logo on the file, however, her eyes grow wide. "These are juvenile records. These are sealed by the court, Agent Doggett," she emphasizes "court", as if that would underline the seriousness of the situation. We're not supposed to have these." Is it me, or does everyone I work with have a problem with obtaining things legally? she thinks, conveniently forgetting her own forays into filching information.

He plants his hands on the table. "Look, unless you've got some way of makin' Billy talk without traumatizing both him an' his family, I'm gonna do whatever it takes to catch this guy, Agent Scully."

She stares at him, then says quietly, "I'm surprised you haven't suggested bringing in Gibson to read Billy's mind."

Doggett looks startled, as that hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd said he'd use whatever it took, but now... "That ain't even an option," he answers evenly, staring right back.

She holds his gaze, then nods. "Right," she says, "we're the agents in charge." And without another word, she picks up the illegally-gained file, perusing its contents, with Doggett joining her in absorbing information from other not-quite-properly-obtained files.

* * *

Dexter Community Hospital  
11:09 a.m.

He'd gone out to see Ronnie Purnell at his home earlier this morning, both for a chance to shake a tree and see if anything useful fell out, and to get out of the hospital and away from all those files. Looks like his trip was in vain, since he got nothing from Purnell and he's back at the hospital, since it seems Billy had just threatened his (younger? older?) brother Josh.

Right now, he and Scully are staring at the bagged, bloody knife held by the sheriff. Sheriff Sanchez tells them, "Just got word back from the lab. Ran the blood twice and no doubt about it. It's the little boy's."

Doggett looks up at the man. "But I thought you said he wasn't cut," he says, taking the knife.

The older man shakes his head. "No, it's the other son I'm talking about, Billy - the boy who was kidnapped."

"That doesn't make any sense." Doggett frowns.

Scully frowns, too. "No, Billy wasn't cut either."

The sheriff's expression doesn't change as he agrees, "No, but he definitely handled the knife. His prints are on it."

"Where did he even get it?" Doggett looks at the knife, certainly not the type they sell in toy stores or even in supermarkets.

The sheriff shrugs slightly. "His father's never seen it before. He's no hunter," he snorts a little. "Never cleaned an animal, which is about all a knife like that's good for... except for killing, of course."

Okay, point taken, Scully thinks, you do subtle really well, Sheriff. "Well, I hate to say this ... but I think that the best thing for Billy and his family is if he's removed to an institution under the observation of people who are experienced in these things."

Now Doggett looks at his partner. "You mean, remove him? Take him away? After all his family's been through?"

She stares right back. "This is not a normal child, Agent Doggett, and this is not a normal act."

An already familiar stubbornness settles on his face. "You make it sound like he's possessed. Call the exorcist," he mocks. Then he snaps, "He's a kid - a kid who's been through who knows what kind of hell. Give him a chance. How do you know he's not trying to communicate something?"

She raises an eyebrow. "And what's the message?" When he can't answer, she plows on. "Yes, he's a kid, Agent Doggett, you're right. He's a kid who materialized out of thin air, unaged. Do you not somehow recognize how strange this is?" Scully's already crossed alien abduction off her list, given the medical results and lack of UFO sighting corroboration, but there's so many things wrong about this child that she doesn't even know where to begin to theorize from.

Rather than simply yelling the first insults that come to mind, Doggett looks down at the knife in his hand to give him some time to think. It's only then that he notices a simple five-armed symbol is engraved on the knife handle. "Did anybody notice this?" he changes the subject. "This symbol?"

The sheriff blinks, then shifts his weight a little. "Yeah. Yeah, uh, I was going to mention that to you 'cause it's... uh," he looks embarrassed, "kind of weird."

Doggett doesn't care about the man's embarrassment, now they're getting some clues. "Weird how?"

Sheriff Sanchez does his best to look the other man in the eye. "Well, like I told you, we tried everything to find that boy, and who abducted him went so far as to bring in a police psychic ten years back - came up with that very same symbol."

Ah, figures, Doggett thinks, and tries to keep his voice level as he prompts further, "So how exactly did he come up with it?"

"She," the sheriff corrects the agent. "Sharon Pearl. Couldn't say how it came to her."

Scully, however, puts two and two faster than the men. "I've seen this symbol before, too."

Doggett looks at her in surprise. "You have?"

Without another word, Scully goes into the observation room, picks up the paper Billy was drawing on and holds it up against the window for the men to see. It's rendered with a childish hand, mostly in black crayon, but the five-clawed symbol is unmistakable in its repetition all over the paper. Get it? she thinks as she and the paper face the men. The look on their faces show they got it, and she finally thinks, Good.

* * *

Underwood Residence  
5:53 p.m.

In the Underwood's living room, a woman who looks like she could be Scully's older sister is testing a handheld tape recorder. Not that Doggett would say that out loud, but Sharon Pearl has similar dark auburn hair and light green eyes like the sister he recalls seeing at his FBI graduation party. While they're waiting on the psychic, Doug Underwood walks over to them, gives Pearl a glance and mutters, "This is great. Now I've got a psychic sitting in my living room who's going to tell me what's wrong with my son."

Scully doesn't blame him, but since the psychic's the only one who's gotten anything useful to this case so far, she tries to smooth things over. "I understand your misgivings, Mr. Underwood, but perhaps you can look at this as just another avenue."

The man looks at her as skeptically as he looks at the psychic. "An avenue to what?"

Doggett tries to steer them onto the main track without sounding like he's totally all for this hogwash himself. "We're going to solve this case, Mr. Underwood. We're going to find out who did this to your son," he says as firmly and sincerely as he can.

"And then what?" Underwood snaps. "What am I left with? A kid who stabs knives into his brother's mattress? You don't know the half of it. He gives everyone but his mother the creeps with that stare of his."

Doggett would like to say that he understands, but this reaction from the kid's own father is putting a clearer picture on the knife attack, a picture that he's starting to see sounds less like the typical missing child reunion and more like something ominous. "I just know that this is going to tear you apart," he replies, almost by rote. "It's going to tear your family apart. And you can't let it. You've got to save them from the damage this can do."

The other Underwood boy, with his dark hair and eyes, looks more like his father as he comes down the stairs, especially with his dubious expressions at the newcomers. "I'll be happy to save what I can," Mr. Underwood says. "Come on, Josh. Let's go." The father takes his son by the hand, and they leave the house without looking back.

The psychic, meanwhile, looks at her watch. "Is this going to happen?"

"Shouldn't you be telling us that?" Doggett asks.

Pearl smiles. "You're no doubt confused, Agent Doggett. I take psychic readings, not see through walls."

Doggett's about to retort, but then Mrs. Underwood brings her not-quite-normal son downstairs. "Sorry to keep you waiting," Lisa Underwood apologizes.

"Mrs. Underwood, I'm Sharon Pearl," she shakes the other woman's hand. "I consulted on your son's disappearance back in 1990." After the mother nods, Pearl kneels down to the boy's level. "And you're Billy?" As she looks at the unsmiling boy, her friendly expression shifts to shock, then horror, but keeps holding on to the boy's hands.

Ever observant, Scully asks, "Ms. Pearl? Are you okay?"

"There are very powerful forces at work here," Pearl replies, her voice shaking. "Working through this boy. Drawing him to his brother. I feel this force," she finally releases Billy's hands and stands. "I feel this force," she frowns, then looks directly at Scully, "coming through you. You lost someone just like Billy."

Scully looks at Doggett in surprise. Suddenly, the psychic starts thrashing about, speaking gibberish, and if that wasn't surprising enough, the woman's forehead begins to throb and swell. Tears run down her face as the skin ripples into the five-armed symbol, but she doesn't stop speaking the strange, rapid syllables that come as quickly as the symbol.

"Oh, my God," Scully rushes to the woman, checking her vitals. She looks up to see the adults still staring in horror, and she barks, "Call 911!" As Doggett pulls out his cell, Scully tries her best to make the woman comfortable, pushing the fallen tape recorder away as she cradles the still-convulsing woman in her arms.

Dear God, dear God, Scully prays inwardly, hoping against hope that Billy isn't similarly possessed like the boy in the Holvey case. As far as she can tell, neither parent is into old European magic or beliefs, but it's possible his kidnapper was, and as she continues with these comforting thoughts racing through her head, she pulls off her jacket sleeve and uses it as a makeshift gag so Pearl won't choke.

* * *

Darkness has fallen quickly, and Scully watches as Mrs. Underwood takes her still-silent son back into the house. Once the ambulance has left her sight, Scully joins Doggett in their rental car. "Well, they've got her stabilized and it looks like she's going to be okay... if you're at all curious about her condition," she adds when Doggett's expression hasn't changed since she got in.

His face a study in stubbornness, he replies, "I'd be more curious if I believed it."

Now she looks at him curiously. "Believed what?"

"The act," he says bluntly.

Scully raises an eyebrow. "You think that was an act?"

"It's pretty standard fare, isn't it?" he looks at her directly. "Float a few choice revelations, as if they came from on high, roll around on the floor..."

She stares right back. "You saw that symbol appear on her forehead."

"It's a damn good trick," he shrugs. "Don't ask me how she does it." When Scully takes out the tape recorder, Doggett groans when he hears the 'psychic's' incoherent mumblings. "Agent Scully, please," he makes a face.

"No, I think you want to hear this," she says, much like a parent telling a child to swallow medicine. "Now listen to it backwards."

She'd only found it by mistake, idly hitting the wrong button while reading the paramedics' chart before they'd left. Aloud, the only sound is a semi-deep voice, garbled by the tape, singing, "When you wake ..."

Doggett sits up. "What was that?"

"You shall have ..." the strange voice continues singing.

"It's a boy singing," Scully replies, straightforward.

They listen as the voice goes on, "All the pretty little horses..."

"Lyrics," she adds, softly singing along, "Hush-a-bye, don't you cry... go to sleep, little baby..."

"You hear that, under the noise? Now..." she says, looking back at the recorder.

Doggett's attention, however, is drawn by the sight of Ronnie Purnell's car pulling up across the street. "What's he doing here?"

* * *

Ronnie Purnell stops his car in front of the house, his eyes on the front door, a mixture of fear and hope on his scraggly features. When a small hand touches his shoulder, he starts, but that's nothing to the shock and horror of seeing little Billy sitting in the passenger seat next to him. "Get away from me," he gibbers in fear. He puts his hand on the car door handle to escape, but another shadow's in his way.

"Ronnie, open up the car!" Doggett shouts, knocking on the window. Then he sees the little blond boy in the delinquent's car, and his blood pressure goes up several notches. Purnell, seeing Doggett's reaction, panics and starts the car. That only serves to piss Doggett more, as if the day wasn't crazy enough. "Ronnie. Ronnie, stop the car!" he says, even as the car pulls out, and he runs after it. Passing his partner, Doggett yells, "Agent Scully, he's got Billy!"

Without another word, Scully slides over to the driver's seat and circles the block to cut off Purnell on a side street and both cars screech to a halt when it's clear there's nowhere for him to go. Scully pulls out her gun, then gets out of the car. "Get out of the car!" she yells, angry. "Now!"

The thin man does, hands up. Doggett catches up with them, and roughly turns Purnell against the car. "Don't move, Ronnie," he growls. Then he sees Billy's not in the car. "Where's Billy?"

Okay, now Scully's confused. "I thought you said Billy was in the car?"

To answer her question, Doggett snaps at the handcuffed man. "Where's Billy?"

Still shaken, Purnell doesn't answer. Frustrated, not only with Purnell but also with the entire freakin' day, Doggett shoves him, then exhales. He looks in the backseat, then pops the trunk. No sign of the kid. Crap!

* * *

Later, at the sheriff's office, Doggett watches as Sheriff Sanchez books Purnell, his cold blue eyes squinting hard at the younger man.

Watching her new partner, Scully almost smiles. "Count to ten, Agent Doggett," she advises instead.

Now he rounds on her. "He took Billy."

She sighs, although she can't deny reacting quickly when he'd shouted Purnell had Billy. "He couldn't have."

"How are you going to back that up with Billy now missing from his home?" he looks at her, as if daring her to pull some cockamamie theory from God knows where.

She answers his glare with a steady gaze. "By the certain knowledge that not five minutes earlier, I saw him enter his home with his mother." And unless he's into riding with strangers or even a suspect from his past, which I doubt highly, Billy, by all rights, should be safe at home.

"I saw him!" Doggett hears his voice rising, and quickly turns down the volume, knowing that loud doesn't equal right or even sane at this point. "I saw Billy riding in the car with Ronnie. Why else would Ronnie take off like he did?"

"It's impossible, Agent Doggett, like everything else about this case," she concedes. "Like how Billy can be in his home one minute and then in Ronnie's car the next. Everything about this case is impossible."

"This kid is the key, Agent Scully," Doggett says firmly. "I've been saying that from the beginning and I'll say it now."

The sheriff walks in, interrupting their argument. "Agent Doggett, Agent Scully, I got bad news on top of worse. Josh, the Underwood's other little boy, has disappeared." As they stare at him, he answers back, "I'm not joking, not even close. I got the parents out here now. Come on."

Scully follows the sheriff into another room where the Underwoods are waiting, worried. To her surprise, Doggett doesn't join her, but instead tells her, "I've got to talk to this kid, Agent Scully. I'm absolutely sure." Sure, she thinks, whatever. And then she again remembers not to underestimate the man's stubbornness, nor his resolve in following whatever leads he deems necessary to get to the bottom of things. Must be something about this office that attracts that type of person, I guess, she thinks, and turns to the parents.

* * *

As Purnell is escorted into an interrogation room, Doggett's already there, waiting. "Have a seat, Ronnie," he says.

Purnell looks at him, then sits. "I know what you're going to ask," he says sullenly, "but I got no answer."

"Well, there can be only one answer, right? I mean, why else did you go to the house? You went there for Billy, to get him back," Doggett stares at the guy, almost willing him to spill.

"No," Purnell mutters.

Guess we gotta bring up the obvious fact, Doggett thinks. "You had him in your car."

Now Purnell looks panicked. "I don't know how he got there."

"Then why go to the house at all?" Doggett scoffs.

"Because I didn't believe you," he stares up at the tall man.

"You didn't believe what? What's so hard to believe, Ronnie?" he squints down at the guy.

"You said I could talk to him," Purnell replies.

A-ha, Doggett thinks. "You needed to talk to him. After all those years, you couldn't live without him. You wanted him back. All those years, Ronnie. All those years. Where'd you keep him?"

Purnell's face contorts, a mixture of frustration and even a little amusement. "Man, you don't understand."

"You were sorry you let him go," Doggett continues his line of thinking.

"No, I," and now his voice starts to shake, "I couldn't let him go."

"Who else knew about him? Your mom?"

"No," Purnell says dully.

"Where'd you keep him?"

Purnell stares straight ahead. "I didn't."

"What did you do to him?" Doggett wants to punch the guy out, but instead slams his hands on the table.

Purnell starts. "I didn't do anything," his voice shakes as he can't escape the steely gaze of the man in front of him. "I took care of him. I-I sang to him... you know, so he wouldn't be afraid."

Oh hell, Doggett thinks. But at least he knew his gut was right when he figured this kid would provide answers. He just didn't think it would turn out this way. "Afraid of who?" he lowers and softens his voice, as if coaxing out a wounded animal. "Who was he afraid of, Ronnie? Somebody else involved? Somebody else make you do it? He take that other kid, too? Billy's brother? He take him?" Now Purnell looks at him, worried. "You're afraid of him, too, aren't you? You're a victim, just like those other kids. Is that right? You... me, Billy. This is our chance, man. What's his name?"

* * *

Baker County, Oklahoma

Later that night, a squad of police cars and one rental car pour into the Purnell trailer yard. Scully and Doggett fairly jump out of their car, guns at the ready, and run to the barn door. "FBI! Cal Jeppy! Come out!" Doggett yells. He enter the barn with a handful of cops, and when they see no trace of their suspect, they lower their weapons, pulling up the floorboards. To Doggett's mingled relief and rage, they find little Josh bound and gagged, but he looks otherwise okay. Opening a trapdoor and metal grate, they all help to free the boy. "All right," Doggett murmurs in a soothing voice as the boy stares at them in fear. "It's okay, Josh. You're okay. We're not going to hurt you."

Scully, in the meantime, sees Cal Jeppy running toward the wooded area. "Agent Doggett," she shouts, "he's on the run!"

Doggett and the cops run out of the barn, while Scully walks in to tend to the little boy. As if on a foxhunt, Doggett and the others run past the weathered buildings, and he shouts to the others, "He's in the woods!" As they run into the woods, he yells, "Watch your fire! There may be another boy!"

It seems like forever, but it's only been a few minutes when they catch up with the gasping, overweight man. Doggett, flashlight in one hand, and gun in the other, is the first to reach him in his flashlight beam. "Down on your knees!" he barks. Panting, Jeppy nods, his eyes on the man's gun. "Hands in the air! Where's the kid?"

"He's in the trailer," Jeppy stammers, his hands raised.

"Other kid!" Doggett yells.

"There's no other kid," the kneeling man answers.

"Billy Underwood!" Doggett straightens his arm to give his gun more reach.

Obviously scared, Jeppy replies, "There's no other kid!" Then his eyes move away from Doggett, and it looks like he's about to wet his pants.

Doggett, his gun still on the suspect, turns around. The little blond boy is standing just a few feet away. The FBI agent turns back to the suspect and sees, as well as hears, the other cops coming. "Get this man in cuffs!" he shouts. "Read him his rights! The kid's over..." his voice trails off when he doesn't see Billy. Thinking perhaps all the people and the noise scared the boy, Doggett walks over to where the boy was standing, intending to call a search for Billy. That intention is quelled when he looks down and sees a small exposed skull. Dammit.

* * *

The next morning, the area is taped off with crime scene tape. Doug and Lisa Underwood are looking at the little crude grave, holding each other as Doug cries softly for a son he's lost twice.

Doggett watches them, but it hurts too much to see, so he joins his partner standing a few yards off. "I don't believe it," he says for what feels like the seven thousandth time. He's not sure if he's trying to convince himself, his partner, or say something normal in the face of unbelievable events and unspeakable tragedy.

I know, Scully thinks, but that's not what you want to hear. "Agent Doggett, there's the clothes, the age and condition of the bones, the location of the grave. There is no doubt that that is Billy Underwood's skeleton that is in that grave."

"We spent time with this boy." He stares at her. "Doctors took Billy's blood. You examined him yourself. Now, I can't accept it. I can't believe we're asking them to."

"I know, but the forensic evidence is going to come out, and what then? What if I'm right?" And if we find that was Billy's tangible ghost we all spent time with, then what? She knows it'll be a while before John admits to himself there are things he can't explain, but neither will she put up with a knee-jerk skeptical reaction, doubting for the sake of doubting.

He looks frustrated, as if knowing where she's leading and not liking it one bit. "Well, what then, Agent Scully? What we do? We move on, let it go, case closed?"

She exhales. "Look, I know where you are with this. I have been there. I know what you're feeling - that you've failed and that you have to explain this somehow." That same strange feeling of straddling the doubter's and the believer's world, akin to a sort of déjà vu, hits her again. "And maybe you can."

"Not if that's Billy's body, I can't," he says, as mulishly as any of her children.

She gives him as much understanding and patience as she would Sammy or the other boys. "But maybe that's explanation enough. That that's not Billy's brother lying in that grave, too," she gestures towards the grieving couple. "That that man who did this is never going to be able to do it again. Isn't that what you wanted, Agent Doggett?" And now she looks at him.

"Agent Scully, don't ask me to believe that this is some kind of justice from beyond the grave."

I'm not asking, she thinks, I'm just confirming what you know in your heart, even if your mind doesn't want to believe it. "All I'm saying is that maybe you succeeded," she says, whether you're willing to see that or not."

* * *

Several hours and a time zone later, Doggett is back home, back to his normal life with his normal kids, who are normally bugging him. "Dad, can we have 'Quake III'? It's a multi-player game so me and Gib can use it at the same time," his oldest child nags.

"Or if you want, we can pay half and you can pay half," Gibson offers, hitting him with the double whammy of both sounding reasonable and looking forlorn in his crutches.

Hey, wait, did he just include Gibson as part of that "his normal kids" clause? When he sees the bespectacled kid grinning at him, he groans. "What's the rating?" he asks, even though the boy did have a reasonable offer.

The two teens share a look. Uh-oh. "Um, it's rated 15+, so it's okay."

Doggett raises an eyebrow. "I seem ta recall it bein' rated M for mature. And you know where I stand on that."

"Aw, man," Luke groans, and Gibson shrugs. "Guess we'll save our allowance for something else." He picks up a basketball and grumbles, "C'mon, Gib, we better play some ball before Dad suggest something dorky like Pokemon or something."

As both boys shudder, Doggett laughs, then walks over to his little girl, who's been humming to her favorite teddy bear. When he takes a seat on the couch next to her, she smiles, then opens her mouth to sing,

"When you wake, you shall have  
All the pretty little horses.  
Dapples and Grays  
Pintos and Bays  
All the pretty little horses."

A chill goes down his spine. Where'd she learn that song from?

Hannah repeats the chorus in a clear, sweet voice,  
"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry  
Go to sleep my little baby.  
When you wake, you shall have  
All the pretty little horses.

Dapples and Grays  
Pintos and Bays  
All the pretty little horses."

Then Doggett claps, and Hannah dimples. "Hey, Daddy." She smiles, and he smiles back, "didja hear me?"

"Yes, I did, honey," he says, leaning forward. "Where'd you learn that song?"

She shrugs. "Luke an' Gibson wouldn't play with me last night, so Billy came over an' taughted me how."

"That's taught," he corrects her gently. "Billy? Billy who?" But he's already got a pretty good idea.

"I dunno," she says. "He was nice, an' taughted, um, taught," she catches herself, "me that song. It's the only one he knows, though, but he said you'd like it. Then he said he hadda go home, so he can't play here anymore."

"I see," her father says. "Well, I do like it." As he hugs her, he pushes away any thoughts of the X-Files, or any weird shit, from his mind. And for the rest of the day, he plays tea with his little girl, then basketball with the boys, ending with dinner and more arguments about violence in videogames that *does* have him threatening to buy them Pokie-whatever-the-hell-you-call-it. Everything an American man could pray for: a normal day in a normal life, with his normal kids.

Mostly.


	94. Via Negativa

Washington, DC  
November 2000  
3:00 a.m.

Steam is billowing out of the shower, and the entire bathroom is filled with a hazy white mist. Scully sits on the floor by the tub with David on her lap. He's exhausted and leans his head against her breast, but he can't sleep. Even the steam isn't doing much to clear up his congestion. She wishes desperately that he could sleep, because she's been up half the night with him.

Her phone, resting on the vanity, goes off startling them both. She holds her breath, but the miserable toddler doesn't cry. "Hello?" she answers impatiently. To her annoyance it's her boss, telling her about a mass slaying at a cult. She looks down at David, and makes a quick decision. "I can't come in today, sir. I've been up all night with David, and I'd be no good to anyone...right. I'll give him a call."

Once she hangs up on him, she shifts her son to a more comfortable position. "Don move Mommy," he protests weakly.

"Sorry, Baby, but my arm was falling asleep." He soon closes his eyes, and she dials her partner.

* * *

Falls Church, Virginia  
3:26 a.m.

Doggett knocks his phone to the floor and swears at it before he manages to answer. "Yeah."

"It's, uh, it's Dana. Scully. I'm sorry to wake you."

"What's up?" he asks sleepily.

"I got a call about 20 minutes ago from Assistant Director Skinner. He has a situation."

"What is it?" Doggett asks beginning to feel more alert.

"An Agent is dead. Um, Skinner had him surveilling a religious cult in Pittsburgh. And all the followers are dead, as well."

"What happened?" Doggett is beginning to feel like he's playing twenty questions.

"It sounded to me as though he's having difficulty determining that," Scully tells him. "I'm assuming that it's an X-File."

"Uh huh. I'll pick you up." He offers.

"I'm sorry, John. I can't go. I've been up all night with one of the boys."

"Is he okay?" Doggett asks, thinking about how young her kids are. Most of the likely suspects are just babies.

He hears a tiny, unhappy voice say something to her and surmises it's one of the twins before she says, "It's just a bad cold."

"I hope he's feeling better soon." And he really does. It's only been a week or so since Gibson's cast came off, so he's had his recent fill of under the weather kids too.

"So do I. I haven't been to bed yet." She gives him the address to met Skinner before saying goodbye.

Once Doggett hangs up the phone, he sighs and pads down the hall to his son's room. Since he knows that the boy is sleeping, he doesn't bother to knock. Before he can even approach the bed his son sits up and rubs his eyes.

"What's going on, Dad?" Luke asks with a yawn.

"I've been called in to work."

"Oh."

"I wanted you to know in case Hannah woke up and was scared," Doggett tells him.

"Okay."

"I probably won't be home before you go to school. I can trust that you and Gibson can get yourselves and your sister off to school on time, right?"

"Of course," Luke says a little sharply. "Are you going to wake Gib up to talk to him too?"

"No," Doggett replies as he glances over at the boy sleeping in the other bed. The boys get along well, but he swears that he detects a faint note of jealousy in his son's voice. Maybe Hannah rubbed it in when he asked her to pass along his love to both boys a few days ago. "I know you'll pass the message along."

"Right," Luke says before lying back down. Doggett shuts the door behind himself, and goes to get dressed.

* * *

Skinner is still waiting for Doggett to show up when his phone rings. "Skinner."

To his surprise it's not Doggett. Instead, it's Scully again. "I hope this isn't a bad time."

"No, not really. I'm still waiting for agent Doggett."

"I think I need to cut back my hours," Scully surprises him by saying.

"Because one of your kids is sick?" Skinner asked, feeling puzzled.

She sighs. "No. Well, not exactly. I've been thinking about this for... it's been on my mind since Mulder vanished. I think the kids need me around more."

"Okay," he says automatically.

"Okay?" Scully sounds as though she expected it to be a more difficult fight.

"Yes. I've almost been expecting this. Though I have found your devotion to the X-Files to be admirable, it's understandable that you would want to spend more time with your children, at least when you're the only one they really have. We could arrange for you to take leave until Mulder is found-" he says, but already he's dreading having just one agent on the X-Files, especially with the renewed effort by the powers that be to handicap the department as much as possible.

"No!" she says quickly. "I want fewer hours, but I still want to be involved. Especially if my involvement could help bring Mulder home..."

"Of course. I should've thought... we'll just scaled back your hours then." He pauses when he's struck by both relief and sudden inspiration. "What do you think about that woman we met with in Arizona? Agent Reyes."

"I think she's a good agent. One with an open mind," Scully says firmly. "Why do you ask?"

"Didn't you say that you and agent Mulder had worked with her once upon a time on a case that involved cultists?"

"Years ago," she agrees. "Cultists and chickens."

"Odd combination. But I wonder if she be up to a little assistance in this case," Skinner says, beginning to formulate a plan.

* * *

When Doggett arrives, he has to push his way past reporters and camera men. One bold woman thrusts a microphone in his face. "Care to comment on this case, agent...?"

"I just got here," Doggett snaps automatically, putting up a hand to bat the microphone away. "I haven't even been debriefed yet."

The reporter looks disappointed, but when he fixes her with a hard stare she backs down and lets him go by without pestering him any further.

After a couple more minutes of futile search, he finally finds Skinner. "Scully's not going to be joining you on this case."

"Damn. I take it that the rugrat isn't feeling any better."

Skinner looks at him. "No. I've called someone in to work with you, but her flight doesn't arrive for a while."

"Who?"

"Agent Monica Reyes. You remember her from-"

"Yeah, I remember her," Doggett says a little shortly. "Why her?"

"Cultists are her specialty," Skinner replies. "I thought it could be a test run of sorts."

"Test run for what?" Doggett demands to know.

The look Skinner gives him is hard to read. "Agent Scully has decided to cut back her hours. At least until we find Mulder."

"That surprises me," Doggett says.

"It surprises me a little too," Skinner tells him. "I know that if she didn't have other responsibilities, she'd be out there looking for Mulder eighty hours a week. With six kids to look after, even with help, it's not possible. She made an off-hand remark about not wanting the kids to feel like they've been abandoned by both parents, and I'm sure that's at the heart of the matter."

"Probably," Doggett says, but he's distracted by thoughts about his ex-wife's abandonment of his own children. "She's not one of those women who is content to let the nannies raise the kids. I get that."

"Exactly. I was hoping that if things go well this case, we might be able to lure agent Reyes to DC for good."

Doggett nods, but he's not sure what he thinks about that. He decides to change the subject. "So, why don't you get me up to speed while we wait for the Calvary to arrive?"

"I had some agents doing routine surveillance on a cult group called the Ibogan Temple. Someone called in a tip that they were trafficking narcotics." As Skinner speaks he leads Doggett back outdoors and towards a vehicle parked out front.

"But somewhere along the way this turned into an X-File," Doggett guesses.

"It seems so," Skinner agrees.

When they reach the SUV, the first thing Doggett notices is the strange, distinctive smell of blood. The way it smells when there's quite a lot of it. And quite a lot of it coats the interior surfaces of the vehicle. In the midst of the blood is a dead man with a slash carved into his forehead.

"Nasty wound," Doggett says with an intake of breath. "But it doesn't make sense. That looks like it was done with an axe. There's no room to swing one in here."

"Blood spatter on the seat says it happened right here."

"But how do you kill someone with an axe in a vehicle? Even if he'd fallen asleep he'd of reacted, wouldn't he?"

"Apparently not. He never even upholstered his weapon," Skinner tells him.

"This is weird. Now I see why it's an X-File."

"It gets weirder. Those coroners you saw scurrying around inside? They're dealing with the other dead bodies. Twenty cult members with identical wounds to this one."

"How many members to the cult?" Doggett asks. "Did they all die?"

"All but the leader. Anthony Tipet, a convicted murderer who claimed to have found God. That may or may not be true, but he definitely found a group of confused people who believed what he was shoveling."

"And now they're all dead," Doggett says sourly.

"And now they're all dead," Skinner agrees.

Doggett shakes his head. "Something doesn't compute. I don't care how devoted they were. These people wouldn't just lie here and let their leader bash their brains in. I got to figure at least one of them would have had a problem with that."

"I thought of that too," Skinner replies. "So I'm having toxicology labs run on all the victims."

"Including this one?" Doggett asks, waving his hand towards the dead man they've been standing next to throughout the duration of the conversation.

Skinner frowns. It deepens when an agent approaches and tells him that they're unable to locate the dead man's partner. His phone begins to ring, so he steps away to answer it. A moment later he returns. "Agent Reyes' flight has arrived. You better go pick her up at the airport."

"What, me?" Doggett blinks at him.

"She's a potential addition to the division you're working on. Consider it a bonding experience," Skinner says smugly. "Once you pick her up you can go to agent Stedman's home and see if he's there."

There's nothing for Doggett to do but head for his car.

* * *

Airport

He doesn't even have to flag Reyes down before she notices him and heads in his direction. This forces him to smile in spite of himself. "I didn't think you would recognize me."

"I have a good memory for faces," Reyes tells him. "Besides, yours is pretty distinctive."

Her comment leaves him feeling unnerved, so he changes the subject as they approach his car. "The first thing Skinner wants us to do is go by the missing agent's house and see if he's there."

"Right," she agrees, opening the passenger door.

A few minutes later Doggett's eyes dart towards his passenger for a moment, then return to the road. "Skinner says that cults are your thing."

"They're my area of focus, yes," Reyes replies. "That's why I was called in to help."

"Rumor has it that's not the only reason why."

"Oh?"

"Word around the water cooler is that Skinner wants to talk you into sticking around for awhile."

"That could be interesting" is her only response.

It surprises him a little that she actually does seem intrigued by the possibility. "You'd consider relocating?"

"Sure. Why not? I'll be honest with you, working with cultists is not what I expected. It's a lot less mysticism and a lot more human-caused evil than I bargained for."

"Maybe the job isn't what you were hoping for," Doggett says, though he has difficulty imagining why she's disappointed. "But you've got a life down there. You don't mind pulling up stakes and starting over somewhere new?"

When she turns towards him, he can see humor and her dark eyes. "Trying to scare off the new kid, agent Doggett?"

"No!" he protests. "I'm honestly curious, since it wasn't easy for me to do the same."

Reyes shrugs. "I have friends there, of course. But no one who would be terribly inconvenienced, if you catch my drift. I don't even have a pet. Moving just isn't that big a deal for single woman with no family in the area, either. So what your story?"

"Ah... I agreed to head a task force to find agent Mulder. He's the reason I consider the FBI to begin with, so I felt that I couldn't refuse in good conscience. My kids complicated things, though. That's what they do."

"You have two kids, right?" Reyes surprises him by remembering.

"Yeah. Luke's fourteen and Hannah's five." He doesn't bother mentioning Gibson, since he already feels as though he's stolen the boy from out from under her.

"What does your wife think about the move?" Reyes asks in what he feels is a calculatingly neutral tone of voice.

"If I ever hear from Barbara, I'll have to ask her," he says, hoping he doesn't sound bitter.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize that you were divorced," Reyes replies but she does not sound flustered.

"That's all right. It's been two years so I'm over it. Mostly. She's in Europe, last I heard. Once in awhile she writes letters to Luke. I'm not sure he reads them."

Stedman's condo soon looms into view.

* * *

No one answers when they knock, so they get the building supervisor. It takes a couple of minutes to convince the man that they're seriously concerned. Eventually he pops the lock for them and hovers apprehensively in the background. He doesn't even complain when Doggett kicks the door to break the chain holding it closed.

Once they get the door to Stedman's place open, the smell of blood assaults Doggett again like malicious déjà vu. It comes as no surprise when they find the body on the bed in Stedman's room.

"Looks like he's been dead a while," Reyes comments.

Doggett gives her a sidelong look. She's surprisingly unflinching, and he thought that was rare in women. At least rare in women who hadn't been sharing the same air a Fox Mulder for the better part of a decade. He feels a bit of admiration as he turns to speak to her. "How did the killer get in? The door was locked with a chain."

"The window, maybe?" Reyes suggests, but she sounds doubtful. "I'm no pathologist, but I'm pretty sure that it wasn't a suicide."

Doggett walks to the windows. He reaches up and fingers the locks. "These are locked too."

"The bathroom?"

They leave the apartment shaken. All of the windows are still latched.

* * *

Kersh's Office  
2:18 p.m.

"Deputy Director, I'd like you to meet agent Monica Reyes," Skinner says and she holds out her hand to the man. He takes it. "She's a leading authority on cults, so I've asked her to assist agent Doggett on this case."

Kersh looks relieved to learn that she's used to dealing with people. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she says with a charming smile. Doggett hides one of his own, much nastier in nature.

Skinner produces a video tape. "This is a tape of our primary suspect."

"The cult leader?" Kersh asks.

"Correct."

On the TV Tipet begins to speak, obviously in the middle of what passes for a sermon. " The body is but clay... a shell made by God to hold the twin aspects of the Holy Spirit: Light and Dark. If we have the courage to see into darkness we see into God... free of the clay which confines us."

The tape freezes abruptly and Skinner puts down the remote control. "Anthony Tipet served 12 years for the bludgeoning death of his wife. After his release, he became a minister preaching a hybrid of evangelical and eastern religions. He claimed a higher plane of being could be reached by the Via Negativa- the path of darkness- the plane closer to God. Once reached, it would let the spirit travel unhindered. Tipet believed hallucinogens would lead him to this plane- specifically compounds of the bark of an African tree... the Iboga."

"Did the victims take this drug?" Reyes is quick to ask.

"We didn't find any trace of that drug, or in fact any drug, in the victims' blood."

"If he didn't drug those people before hitting them with an axe, what did he do to get them to lie still while he bashed their heads in?" Kersh asks.

"Tipet was paranoid but nothing indicates he was ready to take the lives of his own people or our men," Doggett answers.

Kersh glowers at him, obviously annoyed. "This is our one and only suspect. Are you telling me he didn't do it?"

"Whoever did this left not even a trace how: No prints, no forensic evidence whatsoever. Agent Leeds' sedan, the cult house, Agent Stedman's condo... were all locked from the inside."

"That's impossible," Kersh retorts. "You're telling me a fairytale."

"Unless Tipet took the drug and succeeded. Unless his consciousness was there but his body was somewhere else," Skinner says, and his boss swings his head in his direction, clearly seeing him as his new target.

"The X-File explanation. I take it this theory comes from Agent Scully?" Kersh's voice contains bile.

"Agent Scully isn't working on this case," Skinner tells him. "She had a family emergency."

"So you three reached this conclusion all on your own. Isn't that refreshing."

"I don't think I'd say that we've reached a conclusion just yet," Doggett objects.

"That's the problem. I'm not hearing conclusions from any of you. If this man has reached a higher plane then explain to me why 22 people are dead including two FBI Agents. Now I want to hear what you're going to do about it."

After the meeting they walk back down to the basement office. Well out of earshot of Kersh, Reyes finally asks what has been on her mind since early in the meeting. "Is the director usually so...congenial?"

Both men snort. "Always," Skinner says at last. He then turns to Doggett. "I'm hoping that the coroner's report will give us more clues, but even as a rush job it's not going to be ready until ten. Maybe you could bring agent Reyes to her hotel. Go see your kids."

"No problem." Doggett is already fantasizing about getting an answer that'll wipe the smirk off Kersh's face.

* * *

Falls Church, Virginia  
5:30 p.m.

Doggett is fishing hotdogs out of the pot when the phone rings. "Someone get that!" he bellows.

Hannah runs into the kitchen a minute later with the portable phone. "It's for you, Daddy."

"Hello?" Doggett asks. The boys soon swoop in and begin dressing their hotdog buns. Without being asked they help Hannah with hers first.

"Hi, John, it's Dana. How's the case going?"

"It's going to be a late night, but I'm hopeful that we're getting somewhere. How's the sick kid?"

"It seems like he's on the mend." Scully pauses. "Do you think you're going out all night?"

"Odds are."

"Why don't you bring the kids over tonight? They can do a movie night. None of us will be getting up early since tomorrow's Saturday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, it'll be fun for my kids to have them over."

"As long as you keep them away from the infectious toddler, sure."

"Okay, see you soon."

Since the kids eat like Hoovers, they're nearly done their supper by the time he hangs up.

Doggett eats his own hotdog in four bites. "Grab some PJs, your sleeping bags, and a change of clothes for tomorrow. You're going to spend the night at Dana's while agent Reyes and I work overnight."

Gibson is quick to comply, as is a very excited Hannah, but Luke fixes his father with accusatory stare. "Why can we stay here? We were fine this morning. Gib and I are old enough to look after Hannah all night too!"

Remembering the volatile moods of his own teen years, Doggett silently counts to ten and reminds himself not to give into his son's spoiling for a fight. "I know that."

"You do?" Luke gives him an uncertain look. It's obvious that he didn't expect to be agreed with.

"Yeah. Dana's cutting back her hours and feels guilty about not helping on this case. You know that working together hasn't been the best thing for our friendship-" Luke nods too vigorously for his taste. "So when she offered to have you kids over, I couldn't really say no. Okay?"

"Oh, okay," Luke says grudgingly. "It will be better between you when Mister Mulder is found, won't it?"

"Sure. Being worried all the damn time is just taking its toll on her, that's all."

Luke starts to head for his room, but he looks back at his father. "He is gonna come back, isn't he?"

"Of course he is," Doggett says, but he looks away.

At this point he'd be happy just to find the body. Just to give Dana and the kids some closure. He'd like to think it'll end happily, but he'd been a police officer for too long to believe in miraculous conclusions.

* * *

Hannah feels no qualms about running in as soon as the door is opened, but the boys hang back until Doggett nudges them forward. "Go on, you're lettin' the cold air in."

Looking sheepish, they shuffle in. They haven't even taken off their coats before Scully finds them. "Oh good, you're just in time to help set up the tent."

"The tent?" Luke asks, but she's already headed up the stairs, probably to find out why David is crying.

A small redhead rounds the corner and gives them a big smile. "Oh good, you're here!" Sammy says. "Mommy said you could help us put up the tent."

"Um. Isn't it too cold for camping?" Gibson asks.

This makes the little boy laugh. "It's cold outside. We're camping inside!"

"I guess that makes sense," Luke remarks. Gibson shrugs.

They find Hannah the living room, dangling toys into the playpen over Jared and Christopher's heads. Both boys looked outraged and near tears.

"Hannah! Stop teasing them and give them their toys right now!" Gibson hisses and to Luke's amazement she complies immediately. She pouts, but hands them their toys.

"Thank God she's the youngest," Luke mutters. "A baby wouldn't stand a chance in our house."

"Wouldn't that require your dad dating someone first?"

"Ha. Yeah no worries there." Luke smirks. "He hasn't _looked at_ a woman since my mom left."

"Here." Page thrusts an instruction book at them. "Uncle Alex said he'll help when he gets back, but he's buying marshmallows."

By the time the grownups returned to the living room they've progressed - with a little overly enthusiastic help from the younger kids not imprisoned in the playpen - to a state that makes the tent look like it was half knocked down by a bear.

Krycek pitches in and the tent is soon upright. The little kids cheer before scurrying off to find their sleeping bags.

"You boys wouldn't mind sleeping outside the tent, which you?" Scully asks. "I told them you'd stand sentry against wolves."

"We don't mind," Gibson says. "But why are we camping inside?"

She sighs. "Sammy and Page read a book about camping and begged me to. It's way too cold to go camping right now, but it's the first time they've shown enthusiasm since... well, in a while anyway. So I decided to compromise. Indoor camping it is. Between you and me I think it's all the same to them. As long as they get to toast marshmallows."

Luke grins at her. "Just so you know, I toast the perfect marshmallows."

Some of the tiredness leaves her face. "Then you're going to be very popular tonight."

When the little kids come back with their sleeping bags it takes awhile to roll them all out.

* * *

Even the teenagers seem to enjoy themselves that night as they help the younger kids make smores and tell not-very-scary ghost stories. Eventually Scully and Krycek bring Christopher and Jared up to their rooms, but the rest of the little kids climb into the tent. There's the expected amount of giggling and arguing for a couple of minutes, but eventually they settle down without intervention.

As Gibson and Luke climb into their own sleeping bags, Sammy pokes his head out of the tent. He gives them a long look. "Here." He hands them a pair of long, slightly dirty sticks. "I got these outside while Mommy was checking on David."

"Um, thanks," Luke says as he looks at the stick. "These are for?"

"The bears and wolves," Sammy tells him.

"Right."

Sammy disappears back into the tent. Gibson shrugs and puts his stick next to his sleeping bag.

* * *

10:22 p.m.

Doggett is just taking the cover off one of the coffees he bought on his way to add cream when agent Reyes walks into the basement office. She sits down in Scully's chair and makes herself at home.

After accepting a coffee she turns to him and asks, "Did he get the coroner's report?"

"Yup. He left it for us."

"And I bet you already read it," she predicts. "Even though you just got here."

"I get bored easily," he says slightly abashed. "According to the doc every damn one of the victims was killed by a single blow from an ax blade. One 6 to 8 inches long."

She sips her coffee and peers down at the pictures. "Anything special about that ax?"

"According to a note from Skinner, these photos of wound patterns don't match up to any known make or manufacturer."

"Maybe were not looking for the type of ax you find in a store," Reyes suggests. "Could be an antique."

He nods and picks up a book. "Looks like you and Skinner were on the same wavelength." There is a bookmark for a page that shows a ceremonial ax. "Says here it was used thousands of years ago to cleave the skulls of the unbelievers. Apparently this book was read by all of Tipet's followers." He shakes his head. "It ain't our murder weapon though."

"Why not?"

"It's on permanent display in a Calcutta museum," Doggett tells her.

"That's inconvenient. Does the museum sell replicas?"

"I don't know. The museum doesn't even open until 10 a.m."

"I guess we'll have to explore other avenues until then."

Doggett looks annoyed, but not at her. "Seems to me were little limited on avenues, agent Reyes."

"We'll find another lead."

He tries not to let his incredulity show.

* * *

Scully and Mulder's Home  
2 a.m.

Restless, Luke rolls over in his sleep and wakes up when the stick ends up underneath him. He rubs his eyes with his fists, then opens them so he can dislodge the stick from under his back.

But as he tries to settle back down, he nearly screams. Something is looking at him.

"Gibson, wake up!" he hisses frantically and grips the stick in his hands.

Gibson snorts and looks at him. "What?"

"What the hell is that?" Luke asks, pointing to the corner of the room.

"One of the ghosts," Gibson tells him with a yawn.

"One of the ghosts?" Luke shrieks. "What do you mean one of the ghosts?"

Gibson sighs and smirks at him. "You lived here for months, didn't you? And you never realized that this house is haunted?"

"No. I mean, I know I heard Hannah talking to Page about ghosts, but... that was just pretend."

"The ghosts are real, and they're harmless. Go back to sleep!"

"But..." Luke sputters. As he watches the ghost gives a slight wave of its hand and melts out of sight.

"There. Now it's gone and you're safe," Gibson says, yawning again and rolling over.

It takes Luke a while to go back to sleep, and the only way he can convince himself to is to berate himself for being more scared of a ghost than a six-year-old girl is. If little Page and even the younger kids can sleep in the house ghosts and all, a teenage boy ought to be able to as well.

* * *

Hoover Building  
3:07 a.m.

In hope of a lead, Doggett and Reyes spend several hours calling relatively local police departments to see if there have been any other crimes of a similar nature. Reyes doesn't seem to mind the tedium, but Doggett feels himself going slowly mad with boredom.

After he hangs up the phone for the seventh time in the past hour, his gaze falls onto the phonebook and his eyes glaze over. He begins to perk up a bit when he realizes that Reyes doesn't seem to be getting the normal brush off.

"Let me ask him, okay?" She turns to Doggett. "Can I have your e-mail address here, please?"

Bemused, Doggett quickly recites it, and listens as Reyes repeats it. "Okay, thank you very much," Reyes says brightly to someone on the other end of the phone.

"What's being e-mailed to you?" Doggett asks.

"Crime scene photos. They found a dead man in Pittsburgh tonight. Apparently he was killed the same way as our victims."

"Bringing up our kill-count to twenty-three." Doggett looks grim. "They didn't happen to have a witness, did they?"

Reyes' shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "To the murder, maybe not. But a camera snapped photos that fit Tipet's description at a payphone earlier tonight."

"Do they suspect him?" Doggett asks quickly.

"Apparently. The phone's already been processed for evidence, and they came up with nothing."

"Great. So we have no evidence, and I'm not even sure we've got a motive. Why would a man looking for God be out there killing people?" Doggett wonders aloud. "Skinner mistakenly believes I'm gonna think like Moldah or Scully just 'cause I'm assigned to the X-Files. But I need facts, not crazy theories."

Reyes gives him a look that he interprets to be as much indulgence as sympathy, which does nothing to lighten his mood. "But crazy theories are why I met either of them to begin with." She gives him another look. "And I suspect it's the reason you know them too."

Instead of answering her question he turns to the computer because it's chimed to let him know he has mail. The crime scene photos don't arrive alone - they're accompanied by a list of phone numbers. He prints it and hands it to her. "What's this?"

Her eyes quickly scan it. "Looks like they sent us a list of phone numbers dialed tonight at that phone."

Doggett decides to run the names through the criminal database, and he gets a single hit. A call was placed at 10:12 p.m. to someone named Andre Bormanis. A man who turned out to be a drug dealer who served prison time with Tipet.

Reyes gives Doggett a triumphant look. "I told you we'd catch a break."

* * *

Southwest Washington, DC  
4:34 a.m.

When they get out of the car Doggett wastes no time. He bangs forcefully on the door "FBI. Open up." A wild-looking man opens the door, and neither agent fails to notice the barely healed wound on his forehead. "Are you Andre Bormanis?"

"Doctor Bormanis," the man answers stiffly.

Doggett shows him his badge and Reyes does the same. "Agent Doggett. Agent Reyes. Can we have a word with you?"

He nods slightly and they follow him into his home. It's less of a house than a laboratory, with beakers of unknown substances bubbling.

Doggett is sure he hears Reyes mutter "-and caldron bubble" under her breath. Louder, she tells Bormanis. "We're looking into an incident from earlier tonight."

"I've been here all night," Bormanis quickly declares. He rests a hand on an oddly placed table saw.

"Sure. But we believe you received a call from the suspect. Anthony Tipet."

Fear blossoms in his eyes. "I didn't really talk to him. The machine took the message."

"What did he want?" Reyes asks him.

When he doesn't answer, Doggett stares at him. "We need to find him, Doctor Bormanis. This man may have murdered 23 people. You wouldn't want to be accomplice to that."

"In what way?" Bormanis squeaks. "I told you, I've been here all night!"

"So you've said," Doggett says evenly.

"I'm not doing anything illegal here. I... I just... I just made him stuff."

"Stuff," Doggett scoffs. "Drugs, you mean."

Andre Bormanis' eyes gleamed with fanaticism. "Hallucinogens were Tipet's way into the depths of the soul, the heights of consciousness, planes of being that our feeble brain chemistry cannot begin to imagine."

"You sound as though you believe that," Reyes charges. He merely gives her the sort of look you'd give a small child who is reluctant to listen to the truth. "Is the mark on your forehead connected to your belief?"

"It's a protection. At least I hope it is. Nobody took the trips but Tipet. See, only his mind was strong enough."

"You know, I can't tell, doctor, whether you admire Tipet or you're afraid of him. Those people he killed last night, did they admire him, too?" Doggett pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "I'm taking you in for questioning."

"I've answered your questions!" Bormanis protests become shriller when Doggett knocks a pill from his hand. "I need to take that!"

The toe of Doggett's shoe crushes the errant pill when he drags Bormanis out the door.

* * *

6 a.m.

"What's next?" Reyes asks as they watch a police officer escort a still irate Bormanis down the police hallway.

"Probably the same SOP as down your way. Once they process him someone will come find us and bring us to him so we can question him."

"Do you mind if I run next door for lattes then?"

"Nah. But if you had one in mind for me, could you make it a regular coffee instead?"

"Fine."

The door has barely closed behind her when Doggett's cell phone begins to ring. "Doggett."

"Morning, John."

"Hey Dana, the kids behave themselves?"

"Oh sure. They're still sleeping, though. Skinner filled me in on your case, so I got in touch with some friends of Mulder's. They'll drop by today after lunch. They're a little unconventional, but I think they'll be of some help."

"I appreciate all the help I can get," Doggett tells her.

"John, you're a good agent. Trust your instincts. I'll see you later. Don't worry about picking the kids up at any particular time, I don't have plans."

"Thanks."

He's no sooner hung up that the phone rings again. This time it's Skinner, telling him about the lab results on the drugs that their prisoner was working on.

Reyes returns, and he's grateful to take the coffee from him. "Skinner says that Bormanis was making a super amphetamine, but I don't think he wanted it for Tipet."

"Then who?" Reyes asks.

"I think...he's afraid to go to sleep."

"Speed would keep him awake," Reyes acknowledges.

"I think we need to talk to him now."

They never get the chance to talk to him because by the time they get an officer to open the door, Bormanis is already dead. Doggett gives the body a grim stare - he feels his grip on the case beginning to slip away.

* * *

FBI Headquarters  
1 p.m.

During his lunch hour, Doggett picks up his kids and brings them home. Reyes tags along, giving Hannah one more person to tell about the sleepover the night before. She's still chattering when the boys close the door.

There are voices coming from the basement office when Doggett and Reyes return to the Hoover building. When Doggett opens the door he sees three strange men having a heated conversation. One of them is standing in front of a file cabinet, and seems intent on defending it from the other two.

"And I'm telling you Mulder wouldn't mind. We practically solved half these cases for him," Frohike says to Byers.

"Yeah, Byers, quit your whining- nobody likes a crybaby," Langly tells him.

"Agent Scully asked us to give our assistance not to go through her f-files," Byers protests. He's the first to notice that Doggett and Reyes are at the door.

"I hope the three of you are agent Scully's friends," Doggett tells them.

"That's us," Byers says. "I'm Byers, and they're Langly and Frohike."

"And who is this charming agent?" Frohike asks, leering at Reyes.

She holds out her hand to the shorter man. "Agent Monica Reyes. I'm assisting on this case."

"Monica. Lovely name," Frohike tells her.

"Byers, Langly and Frohike. You're the publishers of the Lone Gunmen," Doggett says.

Frohike looks thrilled. "Our reputation precedes us."

"Yeah. She's told me all about you. I know you're into some weird stuff."

"And so are you, man," Langly says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "This case you're working on is deep stuff."

"Something feels deep every time the mysticism comes up," Doggett grumbles. "I felt like I ought to have been wearing waders while talking to the last guy."

"The recently dead guy," Reyes corrects. "We need all the help we can get."

Frohike nods. "We'll give you a crash course in Tipet's kind of damage." He switches off the light and turns on a slide projector. An image of a pyramid with an eye hover within it lights up a screen. "You're familiar with this image, I assume."

"I've seen the back of a dollar bill," Doggett says impatiently.

"In the renaissance it represented an all-seeing god," Byers tells them. "We believe its meaning here relates to eastern religion, uh, belief in the third eye or what the Hindus call the Sahasrara."

"A third eye?" Doggett asks.

"We all have a third eye. If we could open it, we'd see a new reality, one closer to God. Or so the theory goes." Frohike rubs his forehead. "If you believe that sort of thing."

"I see where you guys are going with this. Tipet believes he opened his third eye."

"Yes, exactly."

"But the placement of the wounds on his victims could suggest he's trying to destroy theirs."

"That's may be."

"But if he's gotten closer to God, why would he kill people? And how?"

Frohike shakes his head. "We don't know why. But we might tell you how. You've heard of MK Ultra?"

"The CIA mind control project started in the '50s," Byers tells them.

"I thought that was urban legend!" Doggett protests.

"That's what you're supposed to believe, Man. They gave LSD to a bunch of people to see what would happen. Being the government, they didn't bother telling them first."

"They thought that class of drugs could open the human mind up to all sorts of powers," Frohike explains.

"Wait, that doesn't make sense. Tipet was the one on hallucinogens, not his victims."

"The CIA invested millions trying to create psychic assassins, failing where Tipet has evidently succeeded," Byers corrects.

"Reaching a drug-induced higher consciousness using his mind as a weapon against his victims," Frohike adds.

"You're saying that you think Tipet was one of those folks they experimented on?" Reyes asks.

"Doesn't it make sense?" Langly asks her. "The assassin makes his victims think they're being hit by an axe."

"Not that he's limited to that," Byers adds. "He could make them believe anything was happening to them, and then..."

"Then it actually would," Frohike concludes.

"If you believed that Tipet could invade your dreams and kill you in them, you'd be afraid to fall asleep, wouldn't you?" Reyes asks. "The last victim, he was creating a drug to stay awake."

"If I thought someone could kill me in my sleep, I'd stay awake as long as I could," Byers agrees.

"Thank you for your help, gentlemen," Doggett says surprising them all by bolting to his feet. Uncertain, Reyes stands too. She follows after him, feeling like she's missing something.

The gunmen linger in the office. "I think he's on to something," Frohike remarks.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Since David is feeling better that afternoon, Scully decides to bring the kids to the park. Not long after she brings them home, there's a knock at the door.

A vaguely familiar-looking woman offers her a tentative smile. "Hi, I'm Stacy Woodrow. My family just moved to the neighborhood last month."

"Oh. Nice to meet you," Scully says, wondering if she should offer to shake hands. That seems little formal for new neighbor, so she doesn't.

"Thanks. I realize you probably have some sort of formal application process, but do you have any openings?"

"Openings for what?" Scully asks blankly.

Mrs. Woodrow also looks confused. "For the daycare?"

"We don't use a-" she stops abruptly when recognition dawns. "I'm not running a daycare."

"You're not?" The other woman looks disappointed. "So all the kids over here all the time, they're **all** yours?"

"Y-" Scully thinks of how often her niece and Doggett's kids have been around lately. "Four of the older kids aren't mine, but I do have six."

"Six kids, wow," Mrs. Woodrow says faintly. "You and your husband must really love children."

Entirely sick of that sort of comment, she has to force her voice to remain even. "We do."

Apparently Mrs. Woodrow gets the hint anyway. "Well... it was nice meeting you."

Scully goes into the house shaking her head, imagining how gleeful John Doggett would be if he knew.

* * *

Southwest Washington, DC  
2:30 p.m.

"Where are we going?" Reyes asks as she slams the door to Doggett's car.

"If Tipet is using drugs to kill people, he's going to need more, eventually. If he killed Bormanis..."

"Then he knows that it's only a matter of time until his place is emptied out," Reyes concludes.

"Exactly. He's got to get the drugs before the police show up and take them all," Doggett tells her. "I'm hoping we beat him to the punch."

The door is unlocked and Doggett exchanges a look with Reyes. He's pretty sure they locked the building behind them. Bormanis was a suspect, but they hadn't intended to leave him open to looters.

As they cautiously enter they both hear the sound of a table saw. Guns drawn, they run into the main lab. A man is standing next to the whirling machine.

"Anthony Tipet. Anthony Tipet! Step away from the saw," Doggett tells him.

Tipet gives him a pitying look. "You don't understand."

"Please step away from the saw," Reyes urges.

"I didn't want this to happen... but I can't stop it," Tipet says, looking Doggett in the eye. "He understands. He knows what can happen- what will happen... unless I stop it."

To their surprise, Tipet slams his own head down on the blade. The agents yelp and rush towards him, yanking at him. They're not strong enough to dislodge him once the blade begins to cut his flesh.

Reyes lets go entirely, and makes a grab for the power cord while Doggett continues futile efforts to pull him off the blade. By the time the machine stops they're both speckled with blood and Tipet is quite obviously dead.

* * *

Kersh's Office  
Later

To the discomfort of both agents, they had to wait until the police arrived and took their statements before they could wash the dead man's blood off. Unsympathetic, Kersh has demanded an immediate audience, and there are still maroon flecks on their suits when they stand before him.

"I've heard that our murderer has committed suicide," Kersh intones. They nod. "I suppose it's just as well. It certainly saves the tax payers some money."

"Yes," Doggett replies, but his eyes are on Reyes' face. While he himself is not in the least surprised by his boss' coldness, she seems to be.

"AD Skinner tells me that you have a theory on his motive for killing himself," Kersh continues.

"Tipet and his followers believed in something called the Via Negativia - the path of darkness. Tipet himself thought he reached it. Uh, he believed that the drugs took him inside the subconscious minds of anyone he knew... ... making the most horrific, irrational dream imagery of their nightmares come true. That's why he kill himself - to make it stop."

"And you believe that this is how he committed the murders?"

"Is it required that I do, given my assignment to this office?" Doggett asks stiffly.

"No, I suppose not. It's enough that the murders have come to a stop." Kersh turns to Reyes. "Agent Reyes, thank you for your assistance in this case."

"You're welcome, sir."

"Excellent job. Please have your report on my desk Wednesday," Kersh says, dismissing them.

"Of course."

* * *

There isn't much in the way of conversation while Doggett drives Reyes back to her hotel, but she eventually turns towards him. "You really don't believe, do you? That Tipet was able to kill people in their dreams."

"All I care is that he believed it," Doggett says stubbornly. "How he really did it is far less important than the fact that he'll never get to do it again. Why, do you believe all this happy horseshit about controlling dreams?"

"Frankly, yes. It's Occam's razor, agent Doggett."

"What year were you born?" Doggett startles her by demanding to know.

"1968, why?"

His shoulders relax. "You sounded so much like Mulder I wondered if you could be his missing sister. She was older than you, though."

"I don't know Mulder well enough to know if that is an insult or not."

"No, it's just..." Doggett trails off.

"You've known a bunch of hard-eyed realists, I take it. I'm not sure that being your only company is healthy."

"Ha." He snorts. "So, what did you think of working in DC?"

"It was...different," is all Reyes will concede. It leaves Doggett wondering if she'll accept the offer to transfer, if it ever manifests.

* * *

Late That Afternoon

Stretched across his parents' bed, David snores softly and throws a fist above his head. When the phone rings Scully gives him a quick glance, but he doesn't seem to be waking up.

"Hello?" she asks uncertainly. It's Skinner. She listens intently for a couple of minutes then says "Thanks you for letting me know how the case turned out, Sir" before she hangs up.

She immediately turns back to the laptop. Internet Explorer is opened to a news article from a paper widely considered of dubious validity. The headline of the article says "UFO Spotted In Earmark, Minnesota."

Nodding to herself she kneels on the bed and reaches up to the wall with a blue pin. She stabs the pin into a US map, in the rough vicinity of Earmark. The thin pin wavers slightly when she releases it, and bounces against another pin. One of the fifty she's already pushed into the wall.


	95. Salvage

December 2000  
Muncie, Indiana  
8:07 a.m.

Scully stands in the midst of a bad car wreck, staring down at the blood-smeared and broken windshield of the car, looking professional in her matching dark jacket and pants, with a dark wine-colored blouse that Page picked out for her earlier that morning. She sorely misses her oldest child, who's already developing her own style, and not just in fashion, and wonders how her other children will develop when she's not there. Okay, when it's just Krycek to look after her kids. Granted, it's not the first time he and Michelle have watched over them without her, but just the thought of someone like him influencing her precious babies... She's relieved to see the tow truck come to haul the wrecked car, as the loud noise blocks out her nagging worries.

Her partner walks up in similar dark jacket and slacks, his light blue shirt with dark blue tie a welcome change from the man who was bleary-eyed and half-dressed earlier this morning, surprised to see her as he was just getting his kids ready for school. His voice and demeanor now fully alert and oriented, he tells her, "Car's registered to a Curtis Delario, local address. So far, he's been unreachable."

She tilts her head at the huge v-shaped dent in the hood. "Well, it's highly unlikely that wherever he is he feels like picking up the phone this morning."

He acknowledges her comment with a slight flicker of amusement in his pale eyes. "Muncie PD ran some calculations. Based on the distance traveled, the length of the skid marks, they estimate the car was going at least 40 when it impacted the object, which, according to their math would require something 4,300 times the density of steel to cause the damage we're looking at."

"Hmm," Scully murmurs, having done some basic calculations herself and coming up with something similar. "It's interesting, isn't it? I mean, uh... in light of the evidence." The tow truck driver calls out a warning, and she and Doggett step back. Now that the car is off the ground and on the truck bed, she sees the imprint of two large shoes on the pavement. Kneeling down, she comments, "From their size and shape, these look like men's shoes."

Uh-oh, here we go, Doggett thinks, but in a way, he's almost relieved to have some reason, albeit crazy as hell, to have flown about an hour and a half away from home with very little information and only a cup of airplane coffee to tide him over. "I hope you're not suggesting that what this car hit was a man, Agent Scully, because there's no way," he responds mildly.

Ok, good, she thinks, he's awake and not too antagonistic. Maybe having Reyes on board longer would be a good idea. "Well, these impressions in the asphalt look pretty fresh to me."

Uh-huh. "I admit to the coincidence but you know as well as I that if a man were here, he'd be splattered from here to tomorrow and there's just no evidence of that," Doggett grouses in a voice as gravelly as the road they're standing on.

She nods. "You're right, which is suspicious in and of itself. I mean, this car definitely hit something and the only evidence that we have are these two prints." Scully stands and walks away from the car, Doggett following her, casting his eyes to the heavens as he does so before bringing on his rebuttal.

"You know, I hate to ruin your beautiful theory with ugly facts," Doggett almost smiles as he brings the evidence to the picture, "but stop to examine the incident. If a man were standing here, the driver would have stopped."

"Well, it looks like he tried to," Scully retorts as they pass by the skid marks.

"Well, even so, if a man were in the middle of the road with a car coming wouldn't he try to move?" he raises his eyebrows.

"Unless he wanted to stop the car." Scully's left eyebrow goes up in response.

Is it just me, or is she usin' her scientific deduction for evil instead of good? "Yes, but if nothing less than a block of steel could stop this car," Doggett tries to use that same reasoning to bring her back to her senses, or at least some semblance of reality, "then, ipso facto, it could not have been a man standing in the street last night."

"Or certainly no ordinary man," Scully says, unperturbed. She can practically see him debating with himself whether to just leave her and her crazy notions or stay and figure the damn thing out. Join the club, she thinks, I'm only doing what Mulder would, and the fact that Doggett's arguments would normally be my own only underlines how crazy this whole situation is.

A middle-aged woman with short brown hair and warm, somewhat dowdy clothes, runs out of the house. "Just tell me what happened," she stammers, hysterical, "where is he? Where..."

As the cops hold her back from the crime scene, Doggett walks over. "Excuse me, ma'am?" he says, flipping open his badge. "John Doggett with the FBI. Do you know about this?"

"What happened?" she asks, her pale face already haggard for this hour in the morning. "Where is he?"

"Curtis Delario, you know him?" Doggett asks her in a calm, authoritative manner.

As if responding to the firmness in his voice, the woman stops struggling in the cops' grasp, but she's no less worried. "He was a friend of my husband's," she says, her pale eyes flickering between him and the crime scene. "They worked together at the salvage yard."

Now we're getting somewhere, Doggett thinks. "Now, I want you to calm down, Mrs..."

"Pearce," the pale woman finishes. "How am I supposed to calm down? Finding this now, it..." Her eyes start to tear up.

"Well, we're not even sure he was driving the car last night," he tries to reassure her.

"He was," Mrs. Pearce snaps. "He came over after my husband's funeral and then he left and..."

Before Mrs. Pearce can finish, Scully calls out from a few yards away, "Agent Doggett!" Excusing himself, he joins his redheaded partner at the dumpster. She flips the lid open, simply stating, "Meet Curtis Delario." As he grimaces, Scully's thankful that her nose isn't overly sensitive today, and in a voice made steady by years of practice and staring at similarly gruesome scenes, she remarks, almost offhanded, "I guess he won't be much help clearing any of this up."

* * *

Later on, Scully finds herself in a familiar location, that is, the morgue. Dressed in scrubs, she autopsies Curtis with an aplomb she finds herself distantly admiring, even as most of her brain is occupied with her children at home under the care of a dubious man soon to be her brother-in-law and the maddening abduction of her husband. Automatically, she measures the diameter of the holes in the dead man's head, reading off numbers to the young male attendant who dutifully takes notes on the chart.

As she finishes up, Doggett walks in, ignoring the assistant and telling her, in his usual straightforward manner, "I think I got some answers."

Goody, Scully thinks, can you tell me when the aliens are gonna return my husband? Aloud, she retorts, "So do I. It wasn't the crash that killed Curtis Delario. He was badly injured, but he was clearly still alive when his body was pulled ... through the car's windshield."

Doggett looks taken aback. "Pulled?"

"Yeah, these five deep puncture marks match five fingers of one hand," Scully answers, demonstrating with her own hand.

A mixture of disbelief and disgust color his voice. "You mean, someone just reached right in and..."

"Like a bowling ball," Scully finishes.

"That seems humanly impossible," Doggett murmurs, looking at the holes in the dead man's head.

Time to think outside the box, John, Scully thinks. "Certainly for any ordinary man."

You really enjoy sayin' that, don't you? Doggett thinks mulishly. "Well, from the evidence I've gathered the man that did this is actually less than ordinary," he says, almost enjoying the look on his partner's face. "I was able to reconstruct a section of the windshield and lift a print from the glass."

"Whose?" Scully's now curious.

"Raymond Aloysius Pearce," he says, as if reading the file he's just opened, although he's memorized the contents within already. Husband of Nora Pearce, woman I spoke with at the accident site." He shows her the Indiana State Police file with Pearce's prints.

"Hmm," Scully murmurs as she looks at the documents.

"Her recently deceased husband," Doggett adds, sounding happy to drive a stake through Scully's theory.

"Well, if he was recently deceased then it must have been an old print," Scully says reasonably.

"Well, what you would think," he says, a slight smile on his face as he builds his own theory, "except along with the print there was evidence of fresh blood and it belongs to Ray Pearce, too."

* * *

The Pearce Residence

"Agent Doggett, I don't understand. Before, you were talking about Curt. Now you want to talk about Ray?" Doggett isn't surprised to see confusion on Mrs. Nora Pearce's face. He is surprised, however, that there's another man in the house, a tall man in his fifties with balding gray hair who's sitting next to her. He was introduced as Harry Odell, the man who runs the salvage yard where the late Ray Pearce used to work, and, in light of recent events, Odell is understandably protective of the widow.

"What was their relationship, Mrs. Pearce - your husband and Curtis Delario - outside of work?" he asks.

She stares at him as if he's slow. "I know what their relationship is now. They're both dead," she retorts, a little anger briefly pushing back the grief and confusion.

Doggett leans forward. Good, at least she's thinking clearly, even if she's a little antagonistic. "Going back through your husband's medical records it says that he died after a long, debilitating illness?

"Gulf War Syndrome," Mrs. Pearce says bitterly. "No one will cop to that, but I aim to prove it - put the blame where it belongs."

He isn't surprised that she'd rather blame the military for her husband's death. Nobody said grieving a loved one's loss was ever easy, or made you a saint. "I'm having trouble proving something myself, Mrs. Pearce. You signed a form to have your husband's body cremated, but it appears it never happened."

Now confusion creases her features. "What do you mean? They gave me the ashes. They were at the funeral," she says, hysteria coloring her voice.

"Well, I can't find a record of Ray's body ever even being at the crematorium," Doggett says.

Now Odell speaks up, clearly irritated. "Oh, for crying out loud. Hasn't this woman grieved enough?"

The agent gives him a level look before returning to question the widow. "Let me get to the point, Mrs. Pearce. Is it possible your husband is still alive?"

"Still alive? Is this a joke?" She looks from her late husband's boss to the FBI agent, disbelief at the agent's gall apparent.

"Because we have evidence to suggest that maybe your husband was involved in the death of Curtis Delario," Doggett says, watching both employer and widow carefully.

Odell goes from aghast to angry in less than ten seconds. "Are you saying Ray faked his death?"

Doggett is nonplussed by the older man's reactions. "We found Ray's blood and fingerprints on Curt's car."

"I watched him die," Mrs. Pearce says, tears in her eyes but with determination to bring the truth to this idiotic agent in her voice. "I nursed him when he was sick, when he couldn't eat. What you're saying is impossible. He couldn't even walk or... lift his head at the end," she finishes, her voice choking as the tears win out over her anger.

"Ray Pearce worked for me nine years," Odell jumps in when he sees Mrs. Pearce falter. "He was a good man. He never raised a hand to anyone," he ends, more defensive than anything, which makes Doggett curious about both Ray Pearce and Harry Odell.

* * *

Chamber Technologies  
10:23 a.m.

The next day, after Doggett goes to the salvage yard to check out the crime scene and the body of Harry Odell, he heads over to Chamber Technologies, thanks to finding a handy invoice in the shredder with that header on it. Once there, he finds himself in the company of a shortish, dark-haired and definitely geeky scientist, Doctor Pugovel. Pugovel, oblivious to the FBI agent's ruminations, is showing off diagrams on a computer monitor. "They're called smart metals," he says, enthusiasm obvious in his jerky hand gestures. "The idea is to one day build things that are indestructible. Cars, equipment built of alloys with molecular memory. If damaged, they'd rebuild into their original forms."

"All by themselves? That's pretty cool." Doggett smiles, thinking how much he'd save on car insurance if his car was made of something like that.

The scientist seems to know what the other man's thinking, and deprecation in his voice, responds, "And right now, all a metallurgist's pipe dream. But beside the point of your visit, I would imagine."

"Well, you tell me." Doggett shrugs. "I found a document at a crime scene listing Chamber Technologies. An employee number on the document was assigned to a Doctor David Clifton."

Doctor Pugovel looks startled. "Doctor Clifton's no longer here."

Okay, now he's really curious. "What happened to him?" Doggett asks in the same mild, friendly tone.

"He, uh, he left the company," the scientist replies, not looking at the agent. "I'm actually his successor in this department."

"Do you have any reason to deal with a man named Harry Odell or a business called Southside Salvage?" Doggett presses him.

"No, I don't deal with materials," Doctor Pugovel answers, nearly shouting his "no". "Nor did Doctor Clifton for that matter. Our work here is all theoretical," he stresses. "We have an environmental manager who's in charge of waste management but disposal is done at TSD Facilities, definitely not city salvage yards."

Yeah, nice cover story, Doggett thinks, already planning to dig up more info on this place. But to give the scientist a false sense of security, he decides to leave for the time being. "Thanks for your time, Doctor..."

"Pugovel," the good doctor fills in the blanks with some relief. "German, no H. You need me to spell it for you?"

"No, no. That's quite all right. Thanks." Doggett smiles a little.

* * *

Walking away from the nervous Doctor Pugovel, Doggett calls his partner.

"Scully," she answers from the morgue.

"Hey, it's Agent Doggett," Doggett says. "I'm at Chamber Technologies."

"Did you find Doctor Clifton?" she asks, looking at the body of Harry Odell.

"He's no longer with the company," Doggett answers laconically. "But his successor says his work here was entirely conceptual. Everything's done on computers."

Now Scully's eyebrow quirks up. "What kind of conceptual work?"

"Thing called smart metals. It's pretty incredible - metal alloys designed to rebuild themselves." He grins. "Imagine if cars were made of the thing – I could be drivin' a Lamborghini for decades."

Scully chuckles. Men, she smirks, Mulder would probably want our minivan built of the same damn thing. "Uh, yeah, right," she says. "As it happens Ray Pearce's illness is pretty incredible, too. I've reviewed Ray's medical records from the Virginia. What his wife was calling Gulf War Syndrome is nothing of the kind. His entire cellular makeup was affected by exposure to some non-identifiable contaminant - a metal."

Doggett frowns. "What are you saying? Ray Pearce has become some kind of metal man? Because that only happens in the movies, Agent Scully."

So does most of the things that happen on the X-Files, but I know it'll be a while before you actually admit that real life is weirder than you think. "Does it, Agent Doggett?" she smirks.

Instead of answering her, he sighs. Then he says, "Tell you what. I'll press this guy here a little more on the issue."

She decides to ease off on him, partly because she isn't quite done with Odell's autopsy, having been diverted by Pearce's lab results from the Virginia. "Well, maybe there's a reason why he's not being perfectly forthcoming," she says mildly.

* * *

Later that night, Scully finally manages to get out of the morgue, thankful for the fresh air. Then she sees the rental car pull up to the side and park, and smirks inwardly, Out of one cramped quarters and into another. As she gets into the passenger side of the car, Doggett tells her, "Sorry I'm late."

"It's all right," Scully says, allowing her posture to droop a little. "I just got the blood test back on Ray Pearce and it was indeed the same Ray Pearce who was pronounced dead three days ago. But that's not all. By all medical standards he should still be dead. His blood has enough metal alloy in it to ... uh ...poison an elephant," she manages to complete the analogy, stopping herself from giving him the precise amount down to the thousandths in metric.

"Except that he's still a man, Agent Scully and he's going to act and think like one even if he is more powerful than a speeding locomotive," Doggett makes a face.

"But then the question is, why kill his friends? I mean, if he was wronged somehow wouldn't he go to them for solace? I mean, to his wife, at least?" she frowns, sitting up.

Handing over a file, Doggett replies, "That's why I was late. I asked myself that same question. Ray was an outpatient at the Virginia. He had a history of substance abuse. Did some time for a couple of DUIs."

"This was ten years ago," Scully says, her eyes rapidly scanning the contents of the file.

"Cleaned up his act." Doggett nods. "He met Nora and married her in '91, checked himself into a rehab and got straight." Then he twists his torso to face her directly. "This was a guy to root for, Agent Scully. This was a guy that overcame adversity and made a life for himself." He doesn't realize how much he sounds like Nora Pearce until he finishes his little speech.

"Until three days ago." Scully looks up from the file and closes it.

Doggett stares at her. "I've busted a lot of killers, Agent Scully and dollars for doughnuts, they fit a profile. But the Ray Pearce in this file is no murderer, let alone a guy that would hunt down his friends and crush their skulls."

Now Scully looks at him, hating to burst his bubble, but needing to bring the ugly facts back into the picture. "Agent Doggett, the man that we're speaking about withstood impact from a speeding car and two shotgun blasts at short range. Even if we can find him, who's to say we can stop him?"

They look at each other. "Aw, shit," he mutters.

"Yeah," she sighs, "let's go."

* * *

Chamber Technologies  
9:52 p.m.

All right, we got 'im, Doggett thinks when the metal door slams shut on the chamber, sealing the man known as Ray Pearce in. At least, he's reasonably sure that's Ray Pearce when he and Scully follow the SWAT team into the room outside the chamber. Nobody turns on the lights, as if doing so would jinx the whole operation. "Make sure that door is secure!" Doggett barks to the SWAT team.

His partner turns to the nerd in charge. "Doctor Pugovel, are you sure he can't open that door from the inside?"

He's nervous, but confident now that the dead man walking is trapped inside the metal chamber. "I've got a manual override on the door," Doctor Pugovel tells her. Then there's a loud hollow thudding sound, followed by a large bump appearing on the metal door. "What the hell was that?" he asks, then jumps when it happens again.

"Ray Pearce," Scully deadpans.

There's more pounding and bumps showing on the door, and now even some of the SWAT guys raise their weapons, as if ready to fire. "The door is four inches thick," Doctor Pugovel says, but it's less of a reassurance than a reminder to himself. When there's more pounding, the scientist quickly moves behind the FBI agents. "I don't think it's going to hold!" he cries.

Doggett doesn't bother turning around. "You'd better hope it does 'cause if it doesn't, he's coming after you and I don't know if we can stop him." He wishes that he had heavier artillery like the SWAT guys, but it's not like the FBI runs across metal men very often. Hell, it's not like he did while in the service, but at least they got some decent firepower. When nothing happens after a round of pounding, he's curious. It's not like the guy would run out of oxygen that fast, but he doubts Pearce would go down that quickly after putting dents in an inches-thick metal door, either. "Open it up," he says, his voice authoritative, but his eyes burning with curiosity.

Scully, taking her cue, shouts, "Get it open!"

Now Doctor Pugovel looks the computer screen, checking the readout. "There's a rupture in the chamber," he says, a mixture of disbelief and fear in his voice. "I don't believe this."

The door is finally opened and the FBI agents follow the SWAT team inside. Pearce, or at least the man they figure is Pearce, is gone, leaving only a huge hole opened to the outside.

* * *

Within the chamber, Scully stares at the wall, a metallic-looking liquid moving on the torn edges. This is one of those times she wishes Mulder and Sammy were with her, they would get a kick out of this. "Agent Doggett," she says, the only other available person would be remotely be interested. "Look at this. You see this?"

Doggett dutifully comes over and squints at the mess on the wall. "What is that? Is that blood?"

"Turning itself into metal," Scully answers to the positive.

Seeing that she could do more with the metal blood smear thing than him, Doggett leaves the chamber and helps the SWAT team hustle the researcher out of the room. "Get him out of here! Get him out of the building!"

"I didn't do anything to the man! I didn't do anything," he stutters to the armed men.

"You want to argue about it or let us get you someplace safe?" Doggett grabs his arm.

"Where's that?" Doctor Pugovel whines. "Where's safe?"

"It's not in here." Doggett stares hard at the shorter man. Doctor Pugovel caves, and the SWAT team moves the scientist out without any trouble. While they're doing that, Doggett notices several blue huge-ass drums with the yellow Chamber Technologies logo on them. He glances over at Scully, then heads on out, hoping his hunch will pan out.

* * *

It's past midnight, but there's quite a bit of activity at the police station. Doctor Pugovel is led into a room, quite indignant. "You mind telling me what's going on here. It's not enough that my life's been threatened! I'm being treated like a criminal..." His voice trails off when he sees what else is in there other than Doggett and Scully.

"Not without cause," Scully says, steel in her voice.

The scientist stares, horrified, at the metallic corpse within the glass case. "Oh, my God," he breathes, unable to take his eyes off it.

"Do you recognize this man?" Scully asks flatly.

"We're assuming you don't know too many guys in this particular condition," Doggett adds sarcastically.

Now he jerks away from the case. "It's not what it looks like," the short man says desperately.

Doggett's eyebrows are up. "Is this Doctor Clifton - Doctor David Clifton - your predecessor?"

Doctor Pugovel opens his mouth, swallows several variations of pathetic excuses, then finally says, "Yes."

"You care to explain how he ended up in a Chamber Technology hazardous waste barrel?" Doggett pushes on.

"It was his idea. I was against it," Doctor Pugovel says, feeling free to put the blame on the dead man.

Doggett narrows his eyes. "If you knew, you might've told me about this when I first came to see you."

"He, he was dying... and he was afraid," Doctor Pugovel says, looking back at the metal man in the glass case.

"Of what?" Scully asks.

He looks at her, his eyes wide. "That it would hinder progress or halt it. That it would finish us."

I ain't no scientist, but duh, Doggett thinks, borrowing a phrase from his son. "Oh, you're finished," he says. "One way or another, your work here is done."

"We didn't know this was going to happen!" the scientist looks from one agent to the other, desperate. "We were just trying to push the envelope, do the right thing for the company. Then he got sick. He was... he was working with an alloy with a genetic algorithm built into it. It converted electrical energy into mechanical. Gave it memory."

Scully shows no emotion or mercy as she adds, "And it poisoned him."

"We immediately shut down the project," Doctor Pugovel says quickly. "But it was too late. He didn't have any family. His work was his life. He wanted to leave us to continue working on the science."

"And leave you to ship this barrel and his body to Southside Salvage where it infected somebody else," Doggett concludes, disgusted.

The scientist is obviously panicked. "I don't know how that happened, I swear to God," he protests. That barrel was supposed to go to a designated site!"

Scully looks at the nervous wreck, then at her partner. "Let me talk to you for a second," she says, and they walk out to the hallway, leaving the current scientist with the remains of the late scientist, along with a good number of cops. "I think he's telling the truth."

Doggett nods, then a movement about fifteen feet down the hall catches his attention. A familiar figure runs through, then disappears into the elevator. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Scully turns around to see what he's looking at, but there's no one in sight. "Who is it?"

"Nora Pearce, Ray's wife," he says grimly, and they run towards the elevator.

* * *

Later, they catch up with Mrs. Pearce, but then get a bit of news while she's escorted away to another office. "Want us to take the woman in?" one of the officers asks.

"No, I want to talk to her first," Doggett tells him. The officer nods, then stands at the doorway. When Doggett looks back at the woman, she's defiant, although still nervous. Good, that means she's still got a conscience, he thinks. "You might be interested to know that your husband just broke through a second-story wall and eluded a dozen cops at St. Clare house. You happy about that, Mrs. Pearce? Does it make you happy to know that he killed a young woman there, a volunteer named Larina Jackson?"

Scully looks dispassionately at the woman. "That makes three people. Three people that he's killed and for what?"

It's obvious that Mrs. Pearce is shocked by what she's heard, but defends her him nevertheless. "Because they made him what he is," she says tightly.

Doggett leans into the widow's face. "They say this young woman he killed tonight had been concerned for him - concerned for Ray's welfare."

And Scully continues to pound the facts into the woman's head. "Whatever Ray is, whatever he's become, it was an accident," she emphasizes the last word. It was not those people's fault, Mrs. Pearce."

Mrs. Pearce looks from one agent to the other, as if to convince them. "Harry and Curt knew about it."

"No, they were innocent, just like Ray was," Scully says, but finds herself in the uncomfortable position of seeing this woman's point of view. Hell, if she didn't have all the facts about Mulder's abduction, she'd be bringing down the town of Bellefleur and the entire FBI with her bare hands. "They didn't know that this was going to happen."

"These people here knew about it. They got documents on it," Mrs. Pearce hisses.

Okay, screw sympathy, Scully thinks, her spine now ramrod straight. "Oh, so that's what this is about? This is about looking for somebody to blame?"

"Ray sent you here, didn't he." Doggett squints hard at the widow, "to find that person, to get a name?"

"The Ray I know... died. And the man responsible should pay for that," she adds stubbornly.

Scully just wants to beat some sense into this woman. Honestly, she'd rather deal with mutants or aliens, at least they have a brain, if not a heart, and one could freely kick the shit out of them to get some answers. "So who is it? It's the CEO here? The owner? Give us a name, Mrs. Pearce, before someone else has to die," Scully says, clearly implying that it would be Mrs. Pearce's fault should her undead husband kill again.

"I... I never gave him a name," Mrs. Pearce stammers.

Now Doggett's reached the same point of frustration Scully has, feeling that he'd be better served by hitting his head repeatedly against the wall. "Get her out of here. Put her on 24-hour watch," and he walks out of the room, followed by his partner.

* * *

Much, much later that night, after Ray Pearce had killed his wife Nora, Doggett and Scully show up to yet another site of attack. Scully's tired of never being ahead of Pearce, but rather coming in after he's done some damage, and misses Mulder for his insane insight. Taking in the scene in front of Owen Harris' home, with various EMTs taking care of the small family, she is suddenly reminded of her own, and promises herself to call, especially if that means waking up Krycek. Then she walks over to where her partner is standing, beside the damaged car. "Ray Pearce," she says simply.

"He came here to kill this man, but something stopped him, didn't it?" Doggett frowns at her. Then he turns his scowl on the car, its hand-shaped dents taunting him. "Makes no sense. Ray Pearce was a determined killer looking for someone to blame. Why stop here?"

"Wherever Ray Pearce went, the answer to that question went with him," Scully answers flatly, "but I can tell you why he came after Owen Harris. It was his name Nora found in the file. He was the accountant who authorized the shipment of hazardous materials to Southside Salvage."

"But if Owen Harris is the guy Ray holds responsible, why'd Ray let him live?"

Good question. "Probably for the same reason that drove him to kill in the first place. Some flicker of humanity." She puts a hand to the back of her neck, then rotates her head, hearing and feeling a satisfying crack as she does so.

Doggett looks at her with a mixture of disgust and sympathy. "Eugh. I hear ya. Do you think he's gonna try again?"

Scully closes her eyes, suddenly very, very tired. "Who knows? But if recent events are any indication, I don't think so."

* * *

Hours and hours later and hundreds of miles away, Doggett tucks his little girl into bed. "Good night, Hannah."

"'Night, Daddy." She smiles sleepily before yawning.

He brushes her bangs from her forehead and plants a light kiss there, then stands. If there's anything that makes the butt-numbing long hours, the mind-numbing reports in triplicate, and mind-boggling cases worth it, it's coming home and being able to tuck in his little girl. Then he turns off the light and walks out, leaving the door ajar. Yeah, nothing like coming home to a normal home and a normal life.

"Dad, Gibson's cheating," Luke says when Doggett enters the boys' room.

"It's not cheating, it's knowing the right combination to press at the right time," Gibson retorts. "How could it be cheating to actually read the manual?"

Doggett exhales. Yeah, normal, like the only metal guys walking around being on some teens' videogames. "You're both smart kids," he says finally, "but Luke, do yourself a favor an' read the manual, an' Gibson, don't rack up easy points an' cheat."

"But, but," they both sputter.

He grabs the manual and a controller. "This is a FPS, right? Then I should be able to whup both your butts once I see how this baby handles. Aren't you glad it's Friday?"

Both boys groan, knowing they've been had, but take perverse delight in schooling the "old man" on the finer points of movement from different angles and destroying metal zombies with more creativity than Doggett thought possible in a game. Maybe I should take the boys along, he thinks, his thumb, pointer and middle fingers hitting multiple buttons in different patterns. When he sees Gibson grinning, he thinks better of it, and nearly gets beheaded by a monster with a chainsaw for an arm. "Oh, come on!"

Granted, it turns out to be another long night, but he doesn't regret one single minute of it.


	96. The Spy Who Loved Me

The Mulder-Scully Home  
Christmas Eve Day

It's less than half an hour until the wedding ceremony is scheduled to start, and Krycek has yet to make it up the stairs. He knows it's his fault for insisting on his new family indulging in some Russian wedding traditions, but it's disturbing to see how well the Scully family enjoys the "ransom for the bride" part. In a way, he supposes it's what normal American males have to go through to even date somebody's daughter or sister, but the oldest Scully son, Bill, is much too enthusiastic for his own good.

Now Krycek wishes he'd paid more heed to Melissa's warnings, but it's not like he doesn't have anything up his own tuxedoed sleeves. "Think fast!" he shouts when he sees the larger man barreling down upon him again. Bill doesn't pause in his lineman-like tackle, but Krycek uses the same taser that knocked out the younger brother at the front door on this older brother. Well, since he doesn't have any friends on his side, he might as well even the odds, right?

Wasting no time, he runs up the stairs, but something catches his foot, and he tumbles, grabbing the handrail with his one hand just in time. "The hell?" he mutters, and the chill in the air, along with childish giggles, paints a clear picture of the culprits. Ghost kids. Figures they'd get into it, too. "Hey, somebody's gotta be on my side!" he yells at thin air, then scowls. Okay, Charlie was at the front door, Bill was at the foot of the stairs, he's guessing the one at the top of the stairs is-

"Oh, boy," he says, facing the business end of Scully's gun.

She smiles sweetly, enjoying this even more than her older brother. "Hi, Alex," she says.

"Well, at least we're on a first name basis now," Krycek quips, holding his hands up.

Dana Scully grimaces. "Drop the taser and kick it down the stairs."

Krycek tries to put on an innocent face, but there's no bargaining with the woman with the gun. Down goes his non-lethal weapon, and he sighs. "Are you gonna put a bullet in my shoulder like you did Mulder, or do I get a cold-cock?"

She blinks. "Pistol whipping? I hadn't thought of that." Then she smiles widely, the hold on her gun unnervingly steady.

Dammit! Twenty-five minutes to go, and I'll probably go to church in a casket if she has her way, Krycek thinks desperately. Then a flicker at the corner of his eye gives him an idea. "You guys can do whatever you want for a week, I'll clean up after you," he begs, "just take the gun away from the lady, please?"

Scully stares at him like he's crazy, and then the gun is jerked out of her hands. As if that wasn't undignified enough, invisible children's hands push her out of the groom's way, and she cries, "I'll get you for this!"

Before running to the door at the end of the hall, he tosses her a devilish grin, "Too late, your sister's already got me!"

Scully sighs and sits down, as the surrounding ghost children materialize and giggle.

* * *

When he opens the door, the smile on his face drops into slack-jawed surprise. "Mrs. Scully," he says, not sure if the old lady's suddenly gonna break his legs or something. With the Scully family, he's learned not to underestimate any of them.

"Alex." Maggie Scully rises from the chair she's in and walks over to him. He doesn't do anything, and shock makes him stiffen in her embrace. She laughs. "My goodness, my children have really gotten you worried," she says.

He returns a shaky smile. "Yeah, well, I know I'm *never* gonna piss Melissa off," he tells her.

Now she laughs heartily. "Oh, Alex, you've got a lot to learn about married life," she chuckles. "But there is one thing you need to tell me before you can see my oldest daughter."

Krycek looks at her warily. "What's that?"

"When you asked me permission for Melissa's hand, you told me that you love her and Emily so much, you'd do anything for them." She pauses, and he nods. "People have told me you were untrustworthy, but can I trust you," she clasps his hands in hers, "can I trust you with Melissa and Emily and whoever else may come along, no matter what?"

"I'd kill myself before I'd betray them," he tells her, feeling that already-familiar twinge of guilt whenever his character, hell, his life, came into question around these people. He's surprised Mulder hasn't drunk himself into a stupor at any family gatherings.

"I'd rather you not," Mrs. Scully says wryly, but her eyes are more perceptive than he'd like. "Besides, I know you promised Fox you'd help watch over my grandchildren, and you've kept that promise so far." Her smile is both a comfort and a warning. "Remember, we Scullys are a tight-knit clan. We support each other, no matter what."

He'd like to believe her, he really would. But this whole "family" thing sounds too good to be true, especially in light of the few gatherings he's been to. "Including a wandering daughter and her dubious lover?"

To his surprise, she pinches his cheek. "Don't you know that wandering is in our blood? Or that the prodigals are the ones the good Lord searches after?" Then she calls out, "Melissa, dear, take your husband out of here, you're going to be late!"

Melissa fairly flies out of the bathroom, a redheaded vision in white, her welcoming smile broadening when she sees the look on Krycek's face. "Come on, Alex," she says, grabbing his hand, "the limo's waiting downstairs!"

It's rare that Krycek finds himself bewildered, but he is, as he passes his laughing mother-in-law, his stunned sister-in-law, and unconscious brothers-in-law. "Remind me never to do traditional again," he breathes when they're safely ensconced in the black limousine.

His gorgeous bride chuckles. "For all that you try to be a rebel and everything, you really are old-fashioned," she says, snuggling against him.

"Just don't tell anyone," he mutters, and she giggles, kissing him. He takes that as encouragement, and deepens the kiss, catching his fingers in her delicately-done hair.

* * *

It is, for all intents and purposes, an otherwise lovely and surprisingly traditional wedding. Page is an enthusiastic flower girl, tossing petals every which way, while Sammy is a very solemn ring-bearer, handing over the rings with the weight of pride and responsibility on his round little face. Bride and groom say their vows with a sincerity that surprise those who know them, and even Skinner is expecting something to go awry at any moment. Father McCue smiles on occasion, knowing that this event is something of a miracle, evidenced by the fact that this is probably the only time the wayward older Scully sister will ever be in church with the right attitude. The only odd notes are that Emily is the bridesmaid, and Scully is the best man, standing in for her husband, but all things considered, it could've been weirder.

Once they get outside the church, Melissa waves cheerily to everyone, "See you in a while, don't wait up!" Then she and Krycek hop into the limo without further ado, the attendees cheering after the departing vehicle.

"Um, what's she mean by that?" Frohike asks Scully.

Scully, feeling guilty about being relieved that yet another Scully has escaped Frohike's advances, replies kindly, "Well, according to tradition, the bride and groom and their close friends check out all the famous landmarks before going to the reception. A last hurrah, I guess. But since Missy's friends were hard to get a hold of, it's just the bride and groom."

The bald man shakes his head. "Maybe Russians feel bad their kids don't go to the prom, so they set up their wedding like one."

"Dude, you never went to your prom, so what's your wedding gonna be like?" Langly jeers.

Before blood is spilled, Skinner shows up and offers the Lone Gunmen a ride, which they politely decline, preferring to head to the reception in their less-than-reliable van. Scully manages to herd her mother, Emily and her excited children into the minivan without losing anyone or adding more to the vehicle.

Once back at home, she and the rest of her family tidies up the backyard, and with her mother's help, she unloads her refrigerator of all its contents, that is, tons of Russian dishes, a few mildly obscure Native American and Asian entrees, and quite a bit of drinks. "It looks like we're feeding the neighborhood," she remarks as table after table is filled with food.

"With men here, especially your brothers, it's the same thing," Mrs. Scully remarks to her daughter, and they both laugh as the guests step out onto the decorated lawn.

* * *

Of course, everyone makes a big to-do when the bride and groom finally show up, and they're offered bread and salt, as well as toasts all around. Krycek hugs his bride, and when Emily rushes up to them, he catches her up in his arms. It doesn't take long before everyone helps themselves to the wealth of food, the gaiety of music, and, for the adults, the copious drinking of alcohol. "Tradition!" a rather unsober Frohike shouts, raising his glass before downing it.

Both Skinner and Doggett sigh, and Luke and Gibson laugh at the synchronicity. "Dude, I betcha the fifth person to go down is that guy over there," Luke points to Bill Scully. "And no cheating."

"With this loud music, it's kinda hard to," Gibson smiles, "why fifth?"

"Makes it more interesting." Luke shrugs, helping himself to another pirogi.

"Speaking of interesting, do you think they'll do that other thing?" the shorter teen asks.

"Huh? Oh, you mean the stealing the bride thing? Huh, who knows," Luke mumbles around his food.

"Because I think your dad and Mr. Skinner are considering it."

"Hey, I thought you couldn't hear that kind of thing!" Luke yelps.

Gibson grins. "Sorry, they're closer, and sometimes, your dad sounds like you." He taps his head.

"That's kinda scary," Luke mutters, and Gibson nods. Then the taller teen grins back. "Hey, you wanna bet that Krycek nails them here instead of later?"

Now Gibson groans. "Luke, the point of 'stealing the bride' is just some crazy way to show how much the groom loves his wife – or that she's hot."

Luke looks from his friend to the bride, dancing with her husband and daughter to some weird-sounding music. "Okay, for an old lady, she is kinda hot," he admits.

"You wanna bet that Krycek nails you for calling her an old lady?" Gibson laughs, and he ducks out of his friend's swing.

"Hey, I said she was hot, too!" Luke retorts, then blushes because the music stopped and everyone heard his last remark. "Gib, do something," he mutters.

Gibson Praise looks at everyone, who looks rather curious. "He said she was hot," and he jerks a thumb at the bride.

As everyone laughs and Luke chases his so-called friend around the backyard, Skinner and Doggett "kidnap" their willing victim while everyone's distracted. When Luke finally tackles Gibson, the fallen teen cries out, "Hey, where's the hot lady?" A big hubbub ensues, with Krycek tears through the wedding party to get to his bride. Doggett and Skinner are smirking when he catches up to them, but their smirks drop off when he kisses them, then drags his wife away while they're wiping their faces like two little boys, much to the laughter of onlookers. "He didn't nail them," Gibson smirks also, dusting himself off. "You owe me five."

"It was a now or later thing, so it's off," Luke scowls. "That dude is gross."

"Hey, you wanna steal her?" Gibson grins.

"No way!" Luke is appalled. If the groom kissed his dad, what's he gonna do to a guy like him?

"I promise no kissing." Gibson puts a hand on his heart. Then he nods to his friend's unspoken question. "Really, I do."

Now an evil grin, similar to the one his father wore earlier, appears on the younger Doggett's face. "Let's do it."

Needless to say, the rest of the evening was very entertaining, indeed.

* * *

December 25, 2001

"Mmm, Merry Christmas," Melissa mumbles into her husband's chest.

Krycek wakes to feeling warm air hitting his cold chest, and automatically puts his hand there to feel the source without opening his eyes. When his hand meets long wavy hair, lips kiss his chest, and a tongue laps his left nipple. "Whoa!" his eyes fly open. He smiles when he sees Missy smiling impishly at him, her hair all bed-sexy around her face. "If this is how you start Christmas, we're really gonna have to celebrate it."

Missy shakes her head, but she's smiling. "So, what did you get me for my Christmas present?"

He makes a show of blinking. "Wait, I had to get you a present on top of our honeymoon?" She slaps his chest, and he chuckles. "It's a surprise."

She raises an eyebrow at him, then pouts. "Fine, then." Then a slow smile creeps across her lips, and now Krycek's getting nervous. "Ve haff veys of making you tolk," she says in a bad imitation of old cartoon villains.

Krycek smirks at her. "Sure you do," he says, but there's a small part in the back of his mind that wonders if getting married to her is a good idea. What if she's found out what he really does for a living, such as it is? She dives under the covers, and he's clueless until her mouth is wrapped around a very important part of his anatomy. "Oh my God," he groans. As she continues to work her exquisite torture, he finds his hips moving to the beat of her ministrations. Just when he feels himself about to come, she stops abruptly. "Hey!"

When she throws back the covers, there's a smirk on her face. "Well?"

He throws his head back against the pillow. "Okay, I admit you're very good at torture," he sighs.

"Well?" Missy repeats, sitting up and away from his very disappointed member. "What's my Christmas present?"

Suddenly, he laughs. "We have an amazing daughter," he chuckles.

She frowns at him. "Emily is my Christmas present?"

He laughs harder. "No, she's not," he wheezes, wiping his eyes. She whaps his chest again, and he chuckles again. "But she *is* amazing."

"Duh." His beautiful wife rolls her beautiful green eyes.

He sits up and catches his wife by the shoulders. "I think it's also amazing that she can keep a secret for so long," Krycek says, kissing her on the lips. "She must get that from me."

"Just because I want to know my present doesn't mean I can't keep secrets," Melissa looks unmollified by the kiss.

"Come on," he says, pulling his wife out of bed.

"Wait, it's cold," she complains, and while she wraps a robe around herself, he pulls on his boxers. "You're not gonna freeze in that?"

He shrugs. "You want to see your present, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

He wraps his arms around her. "Your body heat will keep me warm," he says simply, leading her to the kitchen.

* * *

"So, what's the big secret?" Melissa wonders, as her boxer-clad husband takes her into the kitchen.

"This," Krycek says, reaching above the refrigerator to hand her a small box.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she takes the small box from him. Opening it, she finds a key. It looks suspiciously familiar... "Alex, don't tell me my Christmas present is a copy of my car key?"

"Not quite," Krycek says, and gets down on one knee. "Your Christmas present is deciding wherever you want to go, whether it be by car, plane, boat, whatever. And wherever you are, that's where our honeymoon will be."

"Anywhere?" Missy raises her eyebrows.

"Anywhere."

"Cost doesn't matter?"

"Money is no object."

"Really?"

"Really."

There's a sudden, wistful look that surprises him, and for a moment, Krycek wonders if he did the right thing. Then she wraps her arms around him. "That's sweet of you," she says in a voice husky with feeling.

"Uh, thanks," he says, hugging her back.

When she pulls back to look up at him, her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "I'd like to see your family," she says.

"What?" he says, more than a little shocked.

"I know you'll think it's silly, but maybe it's being pregnant, or getting married, or the crazy combination of the two, but I'd like to see your family. To know where you came from, that sort of thing," she says in a rush.

"I'm afraid we'll be visiting a lot of unromantic places," he says, "namely cemeteries. Is that okay with you?"

"They're all dead?" Missy says, shocked. She figured he was distant from his family, maybe with one deceased parent, but she never thought...

"Trust me, they were lucky," he says without a trace of humor. "Are you sure you want to go?"

She nods. "Wherever you are, that's where our honeymoon will be." And she hugs him again, because it looks like he needs it.

* * *

Pleasant Meadow Memorial Cemetery  
Syracuse, New York  
December 27, 2001  
5:19 p.m.

The couple is warmly dressed, and the tall flame-haired woman places a rose on the small metal nameplate. She notices that the other graves are likewise abandoned, the names of most barely noticeable under the overgrown grass. "I take it you haven't been here for a while," she says to the man standing next to her.

"Not since they died," he agrees.

She carefully kneels down and brushes the grass away from the grave marker to better see the date. "It says November 2, 1984."

"Yeah."

Then she looks at the marker again and frowns. "It says Grant and Laurie Evans."

"Yeah."

She looks up at him suspiciously. "Are you sure we're at the right place?"

"Yeah." He sighs, then kneels beside her. Looking down at the placard, he goes on, his voice flat, "Their real names are Grigori and Ilena Krycek."

"What?"

As if he hadn't heard her, Krycek continues in his flat voice, "We moved to the United States when I was thirteen, and my whole life changed. Not only my name, but my parents' as well, and we were only allowed to converse in English. After one too many ass-kickings in school, I learned to develop an American accent real quick, as well as how to fight back." He pauses. "I learned a lot of things, most of them shortly before they died."

"Oh."

"I learned a lot of things later," he says, "like the fact that I have no other family other than you, Emily and our baby. And that's all that matters."

"Oh."

He shakes his head. "My only regret is that they didn't get to see what a hot, sexy mama I married."

"Alex," Missy starts to scold him, but she smiles anyway. "Trust me, they know."

He sighs, "This isn't one of your New Age feelings, is it?"

Then she slugs him. "No," she says while he's rubbing his arm, "I know it as a mother and a wife. They know."

"Oh."

And just as fiercely as she hit him, she hugs him. "You idiot."

He smiles into her hair, hugging her back. "Yeah."

* * *

Off the coast of Virginia  
December 28, 2001

_"It's far beyond the stars_

_it's near beyond the moon_

_I know beyond a doubt_

_my heart will lead me there soon,"_

Bobby Darin croons into their ears via the little earbuds attached to the walkman.

The newlyweds are staring out into the open sea, squinting at the wintry scene. "I wasn't there for my father's funeral," Melissa says softly. "Even Charlie and his wife made it, but not me."

"Hey." Krycek squeezes her shoulders, "it's not like you had a cell phone back then."

She shakes her head. "But I should've known, at least. I mean, I wasn't as close to my father as Bill was, or even Dana, but I should've known. Right? Aren't you supposed to know when your loved one is gone?"

"It's a nice thought, but I don't think it works that way," he disagrees. "Besides, I think the dead have better things to do than hang around us."

"You think so?" she raises her eyebrows at him. "Just in case, humor me a little."

He smiles a little. "Sure."

_"No more sailin'_

_so long sailin'_

_bye bye sailin'..._

move on out, captain," the long-dead singer trails off.

Melissa shakes her head. "Dana used to call Dad 'Ahab' after the guy in "Moby Dick", but I just called him Dad. 'Captain' was what he was at work, and 'Sir' was something even my brothers called him on occasion, but to me... he was my father. Human. Yelled at us once in a while, but never raised a hand against us because he didn't have to. And even while I rejected and rebelled against authority, even his, I still loved him."

Krycek nods. "I can tell."

Melissa laughs. "If he were alive, you probably wouldn't. Man, I used to really enjoy pushing him to the edge, even if it was at some fancy dinner." She smiles widely. "Dana used to have this crazy idea that what she did, going into the FBI, disappointed Dad. The thing is, he loved us all in his very opinionated way. Oh, he'd give us grief here and there, but no matter what we did, he was damn proud of us."

She pulls the earbuds out of their ears and tucks the wires into the pocket holding the walkman. "That's why we're here, I want to show off my husband to my Dad." Melissa turns a bright smile to the sea. "Dad, I want you to meet Alex Krycek. He only looks like the kind of man you warned me about," and she chuckles at Krycek's expression, "but he loves me and Emily, and the new baby we're about to have. Alex, meet my dad, who is capable of kicking your ass, even if it doesn't look like it."

Krycek nods slightly at the open sea. "Mr. Scully, I promise to take good care of your daughter and grandchildren. You're probably not too happy with the fact that the kids came first, but don't worry, we're legally married, and we love each other, and Missy keeps me in line." As she squeezes his hand, he goes on, "I'm guessing you're more like Bill and Dana, but I'm fairly sure that you'd still spoil your grandkids silly. Oh yeah, Emily's our daughter, and she's a real bright and beautiful girl, just like her mommy." He smiles. "And if you see my parents, let my РБРБ win at arm-wrestling once in a while. The Cold War should be over where you're at, and my dad likes showing off in front of my mom."

"Just like his son." Missy grins, and Krycek playfully knocks his shoulder against hers. "Take care, Dad. It was nice seeing you again." She waves and takes her husband's hand in hers, taking them back to the car.

"Remember, just once in a while, and don't make it look easy," Krycek says over his shoulder.

"Alex," Missy snorts, "come on."

He kisses the top of her head. "You've got a weird idea of what a honeymoon is."

She gives him an impish smile. "Like we were ever normal?"

He wraps an arm around her before opening the car door. "We have our moments."

* * *

At An Undisclosed Location  
December 29, 2001

In a cabin somewhere not too far from civilization, Mr. and Mrs. Krycek are spending some well-deserved quality time secluded in the snowy woods. The newlyweds are snuggled on a well-cushioned wooden couch, blankets covering their legs and cups of cocoa within reach. The husband has just closed his eyes, satisfied that the flickering fire in the fireplace is on a steady burn, and wraps his arms around his flame-haired wife.

"Mm, this is good." Melissa Krycek smiles into her husband's chest, likewise closing her eyes.

He absently strokes her long hair. "If we ever celebrate our anniversary, can we not do it around dead people?" Alex Krycek asks.

"Sure." Missy chuckles, feeling but not seeing his answering smile.

"Good," he says, heartfelt.

Then she straightens up and gives her husband a quick peck on the lips. When his eyes fly open, she answers the unspoken question. "Thank you." As she makes herself more comfortable in her new position, she says, "Does that mean you'll do whatever I want you to for the rest of our marriage?"

He snorts. "I love you, Melissa Krycek, but don't push it."

"Good to know, Alex Krycek." She grins, then brushes a lock of his bangs from his forehead.

"Are you flirting with me?" he says. "Because if you are, I like where this is going."

Missy laughs, and he falls in love with her all over again. "Just want to remind you that even though you've got me, and then some," she puts his hand on her belly, "that our marriage is gonna be even better than our wedding and honeymoon."

He gives her a look. "Does that mean the trigger-happy members of your family are holding a truce with me and that we'll spend less time around cemeteries?"

"Mmm," she says, nibbling on his ear.

"What does that mean?" he tries to clarify the answer, but is starting to get distracted by where her hands and lips are. "Hey, come on..."

Rather than answering him, she unbuttons his jeans while licking his Adam's apple, and once she gets her hands on what she wants, she starts sucking on his neck like a horny vampire. "Mmm, Alex," she moans on his throat.

He groans, but knows the answer to his question doesn't really matter. After all, he thinks while he rubbing her sensitive spots, she's right, he's got her, and then some. And when she sits on his lap, he gives her everything he's got - and so does she.


	97. Per Manum

Doctor Parenti's Office  
January 3rd, 2001

The waiting room is too brightly lit, and Scully tries not to sigh. The only magazines offered are Times and Parents. She's been too involved with her own life to care much about current events, and she highly doubts that there's anything of interest in the parenting magazine. There probably aren't any articles like "How to cope with pregnancy and six children while searching for your alien-abducted spouse."

"Dana?"

Scully looks up and sees Missy coming towards her with a radiant smile. Her sister's added height makes her carry her baby differently, and her pregnancy is much more noticeable despite only being a couple of weeks farther along. But that could be Missy's sweet-tooth at work as well. "All set?" Scully asks.

"Yeah."

"I take it that things are going well, judging from the look on your face."

"Couldn't be better," Missy replies. "And I just found out the baby's sex!"

"That's great," Scully tells her, wondering if she'll soon receive the same news herself. "Are you going to share or surprise people?"

"It's a boy," Missy says happily. "Alex told me he thought it was going to be, and it looks like he was right."

"It's been known to happen now and then," Scully tells her with a forced smile.

"Thanks for coming with me," Missy says. "I don't think Alex would have volunteered to chaperone Emily's class trip if he'd of known that I'd have this appointment today."

"Probably not." It has never struck her as overly strange when Mulder had gone on class trips with the kids, but the thought of her brother-in-law being in charge of a group of six-year-olds strikes her as bizarre. He was a capable double agent, but this just seems beyond his scope. She's sure that the girls will give her all the gory details when they get home. "Is Emily excited?" she adds as an afterthought "About the baby, I mean. Not the class trip."

"I think so. She's been telling me forever that she wants a sibling, not just cousins, so that's a good thing. So far there haven't been any hurt feelings about it that I can detect. I'm sure she'll take to being a big sister just like Page did. Or I did, come to think of it."

"That's great," Scully says, but she's thinking about the age gaps. Page and Missy were still babies themselves when they lost their positions of "baby of the family." Emily is six. There has to be a difference. "I've got to be at work in an hour, are you ready to leave?"

"Sure, just let me pay the receptionist. I'll only be a minute."

* * *

Hoover Building

Her sister's excited chatter about how happy she and Alex are wears on Scully, so she's not sad when she drops her off. It's not that she wants to be happy instead of Missy, but the fact that she's so damn happy is making her more acutely aware of the fact that she herself is miserable. She's in such a rush that she doesn't do anything when she notices that Missy has left her ultrasound behind - she decides that her sister can get it from her later.

Scully's mood doesn't improve much when she finds Doggett chatting with a strange man by his new desk. Both men look up at her, and to her puzzlement, both seem to recognize her.

"I'm sorry, Agent Doggett, I didn't realize that you had an appointment," she says preemptively, once the stranger has said "hi."

"This is Duffy Haskell. he says he knows you or you know him." Doggett doesn't bother to hide the doubt in his voice. Apparently her lack of recognition shows.

She flashes the stranger an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I don't remember meeting you, Mister Haskell."

"I contacted you about my wife About eight years ago because she was an alien abductee."

"Oh, I see now. That was before my time here. But, uh, is there something I can help you with?" she asks, taking a seat at Mulder's desk.

Duffy Haskell practically falls out of his seat when he begins speaking excitedly. "She's dead. My wife is dead now. They killed her. Kath- my wife."

"I checked the files. Mr. Haskell wrote several letters to Agent Mulder describing his wife's abduction experiences."

"My wife gave birth to an alien," Duffy insists.

A shiver races up Scully's spine as she remembers Mulder's long-ago joke about giving birth to an alien himself. "I-I thought you said that your wife was murdered."

"That's the reason they did it."

"Wow. That's...Why don't you pretend that agent Doggett and I have no idea what you're talking about? That way you can tell your story without worrying about us missing anything because you assume we already knew and didn't," Scully suggests. She gives the phone a brief glance, and wonders how soon 911 would arrive if it turns out that Duffy is violent as well as delusional.

Duffy seems not to have any idea that she thinks he's nuts. "Kath was a multiple abductee. The aliens did these procedures on her. Tests and whatnot. One procedure would give her cancer while another one would cure her. Stuff like that. For years, you see. And then, this year, they came right into our bedroom and implanted an alien embryo in Kath."

"I don't suppose that you have any, uh, medical proof of this?" Scully asks.

Duffy hands her an envelope, which clearly contains an ultrasound photo. "I have an ultrasound here. Anyone with a trained eye can see that is a bizarre pregnancy. Especially for a woman who was never supposed to be able to conceive. I doubt you'd ever get the doctors to cop to any of that."

"What doctors?"

"We've been through three sets. They're all in on it. They're all in cahoots."

"So you're... saying that it was the doctors that killed your wife?"

"And stole the alien baby. That ultrasound is proof," Duffy insists.

Trying to remain professional, Scully takes down contact information and tells him that they'll be in touch. Still a bit manic, Duffy thanks them profusely before leaving.

Scully glowers at her partner "Thank you, Agent Doggett. I'm sure the rest of my afternoon can't possibly be so amusing."

"I thought you'd find it interesting, actually," Doggett replies mildly.

"Your definition of interesting is wildly different from mine. Unbelievable, totally preposterous, sure. Interesting, no."

Doggett still doesn't look flustered. "It sounded like something Mulder would jump at. I thought that might interest you."

"Did you."

"Come on, Dana, a story about alien abductions, cancer and remission and a subsequent alien pregnancy? We both know he'd of gone for this, big time."

"So you were thinking, what, we'd have a good time awash with nostalgia?" Scully says, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

"No," Doggett replies. "I thought... maybe if we figured out what was going on here, it might give us a lead on Mulder and other abductees."

"All right," Scully says tiredly as Doggett wanders off. Her eyes find Mulder's poster, but she's not really seeing it.

* * *

_Once Upon A Time_  
January 3rd, 1999

It should be fairly quiet in the house because Mulder has taken Page, Sammy, April _and_ Emily to a movie, but it's not. Instead Missy has come over, apparently to continue to argue about her Christmas revelation.

"I know that you don't like him-" Missy begins. She has David on her lap and doesn't notice that her gesturing has pulled the bottle out of his mouth until he cries.

Scully's eyes widen in disbelief. "Don't like him? For God's sake, Missy, the man is a double agent! What on earth could you possibly see in him? Tell me that!"

"He made a promise to me, and he kept it," Missy says calmly.

"What sort of promise?" Scully demands to know. She doesn't notice that Jared is flinching at the sound of her raised voice. "It had to be one hell of a promise!"

"Alex promised me that if he got better, he'd come back. And he did."

"Got better? What are you-" Scully stops suddenly. "Your sick friend a couple of years ago, that was about Krycek?" Instead of feeling any empathy for Krycek, she begins to feel angry that she'd tried to cheer up her sister over him.

Missy nods slowly. "Alex had a brain tumor."

"Had?" Scully asks.

"Had. He got some treatment in Mexico, and came back healed."

"I'm sure he got it by poking around something he shouldn't have," Scully grumbles. "He's forever sticking his nose in dangerous business."

"Actually, he was abducted and given cancer," Missy says evenly.

Scully puts the hand not holding Jared's bottle over her face and moans. "Don't tell me that you believe in aliens too! I get enough of that from my husband."

"Well, I don't think that Fox is off his nut, but Alex thinks it was an experiment conducted by men, not aliens."

"Why would anyone give a person cancer?" Scully asks.

Missy shrugs. "Why would anyone make a child like Emily? We think the two things are connected."

"Emily's not sick, is she?" Scully asks in alarm.

"No. She and Alex are both healthy. Despite what they endured."

"You're sure he's cured?" Scully asks, even though she's loathed to sound concerned about him. Because it's not him she's worried about - she doesn't know if Missy and Emily could cope if he died, even if the rest of the family despised him.

"Everything looks good," Missy tells her. "He'll be touched that you care."

"I'm sure."

* * *

Present Day  
Hoover Building

When she breaks from her memory, Scully tries to laugh similarities the off. It's not as though Alex was the one pregnant, so the fact that he suffered cancer after an abduction and was cured has to be a coincidence. She makes fair headway at convincing herself this until she happens to look down at the corner of the film Duffy Haskell gave her.

The doctor's name is printed on a small rectangular sticker. Kath's doctor and Missy's doctor have the same name.

When she notices this a pit forms in her stomach. The addresses are different, however. Unsure that this proves anything, she dashes off a quick note to Doggett and grabs her purse.

* * *

Zeus Genetics  
Germantown, Maryland

There's no one in the reception area when Scully enters the Zeus Genetics building. There is, however a board with the names of doctors on it. The doctor Parenti who works here has the same first name and middle initial as the man who saw her sister earlier in the day.

Why he is working at two practices is a question she finds the answer to in the literature neatly stacked on the desk. Instead of an OB-GYN office like the one Missy went to, this is an office that apparently specializes in helping couples conceive.

Convinced that there's no one around that she can get more information from, Scully is about to leave when she hears voices coming from down the hallway. One of them sounds scared. Her right hand brushes her waist, automatically reassuring herself that her weapon is at the ready if it comes to that.

"This is my baby. I have to know..." a woman moans, and Scully chides herself for being alarmist. The woman isn't in danger.

A doctor is in the middle of reassuring the woman when Scully finds them. The doctor looks annoyed when his hysterical patient continues to insist that he doesn't know what's wrong. "Just try and stay calm." He snaps at her. "There are no similarities between your baby and the others."

"What others?" Scully asks loudly. Both patient and doctor look up at her.

"There were two recent failures-" the doctor starts to say automatically before giving Scully a suspicious look. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with her," Scully says, pointing at the woman who now seems barely conscious. She wonders if she's worn herself out, or if she was drugged.

"All right," the doctor surprises her by saying. "Can you keep her company for a couple of minutes while I get another doctor? She obviously doesn't want to believe me when I tell her that she's fine."

"Sure," Scully agrees readily.

While the doctor is gone, Ms Hendershot opens her eyes and reaches for Scully's wrist. "I can't stay here. Something's wrong with my baby."

"What?" Scully asks, trying to sound as compassionate as possible.

"Look!" the other woman says weakly, gesturing towards an ultrasound film near the exam table.

"Can I take this?" Scully asks her.

"Take it. I have more copies."

"Thanks. I'm sure your baby will be fine," Scully tells her, but the other woman has already closed her eyes again.

A light shines dimly in an adjacent room, and Scully's curiosity gets the best of her. She pushes the door open and nearly screams. The walls of the room are lined with shelves. And on each shelve there are jars of formaldehyde containing deformed fetuses.

Trying not to be sick she quickly scans the rows of doomed children. Though most of their deformities are grotesque, she sees nothing that would suggest "alien fetus" on cursory examination.

Worried that the doctor will soon reappear, Scully goes back to the woman and glances at her chart, knowing now her name at the very least. Once the doctors return to speak to their patient, Scully makes her escape.

Scully doesn't bother going back to the office before trying to reach her own OB-GYN. "Hi, this is doctor Scully. I was hoping to be able to speak to doctor Hart today? ... No, just an appointment to speak to him...Sure, I can be there in twenty minutes. Thank you very much."

Forty minutes later, Scully is still mentally sending grateful thoughts to the woman who canceled her appointment at the last moment. She glances over at doctor Hart, and is dismayed to see that he looks quite concerned.

He stabs a finger at one of the three ultrasound photos she asked him to look at. "I hope this is your sister's."

"Yes, it is. Why?"

"These other two..." Hart looks depressed. "There's something seriously wrong with both of these fetuses."

"In what way?" Scully asks.

"At this stage of gestation, the fetuses shouldn't look like this. You see how they still have that alien-like appearance we associate with early pregnancy? It looks like they've merely gotten larger instead of developing properly."

Her eyes widen involuntarily at the expression "alien-like" but she forces her voice not to betray her thoughts. "Are you saying that this will affect the babies' viability?"

"Definitely. I doubt either of these fetuses will be born alive," Hart says, seeming sad. "Your sister's baby, on the other hand, looks perfect. Was there a reason you were concerned about her as well?"

"Her husband worked with these two women," Scully improvises. "I was afraid that he might have been exposed to whatever toxin that caused the problems with their pregnancies."

"Well, it looks like he lucked out. Or maybe it wasn't a toxin that damaged chromosomes in men's gametes," Hart tells her. "But he might want to consider a new line of work, for the sake of his own health, if he's exposed to stuff that can cause this sort of birth defect."

"I'll suggest it to him," Scully lies.

* * *

Basement Office

Doggett looks up when Scully drops a folder on his desk. "The jury's still out on whether or not Duffy Haskell is crazy, but he was right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"There was definitely something wrong with that baby. The OB I showed the ultrasound to said it shouldn't still look 'alien-like' at that stage of development."

"So you're saying his wife was carrying an alien fetus?" Doggett doesn't make any effort to disguise his skepticism.

"Of course not!" Scully snaps. "I'm sure you are familiar enough with fetal development to know that it takes a while into the pregnancy before a baby looks human. Big heads, little bodies and large dark eyes come first. These babies didn't get any farther than that, just got bigger."

"These?" Doggett asks. "Duffy Haskell's wife was carrying twins?"

"No, I did some snooping and was given a second ultrasound by another of that doctor's patients. Something is going on there, John. Nothing good."

"Maybe," Doggett concedes. "I'm looking into Duffy Haskell, doin' a background check."

"You think he's crazy," Scully decides.

"I think he's a piece of work. There's more to look into, but so far he doesn't look like man of the year."

* * *

Scully-Mulder Home  
Early Evening

Missy slides the ultrasound film towards herself and smiles at her sister. "I swear that I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached. They say that being pregnant makes a lot of women forgetful. Did you ever experience that?"

Scully's eyes widen, but she immediately remembers that her sister doesn't know that she's pregnant so did you is more appropriate than do you. "Um... I don't think so."

"But you can't recall." Missy looks pleased with herself.

"Ha ha. Look, Missy... there's something I was hoping that we could talk about before you left."

Her sister's expression immediately sobers. "What's that?"

"You're going to be mad at me-"

"Why?"

"Okay, I found out today that your OB is the same OB that Doggett is investigating."

"Why would that make me angry?"

"I...I took your ultrasound and two from the case with me to show to the OB I've always used in the past. he says your baby is fine" Scully hastens to reassure her sister. "But the other two babies...aren't. I'm sorry I didn't ask you if it was okay first."

"Well, you were concerned. I guess that's forgivable."

"I'm not done," Scully says, handing her a small white card. "There was a cancellation at his office, so if you want this appointment, it's yours."

"Dana-"

"Missy, I just want your baby to continue to be fine," Scully tells her. "You don't want to keep a doctor who is being investigated, do you?"

"Is he going to go to jail?"

"At this point I have no idea," Scully admits.

Missy puts the card in her pocket. "If you'll go with me, I'll go to this appointment."

"You've got a deal. Are you mad?"

"Nah, you're just helping a rookie out." Missy gives her a hug. "But call me before anything else like this, okay?"

"Promise."

* * *

The Following Morning

A smiling nurse serves as the instrument of Scully's undoing. She waves her over to the reception desk while Missy pays. "I was going to have the receptionist give you a call to remind you about your appointment Friday, but here you are, so I can save a call."

Scully's eyes widen in dismay when she realizes that her sister has gone very still beside her. "What sort of appointment, Dana?" Missy asks quietly.

"Prenatal!" The nurse says cheerfully before Scully can think of an explanation.

She and Missy walk out of the building without a scene, but she can feel that her sister is a building storm. So it comes as no surprise when Missy turns on her as soon as they're out the door.

"You're pregnant?" Missy shouts, making a woman walking past them stop, nearly tripping herself in the process.

Scully winces. "Yes."

"Is the baby Fox's?" Missy demands to know.

Shocked and indignant, Scully fires back, "How dare you ask me something like that! I would never cheat on my husband. How could you even think that?"

"Fox has been missing since August! More than four months!" Missy looks angry. "What else am I suppose to think?"

Hands shaking with anger, Scully practically rips her coat open and then smoothes her shirt over her somewhat rounded belly. "You should think people aren't nearly as observant as they'd like to give themselves credit for. Look. And no one, not one person, has asked why I've put on weight."

"Mom mentioned it...we thought it was stress," Missy says, her voice calmer. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

To Scully's surprise, she finds herself beginning to cry. "I didn't want anyone to know before he does."

"Oh Jesus, Dana." Missy puts her arms around her. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Scully says, trying to pull away, but Missy won't let her. "Where _is_ he?"

"I don't know. But I know he's coming back," Missy says soothingly.

"How can you know that?" Scully demands, feeling tired.

"I just do. So do you."

It's meant kindly, but Missy's sereneness makes her feel resentful.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Evening

Scully's index finger traces the thin edge of Ms. Hendershot's ultrasound. Ever since she got home, she's been victim of an internal struggle: does she share what she's learned or not?

Before she arrives at a decision a shadow blocks her light, making her look up. Krycek is looking down at her. "What?" she asks impatiently. Most days they have an uneasy truce, but her nerves are especially frayed.

"Congratulations." His voice is cautious. "Missy told me."

"Of course she did."

Not two hours after leaving the doctors, Scully had gotten a phone call from her mother - who proceeded to spend most of the conversation scolding her for keeping the news to herself.

"She of course can't figure out why you haven't expressed your delight at having yet another baby, but I get it," Krycek continues.

"Do you."

"Yeah. Not only do you have to worry about your missing husband, you have to worry about this baby. You can't go running off to God knows where to look for him because you'd risk your pregnancy if you did - and you'd never forgive yourself if something happened to this one too, because it could be the last child Fox Mulder will ever father."

She feels a chill as she looks up at him. He's the last person on earth she'd expect understanding from.

Seeing her shock, he sneers. "I'm not a sociopath, you know. I understand other people's feelings. I just don't let that get in the way of self-interest."

Scully shivers, and not just because it's January. There is one good aspect to her new brother-in-law's ruthlessness, she instantly decides: he's the type of man who wouldn't let moral quibbles do anything to stop him from protecting what he holds most dear. Like her sister.

"I think I already knew that," she says lightly. Scully is in no mood to get into a deep discussion about the subject. Instead she turns to him and asks "If there was something wrong with your baby, would you want to know?"

Fear flashes over his face, making her feel guilty. "Do you know something Missy and I should?"

"No, sorry. I put that badly. Hypothetically, if everyone was telling you that your baby was fine, but one person knew that it wasn't, would you want to know?"

He looks torn for a second. "It would hurt, but I'd want to know."

Scully nods. "That's what I thought. Could you let Michelle know that I've got to run an errand?"

"Sure." He stares at her. "I'm not sure I could _tell_ someone that, though."

Her shoulders rise and fall. "It's not my idea of a good time, but the Hippocratic oath and all."

"Right."

* * *

Hoover Building  
Meanwhile

Duffy Haskell shoots Doggett a nervous look. Doggett thinks he's wise to feel uneasy, because Skinner is nailing him with his patented I'mVeryAngry look. Eventually the man breaks under it.

"What am I being accused of? What did you call me in here for? You were going to help me." He turns to Doggett beseechingly. "I thought you were going to help me. Where's agent Scully?"

"Busy," Doggett says shortly. As far as he's concerned it's none of their business what Scully does out of the office, least of all this man's.

Gesturing to a folder on his desk, Skinner begins to speak. "As president of the Ohio Mutual UFO Network you sent Agent Mulder a series of very threatening letters which he passed on to me, Mr. Haskell. Something of a habit with you, sir. Writing letters... threatening letters. Isn't it?"

"No one will believe me." Duffy groans dramatically.

"You wrote a letter to a Doctor Lev saying you would kill him if he hurt your wife," Skinner continues calmly.

"Doctor Lev killed my wife. He stole the alien baby out of her womb. And he'll do it again, to some other woman!"

Doggett looks serious too. "Well, I can't find any documentation that the two of you were even married, Mr. Haskell. Let alone any history or evidence of foul play. Doctor Lev is a serious physician, a leader in the field of birth defects. His peers hold him in the highest regard. Why would he ever kill your wife?"

"That's why I came to you. You're the FBI, you're supposed to find those answers."

"Mr. Haskell, your allegations aside, it's a crime to threaten anyone. One you could be arrested for."

"Am I being arrested, then? Is that what you called me here for?" Duffy demands to know.

"Not today. Mr. Haskell, we're sorry for your loss, but if you persist in these threats and in disseminating these stories we're going to have to enter your name in the federal system as a dangerous individual."

"I'm alone now because of them. They took everything from me," the other man declares. "And if you weren't such heartless bastards, you might care. Maybe the next woman they kill will be someone you care about."

With that, Duffy Haskell storms out.

* * *

Hendershot Home

When the woman answers the door, Scully offers her a slight smile. "You may not remember me, but we met earlier this week."

Hendershot looks confused. "We did?"

"I accidentally stumbled into your exam room while looking for something else."

Faint recognition blooms on the woman's face. "I think I remember you now."

"What I didn't mention when you offered me the copy of your ultrasound is that I'm actually in a position to help you. I'm special agent Dana Scully with the FBI."

"My ultrasound is an FBI matter?" Hendershot asks skeptically.

"Not solely, no. But I'm investigating your doctor. That's why I was at the clinic."

"You said you're in a position to help me, in what way?"

"You seemed very concerned about your baby's health, so I showed your ultrasound to my own OB, along with a couple other films."

"And what did he say? I can tell by your expression that it wasn't good. There's something desperately wrong with my baby."

"I'm sorry," Scully says gently. "I'm afraid that you are right."

"Like a deformity?" Hendershot asks nervously.

"I guess," Scully says noncommittally.

"Do you think he's... going to die?"

"It's a good possibility," she finally admits. "My doctor said he thought the baby might be stillborn."

"Oh no." Hendershot looks like she's about to faint, so Scully helps her to a chair. "I thought, all along I thought... it's just so horrible to hear it out loud."

"I'm so sorry," Scully says sincerely. "But I thought you had the right to know what my OB told me."

"Which was what, exactly?" There's the smallest amount of hope left in the other woman's eyes, and Scully is loathe to kill it.

"Um...that the baby wasn't developing normally. It still looks pretty primitive, not what you'd expect a baby almost to term to."

"Did he mention anything about aliens?" Hendershot startles her by asking.

"Well, yes, he said 'alien-like' but he was being figurative-"

"I don't think he was," Hendershot says slowly. "All my life I wanted children. But I'm afraid of what's growing in me. That it even happened."

"Getting pregnant?"

"I had a boyfriend. When I looked at the dates, there was no way. Now I'm sure it was an abduction. I'm sure of what's inside of me." She grimaces, as if in pain. "I guess I won't have a long wait to find out."

Scully's eyes widen in alarm. "Are you in labor?"

The other woman bobs her head. "Yeah."

"We've got to get you to a hospital, then!"

"No!" Hendershot disagrees. "They'd kill my baby. A friend of mine gave me someone to call when it was time. He should be here soon."

"Who did you call?" Scully demands to know, but Hendershot refuses to tell her.

Five minutes later a vehicle roars into the driveway so fast that Scully cringes, fearing for her own car. Three men jog up the path and soon are knocking forcefully on the door.

Hendershot lets them in. "Thank God you're here."

"It's a good thing you called us," one of the men tells her. "You and your baby will be safe with us."

"Wait!" Scully cries as the other two men hook Ms Hendershot under the elbows and begin to drag her away.

They ignore her. Scully blocks the doorway so the third man can't leave. "Who are you?"

"That's classified, Ma'am," he tells, sounding bored.

Scully reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out her FBI badge. "You're interfering with my investigation. I demand that you identify yourself."

He doesn't look the least cowed by this. "Knowle Rohrer, Department of Defense."

"What does the DoD want with Ms Hendershot's baby?"

"To see it safely born," Rohrer says flatly. "The longer you insist on delaying us, the more remote that possibility becomes." He turns and waves his hand. The vehicle takes off, leaving him there.

"I her want location, now!" Scully shouts at Rohrer.

Shrugging, the man takes a small notepad and pen out of his coat pocket and writes something down. "This is the hospital we're taking her to."

She gives him a suspicious look, but accepts the paper. "Thank you."

As she walks to her car, she hears him on his cell phone, apparently calling for a ride.

* * *

Three Hours Later

The next few hours leave Scully completely frustrated. The hospital Rohrer directed her to has steadily professed ignorance about Hendershot's condition, until suddenly she's being summoned by a nurse who gives her a room number.

To Scully's surprise, Ms Hendershot smiles when she sees Scully enter her room. In the crook of her arm, there's a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Her OB must have been wrong, Scully decides, because it appears that the baby survived its birth.

She approaches cautiously, steeling herself to see a hideously deformed newborn. When she sees the face she flinches.

"Isn't he perfect?" the new mother asks in a rapt tone.

"Yes," Scully replies mechanically.

The baby is, quite obviously perfect. It's hard to look up at the smiling face and not feel a rush of pity.

"It looks like we were all worried for nothing. The ultrasound was just defective, or something."

"Must have been." Scully forces a smile. "You must be tired. I'm glad things worked out for you."

"So am I," the beaming new mother says before looking down at the baby.

Scully slowly walks out to the hallway, feeling haunted.

Back during the summer, before Mulder disappeared, if someone from the Syndicate had arrived at her front door with a tiny baby girl and told her that it was her daughter, would she have believed them? Would skepticism kept her from believing that someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to fake the baby's death, and then cure her?

Or would she have accepted the baby with open arms, and force the doubts so far to the back of her mind that she wouldn't feel them? Would she have been so relieved, so happy, that she'd of believed?

As she walks down the hallway she tells herself that she couldn't be deceived that way. But she looks over her shoulder to see Ms Hendershot cuddling "her" baby, and is no longer sure.

* * *

That Night

At some point during the evening, a nurse must have coaxed Ms Hendershot to send the baby to the nursery so she could get some rest, because the baby is there when Doggett gets to the hospital. Scully's been waiting half an hour for him to arrive.

Doggett doesn't say anything as he joins Scully at the nursery window. She turns to him, and her expression is unexpectedly fierce.

"Look at that baby," she tells him, pointing an accusatory finger at the offending infant.

He does, and sees nothing but an ordinary baby lying in a bassinet labeled "Baby Boy Hendershot." Confused as to what's upsetting her, he says "Looks like a normal, healthy little boy to me."

"Exactly." she hisses. "That's impossible. The baby Ms Hendershot was carrying wouldn't look like this. There were severe congenital deformities, so severe that they were clear on an ultrasound."

"Maybe it's a miracle," Doggett suggests lightly.

She gives him an icy stare. "Miracles are easier to believe in than aliens?"

"It was a joke-"

"I don't think it was, John," she says quietly. "And I don't know how to get through to you. If you can't make yourself even consider the possibility that there is sentient life not of Earth, you'll continue to fail at your primary mission here. You're of, and will remain of, no use when it comes to locating Mulder."

He feels indignation begin to well up - until she begins to speak again. "And that's a problem because I don't want my kids to grow up without a father, or this baby to either." When she puts her hand to her belly, the meaning behind her words is unmistakable.

His eyes fly to her face. "You're pregnant?" With effort he resists the urge to remark that it oughtn't have surprised him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Until this week I haven't told anyone."

"But why?"

"He's always the first to know." The defeated tone of her voice worries him. "I didn't want to tell anyone because that'd be admitting that he may not be back soon. But now..." she sighs. "Now it's getting too hard to ignore."

Doggett wonders why she chose the word ignore rather than hide, but doesn't feel right asking. "I'm sorry."

"Why? None of this is your fault."

"I didn't say it was. I'm just sorry that you've felt the need to shoulder this burden alone. You have people who could help you cope-"

"I know," she says fiercely. "At the cost of being an object of pity."

He can't argue that. "Everything has a trade-off."

"Yes."

"I told you I'd help you. I said we'd find him. I intend to keep my word."

"Thank you," she says stiffly.

"I don't know how much you care now, but another agent, Farah, did a background check on Duffy Haskell for us."

"Did he find anything illuminating?"

"Yeah. Haskell was a complete crackpot. And dead."

"And dead?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what his game was, but the guy we saw wasn't Duffy Haskell. The real Haskell has been six feet under for a long time. So it seems like this alien baby crap was just that - crap."

"I guess it was," Scully agrees, but she's not so sure.


	98. This Is Not Happening

Skinner's Office  
January 11th, 2001

It's not the first time, but Doggett is running after his partner. Ever since he told her A.D. Skinner had something so important it needed to be told in his office, the little redhead has been going on full steam, especially since she's been told next to nothing about the details. Sometimes, it's when you have no information that you start imaging the craziest things, and Doggett wishes he could've told Scully everything right there in the basement office just to kill the tension. But it's not his case anymore, and Skinner has more of a right to break it to her than he does, so he goes along with the maddening setup.

Scully, for her part, isn't waiting patiently and walks towards her boss, who looks even more apprehensive than she did minutes earlier. "What? What is it?"

"Let's go into my office," the balding man says, stepping away from the door.

Scully, rather than Skinner, leads them into Skinner's office and watches as he closes the door. When he turns around, she snaps, "All right, what's going on here?"

"A report came in last night from Montana," Skinner says in his usual terse manner. "About a UFO encounter."

"What kind of encounter?" Scully prods him.

"A young man chased a bright object flying low across the sky," Skinner says as calmly as he can. "Tracked it all the way to a big field where the UFO disappeared ... but where he claimed he saw an alien." He pretends not to notice Doggett looking away.

It's apparent that she's on her last straw. "Assistant Director, I've got drawers full of reports that begin just like that. Are you going to tell me what's so important about this case?"

He's looking at her, but it's as if he's trying to telegraph something else entirely. "Young man's named Richie Szalay. UFO nut from Bellefleur, Oregon. Agent Mulder was in contact with him last spring."

Scully looks at her partner, then at her boss, putting two and two together and getting everything from Linear A to a Morris-Thorne wormhole to Euler's Planar Graph Formula, all in an effort to avoid the obvious answer. Biting the bullet, she asks, "Are you trying to tell me this has something to do with Mulder?"

Now Doggett speaks up for the first time since they walked into the office. "He's trying to tell you that it might."

Skinner adds, "Richie Szalay didn't find an alien last night. He found a woman. A woman whose name you will remember - Teresa Hoese."

Scully's face is a study in control. "Teresa Hoese was the young mother who was abducted here the night before Agent Mulder was."

"And who was returned last night."

Scully stares at Skinner. "Returned?" She hates how desperate she sounds, how hopeful and needy and not at all like the calm agent in charge she wants to be at this moment.

Skinner's eyes flicker away towards Doggett momentarily before answering, "Hanging onto life by a thread."

* * *

St. Jean Hospital  
Helena, Montana

The three FBI agents walk briskly down the bright, sterile hallway, none of them looking at each other. They really haven't said anything of consequence to each other since getting on the plane, and now they're meeting with Teresa Hoese's doctor. A young, dark-skinned man comes out to meet them. "Who, who is Mr. Skinner?" he asks, looking at Skinner and Doggett.

"I'm Skinner," the tall bald man replies. "You Doctor Desai?"

"I was just told you were on your way. That you flew out here all the way here from Washington, DC.," Doctor Desai says with more than a little disbelief.

"Yeah, we're here to see Teresa Hoese," Skinner says.

"I know," the doctor nods. "I just wish someone would tell me these things because this woman is in no condition..."

"What is her condition?" Scully breaks in.

When he looks at her, he notes her appraisal and judges her to be at least cognizant of what's happening. "She's circling the drain. In twelve years, I have never seen anything near this level of mistreatment."

"Doctor, it's important we see the victim and talk to her if we can about what happened," Doggett interrupts.

"Just promise me, whoever did this, you guys will do everything in your power to catch them." The doctor looks at each of them. He leads them to an intensive care room, his voice now hushed. "By rights, this young woman shouldn't even be alive." When they see the patient, they know why. Teresa Hoese, whom Scully last saw as a vibrant yet concerned young mother, is now lying unconscious on the bed, hooked up to various wires and tubes. There are three bruised scars on each of her cheeks like a grotesque acne pattern. "The medics said she asked for her baby last night, but she hasn't said a word otherwise," Doctor Desai says, looking down at the pale woman, "I suspect it's all she's holding on to. What's upsetting is... it's almost like someone was experimenting on her."

Skinner asks, because he knows Scully can't. "What exactly did they do to her?"

The doctor turns to face the bald man. "Inside her cheeks, there's tissue damage in a linear pattern," he replies, describing a litany of horrors in a detached manner only doctors can manage after long shifts. "Her chest was cut into and organ tissue in her abdomen's scooped away. In the x-rays I see damage to the soft palate."

Without looking at him, Scully asks, "In the x-rays, did you see, um... anything else? Like foreign objects."

Now the doctor is confused. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Little pieces of metal. Implants," she clarifies.

"No, I didn't," Doctor Desai says definitively.

The door opens and two police officers walk in. "There was an Agent Doggett requesting a police report," one of them says, looking around for any sign of a badge.

Doggett steps forward and takes the file from the cop, glancing through it quickly. He looks back up at his partner and boss, then says drily, "You're welcome to stay here and discuss foreign objects but... looks like we got a suspect."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Doggett, Skinner, and Scully bust into Richie Szalay's motel room like gangbangers. Or at least, that's how Scully feels as Doggett invites himself in, followed by the A.D. and herself. There's some kind of UFO show on the TV, she notes, and her eyes are more on the walls than on the pasty, extremely normal-looking guy Skinner is currently questioning. "Richie, if you live in Oregon... what are you doing in Montana?"

His eyes are moving from one agent to another, but now they focus on the big bald guy. "My buddy, Gary, right? He was abducted. I, I came looking for him."

Doggett's looking at the UFO pictures taped to the wall, but he asks, "So, you just came out here on a lark?"

Richie frowns. "No. I was following the news."

Doggett turns around. "The news?"

The young man points at the pictures Doggett checked out earlier. "All, all that's in the last two weeks. Yeah, I go on these Internet chat rooms to talk about sightings and junk. After Oregon there wasn't a whole lot but then all of a sudden in Montana," his voice breaks with shock, "I, I never... I, I never thought I'd find Mrs. Hoese like that. Not in a million years."

Doggett's eyes are devoid of sympathy. "Richie, when you found that woman's body, you said you saw somebody with her. You told the police it was an alien. You know what a moulage casting is, Richie?" As expected, Richie shakes his head. "It's what the cops take when they find shoe prints. They do these plaster castings and the ones they got from the field that night were from 9½ Nikes. You ever hear of an alien in Nikes?" he finishes harshly.

"Doesn't mean it wasn't," Richie says.

Doggett stares at him like he's nuts. "Did it ever occur to you that it wasn't an alien but a man?"

"Then what about his spaceship?" the pasty guy asks the FBI agent.

It's obvious to anyone with half a brain that Doggett thinks the kid's stuck in the Twilight Zone, and he gives Scully a look before leaving the room. Scully follows him out. "Agent Doggett? What was that in there?" she says, reining in her anger.

He gives her a hard look. "That was pressing a witness to get to the truth."

"You refuse to believe that anything other than a man could have done this," she says, returning his look tenfold. "Could have done what we saw to that woman in the hospital."

"It's not worth arguing about. The point here is to find Mulder," he says, trying to get back to the original point.

"And for months, we have been looking for a break, which is what we've got here," she says, just as reasonably.

"What we've got is hope. But let's be honest, Agent Scully, about what no one wants to say." She looks at him, a question mark on her face as plain as day. Ah, shit, he thinks. "Bad as you want to find Mulder, you're afraid to find him, too." He walks away from her, not wanting to see the look on her face, nor wanting to face the sudden guilt he feels for having to drive the truth home to a pregnant woman and mother wanting a sliver of hope for news of her missing husband.

* * *

Later that night in her own motel room, Scully puts away the paperwork gathered on Richie Szalay, a little depressed to find that he's been to the same chat rooms and alt-sites she's been, and more than a few of the photos tacked to his motel wall matched her own. At the time, she'd thought some of the sightings were hoaxes, since they were worded in much the same way as the dead-ends she'd tracked. So. Richie got lucky, so to speak, and Teresa got luckier, in that she was still alive.

Lucky. She closes her eyes and leans back, exhaling. Staring at the window, she sees her reflection, ghost-like, staring back at her, looking less real than the night scene outside. To break out of her funk, she calls home. "Hey," Krycek answers on the first ring.

It's almost disturbing to note how used to her "nanny" she's gotten. "Is Page or the others awake?" she asks.

"Most everyone's in bed," her brother-in-law answers. "Except for April. It's like she's got a bug up her ass all day."

Scully sighs. "Fine. Let me talk to her."

It isn't long before a little girl's voice pipes through the phone lines. "Hi, Mommy."

A tired smile crosses Scully's face. "Hi, Sweetie," she says. "How are you?"

"Mommy," April says, "Daddy's coming home soon, right?"

Scully's eyes are wide. "Who told you that, April?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Nobody," is her the simple answer. "But he's coming home soon, right?"

Scully's mouth opens and closes. Now she knows what Krycek meant, and wishes she had some kind of great answer like she does for Quantico students. "April..." her voice trails off, unsure what to say next.

"Uncle Alex thinks I'm silly," her little girl tells her, "but it's okay. He's coming back, I know it."

Scully sighs, wishing she had the incredible faith her daughter has. Then she looks at her ghost-like reflection in the motel window, the street lights shining like constellations. "The stars are pretty, aren't they?" she says in lieu of something intelligent or comforting.

"Yeah," April smiles, "goo'night, Mommy."

"Good night, sweetheart," Scully says, wishing she could hug her girl right now, less for her daughter's sake than for her own. When she hears the click of the replaced receiver, she hits the power button on her cell and slouches. Then she wraps her arms around herself, finally allowing the tears to fall. It's a long time before she's tired enough to fall asleep, but when she does, it's a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

St. Jean Hospital  
January 12th, 2001

The next morning, Scully interviewed a very befuddled yet concerned Doctor Desai concerning Teresa Hoese's disappearance, then finds herself with more unexpected company. "Agent Reyes," she says, shaking the taller woman's hand. "What brings you out here?"

"I got a call from Agent Doggett about the woman who was found," Reyes replies, standing in front of a series of x-rays, "Teresa Hoese, and the kinds of injuries she suffered. I must admit, it's fascinating."

Scully blinks. "Fascinating?"

The raven-haired woman nods, looking rather crisp in her dark attire. "I was looking for implants, but I haven't found any."

"Implants? I don't understand," Scully admits. Why was Agent Reyes called out here if her specialty was ritualistic abuse?

Reyes, however, is answering the other question. "Metallic implants," she says straightforwardly. "Placed in the body, oftentimes in the nasal cavity. Sometimes made of bone or cartilage making detection a little more difficult."

"Yeah, I'm well aware of how they work," Scully half-smiles.

Reyes frowns a little. "You said you didn't understand."

Scully decides to clear the air and start over. "Excuse me, I, I, uh, I'm very confused. I'm not sure why you're here, unless Agent Doggett called you over for another case."

"From what Agent Doggett said, it seems like there was cult involvement, and I'm not entirely discounting that, in light of Ms. Hoese's current abduction."

"You don't believe aliens were involved?" Scully frowns.

Reyes waves a hand at the x-rays. "From what I've seen, it's apparent that this woman has been experimented on. But it's possible that a cult may be involved in the second kidnapping, which is why I was called in."

"I see," Scully says evenly. "So that's why Doggett and Skinner are combing the hills for some kind of UFO cult."

Reyes nods. "I'm going out there soon myself. Coming?"

Scully shakes her head. "No offense, Agent Reyes, but I don't think that's the right direction to be looking."

The taller woman smiles. "None taken." She puts a hand on Scully's shoulder. "You know I have feelings, right? Right now, I am feeling your fear. And fear's not going to help you find him or anyone else, no matter where you look."

As she walks out, Scully stares after her, wondering why she's lost all hope, while everyone else around her has it in abundance. "The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity," she mutters, "Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand." Walking out, she rubs her upper arms, determined to believe, like April, that her husband will be coming home soon.

* * *

Later that night, Scully is back at the hospital, getting ready to autopsy the body Reyes found in the field earlier that evening. A young Caucasian male is lying on the metal table, and behind her are Skinner and Doggett. I'm not gonna crack, Scully tells herself, this is my job, my part. In spite of the inner pep talk, her voice starts out shaky when she turns on the recorder, "Examination of victim, Gary Edward Cory, reveals cuts and abrasions from ligature or binding devices, accompanied by distal and proximal bruising radiating in a symmetrical pattern around the ankles, the wrists... and the face."

The door swings open, and Richie Szalay walks in with a cop. The shock is palpable, and it takes him a while to get the words out of his gaping mouth. "Oh, my god, Gary," he says, looking like he's about to cry or throw up, maybe both.

Scully swallows a sympathetic sob, and her voice is rough when she tells him, "You can go now, Richie. They just need you to sign a form." She watches as he puts a hand to his mouth, then staggers out of the room, followed by the silent police officer. She doesn't notice her own tears have fallen until her boss speaks up.

"Dana..." Skinner steps forward.

Oh boy, he's calling me by my first name, that's bad, she thinks. Quickly wiping her face with the back of her gloved hand, she says briskly, "I'm okay. There's work to do here."

Both men look at each other, then at her, before leaving the room. It's not like they can do the autopsy, but they know they'll incur holy hell if they bring in someone else to do the job. While Skinner walks off to make a few phone calls, Doggett walks over to the waiting room. He finds Agent Reyes there, who hands him a cup of coffee. "Times like these, I bet you wish you could smoke, too." She smiles at him.

He shakes his head. "I don't know how she's doing it in there." He looks down at the Styrofoam cup in his hands. "If anyone's got a right to break down, it'd be her."

Reyes nods. "I understand. That's why you're so determined to find Mulder alive."

Doggett takes a gulp of rancid coffee before answering. "It's why I can't stand here and listen to all this mumbo jumbo about spaceships," he finally says.

She looks like she's heard and seen his kind of reaction before, and most likely, she has. "I saw what I saw, John. I'm not going to lie to you. But whatever it was, it led to this. It's the man I saw in the field." She holds out a photo of the man, as well as a stats sheet. "He goes by the name Absalom. A religious zealot who escaped a shoot-out in Idaho. Where he was the nominal leader of a doomsday cult who believed aliens would take over the world at the millennium." She smiles a little when she sees the look on his face. "Disgraced when they didn't, he fled and tried a more ecumenical scam: credit card fraud. I ran the plate on the pickup truck. It's registered to a farm about an hour from here."

* * *

It doesn't take long for the FBI to storm the farm grounds, and while Dogget takes the lead in the invasion, Reyes follows after the main contingent, trying to calm the panicked cultists before it turns into a Waco situation or worse. She comes upon Scully, who's found Teresa Hoese, alive and, surprisingly, very, very well. With the help of the other FBI agents, they track down Absalom, and it's Scully and Doggett doing the interrogation, with Skinner and Reyes looking on from another room. The man, tall and tanned, his longish white hair showing traces of blonde, looks like your average outdoorsman, save for the burning intensity in his pale eyes. "I said I can't explain why it happens," he says in a quiet voice. "Or how. Only where."

Doggett's own pale eyes are a contrast as they flash icy steel at him. "I got 46 of your followers rounded up out there at your compound. You make me go to them for a straight answer, it's only going to make it worse for you."

Absalom looks less frustrated than resigned. "How many times can I tell you?"

"Night's early. Coffee's hot." Doggett shrugs.

Seeing the other man's impassiveness, the cult leader says, "The ships come in, drop the abductees all messed up. I go and get them so I can help them."

"Just like you helped Teresa Hoese when you left her for dead?" Doggett cuts in.

"Agent Doggett," Scully says gently. Playing good cop, so to speak, Scully continues the questioning. "You say that these abductees are returned with severe injuries. But that doesn't fit the pattern of any alien abduction model."

"That's what I'm trying to explain. I predicted there would be an alien invasion at the Millennium," Absalom stares at her, his eyes wide as if trying to make her see things from his side. "I was right, it turns out. 'Cause that's when this all started."

Scully's trying to be polite, but inside she's about as impatient as Doggett with this man. "Sir... given the criminal charges against you, you couldn't be a less credible witness, so stop trying to validate your theories and just give us the truth."

"I'm telling you the truth," the cult leader says, starting to rise. "I only want to help these people."

Scully gives him a look, and he subsides somewhat. "So these video cameras that you have around your compound - how do they help?" she raises an eyebrow at a stack of videos lying nearby.

He merely glances at them before answering. "Abductees... live in fear of being taken again. The cameras give them a sense of security."

"Or makes them afraid to leave," Doggett tosses it in.

Scully looks at Absalom. "Do you have videotape of how you happened to heal Teresa Hoese?"

"No," he says simply.

"Do you have videotape of this man?" Scully says, her voice made husky by its soft volume, as she hands over a copy of Mulder's photo. Absalom looks at it, as if trying to place the face, then shakes his head. When she takes it back, she struggles to keep her composure in front of everyone, but a slight hitch in her breathing gives her away.

As Doggett glances at the two-way mirror, Skinner remarks, "He's hiding something."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Reyes replies, wishing she had a cigarette.

* * *

Scully is on the phone, talking with Page, who's become the "bossy oldest sister" role in all its glory, and it's at times like this that Scully's glad Melissa never really lorded it over her – but then again, she wouldn't have put up with it in the first place. As she gives her absentminded "uh-huh"s over the cell, she unlocks the motel door, then flips the light switch. Nothing. Great. "Honey, sorry, something's wrong with the light," she says quickly to her eldest child, then pays more attention to the light switch. Great. The breaker must be out. As she pulls out her flashlight, something in the room catches her eye, and she freezes, oblivious to her daughter's queries of "What's wrong, Mommy?"

There, in the dark motel room, is Mulder, glowing as if he's made of phosphorescence. Not the fake alien Mulder, but her Mulder, whose mouth opens as he stares longingly at her. "Oh my God," she breathes, as if to talk louder than a whisper would break the spell. He reaches out to her, and she to him, tears welling up in her eyes, when someone's voice distracts her.

"Agent Scully?" Scully whips around, dropping her phone. Agent Reyes is standing by the open doorway. Okay. When she glances back into the room, however, Mulder is gone, and she silently curses the Reyes' presence for making him disappear as she picks up her cell phone. "What is it?" Agent Reyes asks, oblivious to the other woman's thoughts.

"Hold on," Scully tells her, thankful for a bit of a reprieve between herself and the taller woman as she blinks away her tears. Back to her phone call, she apologizes, "I'm sorry, Sweetie, it looks like I'm back to work again." As Page voices her disappointment, Scully smiles a little. It's not like she can tell her, "Honey, I saw your daddy, but it was like a ghost of him, but I don't really think he's dead, and no, I can't tell you why." That would only open up a can of worms she's not ready to deal with at this point, either with her daughter, or the new agent, or herself, really. All she knows is, she's seen Mulder, and he's alive. That's all that matters.

Once she's said her goodbyes and goodnights, she hangs up and looks at the taller woman, her composure fully restored. "I'm sorry, that was Page, my oldest." To Reyes' earlier unanswered question, she replies, "I saw him." As Agent Reyes stares, uncomprehending, Scully goes on, "I saw something." Then she prompts the other agent, "So, what's going on?"

* * *

In the video room, Reyes shows Skinner, Scully and Doggett footage from the some of the hundreds of tapes gathered. "I reviewed these tapes from the compound. There are some things here I want you all to see."

She shows them something familiar to her, a scene where Absalom and another, older man, are loading a body into the back of a pickup. "They've got a body in there."

"Who is it?" Scully stares hard at the monitor, as if that would make the image clearer.

"You can't tell from this angle," Reyes replies.

"Well, then where's another angle?" Scully asks.

"This is the only angle I could find," Reyes almost shrugs, but wisely refrains. "Take a note of the older man. We don't have a name yet, but watch this."

Onscreen, the older man walks into a building. He passes through a shadow, and when he comes out he looks like Doggett. For his part, Doggett yelps, "What the hell just happened?"

Reyes smiles a little. "That's what I'd like to know."

"Wow. That's still that old man."

Doggett turns to her, scowling. "The hell it was. That's me, and I never even went in that building."

Scully nods. "Exactly. We have to get back out there." She leaves, wondering if this is another alien bounty hunter, or something else entirely. After all, something healed Teresa Hoese, and it sure as hell wasn't Absalom. With numerous questions on her mind, she's followed by the others, with other questions on their minds as well.

* * *

The four FBI agents walk into the compound, but are stopped by a guard from entering one of the buildings. "Halt. Identify yourself," he says.

Scully, not wasting any time as she gets out of the car, flashes her badge. "We're looking for someone. A man who may be one of the detainees."

Skinner adds, "We need some bodies out here to help search the woods."

Entering the buildings, they find a group of people standing near the door. "FBI," Scully flashes her badge yet again. Looking around, she doesn't see the old man, and then remembers his shapeshifting ability. "Where is he? A man who works with Absalom, he heals people." As expected, nobody answers her, but she doesn't have to like it. "Look, I know he's here. I need to speak with him." On a hunch, she calls out to a young man standing in the back of the group. "You," she points, "in the back. Step out." Hesitantly, he does so." "Come with me."

He follows her into a room, with Agent Reyes watching the proceedings. "Take a seat," she tells the young man, who does so. "What's your name?"

"Jeremiah Smith," he answers quietly.

"Did you heal these people?"

"No."

"Did you heal Teresa Hoese?" He starts to get up, but Scully's hand is quicker, pushing his shoulder down, and he stays seated. "Look, I know who you are."

Someone knocks at the door, and Reyes comments, "Agent Scully." The door opens, and Reyes nods at Scully. "I'll be right outside," she says before closing the door behind her.

When Scully turns back, she gasps when she sees that the young man has become the older man seen in the videotapes. "You're going to expose me," Jeremiah Smith says in the same quiet voice. "You're putting people in danger - Abductees all over the country. I save them. I'm the only one."

Scully stares hard at him. "Do you know where my husband, where Mulder is?"

"You came crashing in here," Smith says calmly. "I was trying to help him, too."

"Where is he?" she leans over the table, then nearly gives herself whiplash as the door opens suddenly.

"You'd better come with us," Skinner says heavily.

Scully looks back at the man, or being, calling himself Jeremiah Smith, who has now taken the form of Absalom and looks very frightened. "You must protect me," he says in Absalom's voice.

Torn, Scully goes to Skinner and Reyes. "What is it?" she asks, their faces telling her that they don't want to tell her.

Skinner glances at the younger agent, then tells Scully, "It's Mulder."

* * *

In an open field, illuminated by the moon and various floodlights, is a group of agents standing around a body. Scully rushes forward, followed by a concerned Skinner. "Where is he?" she demands breathlessly, "How bad is he?" She moves aside a few agents who are blocking her view. Amazingly, it seems every damn agent is out there in the field, so she forces her way through the gauntlet, "How bad is he hurt?"

Finally getting through, she sees Mulder's body and runs over. Kneeling beside him, she gently touches a face that is horribly scarred and bruised, his body wrapped in a blanket to cover his nakedness. "No," she breathes, then her breathing and pitch becomes higher and faster. "No. No. No. He needs help." She stares wildly at the agents, who seem to have turned into stone around her.

Doggett, on the other hand, pulls her away from the body, his tone gentle, "It's too late."

She glares at him, her entire body language screaming, I don't need your help, pity, or kindness. "He needs help!" she snaps, shoving him away.

The only one who can help is Jeremiah Smith, she thinks, running back towards the compound. He healed Teresa Hoese, he can heal Mulder, too! With that hopeful thoughts, her legs carry her back to the building faster than she left, but a bright light blinds her a few yards from reaching the door. Looking up, she sees an object hovering overhead, full of lights, and she screams, "NO!" She forces her shaky legs and burning lungs to take her faster to the door, but as she does so, the building shakes, the glass shatters, and the light abruptly vanishes as quickly as it came.

She runs into the building, down the hall, and into the room where she'd left hm, locked up and under guard. The man called Jeremiah Smith is gone, and with him, so is her hope. "Shit," she coughs, trying to regain her breath beyond her burning lungs and now queasy stomach. Breathing heavily, she pulls out her flashlight and scans the room again, leaning against the doorframe for support. No sign of the young man nor old man called Jeremiah Smith. Shit!

"No," she shakes her head in disbelief, "this is not happening! This is not fucking happening!" She pounds the doorway with the side of her fist, but the pain will not bring back the healer, nor will it assuage the sudden fear, guilt and despair that now overwhelms her. "Dammit!" she yells, hitting the doorframe again, unaware of the tears now streaming down her face, or of Skinner, Doggett or Reyes silently gathering behind her like a funeral procession in their dark suits.


	99. Coping

January 12th, 2001

The morgue is quiet. If not for the erratic kick of the baby, Scully thinks she could fall asleep. It's actually all she wants to do, weighed down as she is by the twins exhaustion and grief.

Instead she forces herself to carefully examine her husband's body. She won't do an autopsy - in fact no one will because she's honoring Bill Mulder's request that his son be buried in accordance to the religion he was haphazardly raised in. She didn't agree because she thinks Mulder would care about Judaism now, but she allows his father to believe that if it gives him some measure of comfort.

Instead, she said yes merely because she can't bear the thought of further mutilating his battered body. Perhaps it's a bit hypocritical given how many times she's been the one wielding a scalpel over chilly flesh, but she's sure she'll lose her mind if even one more cut is inflicted on him. Even if he can't feel it, indeed even though he'll feel nothing at all ever again.

As she stares down at his hurts, she can't help but wonder what they did to him. Although if what Gibson had told her months before is to be believed, she has a pretty good idea from her nightmares. When was the last one, she wonders. Eventually she stopped waking with them still on her mind, probably a ploy from her subconscious to keep her from going mad. But she feels that she ought to remember the last one. The dream that must have come while he was dying. Or had she been awake at the time, making Mulder's final moments just that much more alone?

"Dana?" a hesitant voice makes her look up. Doggett is standing in the doorway, looking terribly uncomfortable. "I...Let me drive you home, okay?"

There's a type of fear in his eyes, Scully notices detachedly. As if he's worried that any second now she's going to throw herself over Mulder's body and begin wailing that she can't live without him. Not that a funeral pyre scene doesn't hold some appeal.

"Okay." She walks to him, and only pauses a moment to look back at Mulder. Staying won't erase the inevitable, just prolong it at best.

She tries not to notice the relief on Doggett's face as he ushers her out to his car.

* * *

Doggett steals a glance at Scully when they reach a red light. She looks so small and so wounded that he feels like weeping himself.

He can't figure out why it would be so, but he feels an echoing empathy. Not mere sympathy, but deeper, as if it were a shared pain. That bothers him because he doesn't know why. He liked Mulder, but they weren't particularly close. He's never known anyone else who'd died so tragically, either.

"I don't know how I'm going to tell them," Scully says huskily.

Her voice breaking the silence startles him so much that he finds himself making a rash reply. "I'll help you. We can tell them together."

When she says "okay" in a small voice, he kicks himself because he can't back out.

* * *

The kids cry, the nanny cries, and Doggett even thinks that he sees tears in the eyes of Scully's nutjob brother-in-law. Though that might have been a trick of the light since Scully complains that the two men never get along. Never would now, Doggett realizes.

"No no no!" Page cries, running off immediately after Scully tells them the worst thing she ever will: We found your father tonight and he's dead. "It can't be true!" floats down the stairs.

The adults watch the girl run off in stunned silence before Michelle goes after her. Scully looks torn, but she has a tear-stained April on her lap already.

What really gets to Doggett, though, is the oldest boy's reaction. Little Sammy is just a few months older than Hannah, but Doggett watches him desperately try not to cry. In the end his tears spilled over, just like his sisters. To Doggett's surprise, Alex is the one to comfort the little boy, holding Sammy as he sobs against his chest. Upon further reflection he decides that he shouldn't be overly surprised - Scully has always granted her brother-in-law a grudging respect for his surprising abilities with kids, both his own and hers.

Doggett himself has his own arms full, wrangling the twins, the ones who have no idea what is going on. He feels guilty for taking the easy job.

And what of Christopher, he finds himself wondering. The baby is already down for the night. Even David and Jared, as young as they are, can be made to understand that Mulder is gone. But the baby? It's easy to picture him looking everywhere for his lost father. Unless he forgets him, and glancing at Scully's grief-stricken face, he can't decide if that would be better or worse.

When he leaves, it feels like he's left them on the titanic deck after taking one of the lifeboats for himself.

* * *

Falls Church, Virginia

Doggett is scarcely in the house for five minutes when the phone rings. He makes a desperate grab for it, hoping to silence it before it wakes the kids.

"Yeah?"

"Is she okay?" a concerned voice asks on the other end of the line.

"Monica. I wasn't expecting you to call..." He trails off, wondering why he's so surprised that she's checking in. "Not really. She broke the news to the kids when I brought her home, and they fell apart, just like you would expect. She's not doing too much better herself. I'm glad that the nanny and her brother-in-law are there tonight." He admits.

"I wouldn't expect any different," Reyes tells him. "I think we all to some degree expected that he was just going to come waltzing through the front door, didn't we? To have that expectation so brutally torn apart..."

"I know." He sighs. "I expected the guy to come home too. Moldah, he was larger than life. One of those people you never expected to be laid low, not like this."

"I'm sorry, John. I know he was your friend too," she says quietly.

"Sure, but his friends aren't the ones people should be worried about. Not like the family he left behind. They're the ones we've got to be there for." Doggett corrects her.

"No," she surprises him by saying. "Of course we should take care of widows and children, but they're not the only ones who hurt when a man dies. His friends are wounded too, anyone who knows him is. It's easy to fall into the trap of pushing aside our own feelings about a death in order to help someone else through their grief, but eventually we've got to own our feelings as well. It's better if we can do that at the same time."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about," Doggett says with a weak laugh.

"I've lost enough people to have an idea of what works and what doesn't." Instead of letting this statement darken the conversation, she says "What are you doing Friday?"

"Nothing special, why?"

"Let's go to a bar and toast the man lost," Reyes suggests. "Celebrate who he was and mourn what he could have been."

"All right," Doggett agrees, wondering why he is. "How does nine sound?"

"Good. I'll pick you up. You knew him better so I think it'll take you more drinks."

"Okay."

By the time he hangs up, Doggett feels a little less depressed than he did when he left Scully's.

* * *

Scully's Home  
The Next Day

A gentle touch to Krycek's cheek wakes him up. He smiles when he realizes that it's Missy. "You're over early."

"Dana called me this morning and asked me to come over." She looks happy about something, which strikes him as odd considering the fresh tragedy. "To help you pack."

"Pack?"

"Yup." Only then does he notice that she has a pile of folded up boxes and a roll of tape on the floor by her feet. "I'm so glad that you're coming home!"

"Okay...why don't you get a start on the light stuff, like clothes? Nothing heavy-"

"I won't break, Alex," Missy says archly.

"I know, I just...let me be a gentleman, okay?" He kisses her cheek. "Is your sister downstairs? I need to talk to her."

"She was in the kitchen last I saw."

"Great."

Once he leaves the room, he drops the casual facade he'd adopted for his wife's sake. Scully hadn't said a word the night before about her plans for him, and he hates to be ambushed this way.

Scully gives him a cool look when he enters the room. "You're not going to let Missy pack everything herself, are you?"

"You could have said something last night," he gripes as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

"I think forewarning you would have affected my success rate at getting you out of my house today. You won't break my sister's heart, so it'll work out this way."

He seethes to himself a little, because he knows she's right. All hell would break loose if he went upstairs and told Missy that he was staying. Still... "Have you really thought this through? The kids-"

"The kids are no longer in danger. Mulder is dead- " Krycek winces at her matter of fact tone. "- and therefore the crusade against him must be too. If there was even a real threat at all."

"We can't know that for sure-" he protests feebly.

She gives him another cool look. "How long has it been since you stopped insisting that Emily sleep here every night? Weeks and weeks, to Missy's vast relief. Deep down, you realized to that this threat is nothing more than a bogeyman to keep us on edge. My kids will be fine with Michelle and I to look after them, especially considering that I'll soon be home 24/7."

For some reason the allusion to maternity leave catches him off guard. He somehow forgot that she'll soon be home with a new baby too. Missy isn't the only one anticipating quality time spent with a newborn.

"Are you sure you want me to go?" he asks at length. When she nods it feels like being fired unexpectedly from a familiar, if not well-liked, job.

"We'll be fine. The sooner we adapt to not having a man around the house, the better."

"You say that like you'll never remarry," Krycek kicks himself for blurting out.

Her laugh is brittle. "Single men line right up to marry women with this many kids."

He thinks of saying something lame like that there are probably some men who would overlook that, but it doesn't sound right, even in his head. Even if they can be in each other's presence without one of them pulling a gun, they still don't have the sort of relationship where that sort of comment would fly.

Instead he says "It'd be hard to live with someone else after being married to Mulder, anyway."

"No doubt." She puts her cup down and gives him a contemplative stare. "We got off point a little, though. As I said, I believe the crusade against Mulder must be over. You, however, aren't dead."

"You've noticed," he can't help but retort.

She nods thoughtfully, which sends an inexplicable chill down his spine. "So you could still be a target. You, my sister, Emily, and eventually the baby. Promise me you'll stay on your toes."

Maybe he the chill was his mind predicting what she was going to say, but still, he got a nasty jolt when it was put into words. "I'd do anything to protect them."

"I know. And I'm going to hold you to it."

Suddenly eager to be home, Krycek skips stairs in his haste to help Missy pack his stuff.

* * *

January 15th, 2001

It's the Ides of January, not March, but the end result isn't much different. It's just a different warrior that's fallen. Snow blankets the cemetery, the white expanse broken only by a gaping brown hole mostly covered by a casket. The casket is to the left of a small headstone with the word "Angel" and a single date from the June before on it.

The widow and her children stand before the new grave. A toddler is on the widow's hip, one leg around her swelling waist. A young blonde girl and a small red-haired boy hold hands with two identical boys who are even smaller still. Standing slightly ahead, another little girl studies the closed casket.

"April," Scully says in a choked voice. She holds out a hand. "Come here, Baby."

Her daughter starts to obey, but stops, looking over her shoulder. When she finally reaches her mother's side, she says, "Daddy is sleeping."

Pain lances Scully's chest. "No April. Your Daddy is gone. He's not coming back."

"Will," April insists stubbornly.

Oblivious to the conversation between mourners, the minister drones on. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We are here to deliver the body of Fox Mulder to its resting place. We pray to God to deliver his soul and to resolve the deep mysteries Fox Mulder sought so tirelessly to uncover. Let us pray now for his eternal peace."

Tears roll down Page and Sammy's faces, but they don't let go of their brothers' hands. Seeing this makes Scully want to close her eyes, but she can't. When she looks down at the twins' faces, she just sees confusion, which is somehow better.

"'I am the resurrection and the life,' saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he were dead yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'"

To Scully's utter shock, Teena and William Mulder stand together during the ceremony, actually getting along. The kids wander over to their grandfather, and she's relieved to temporarily cede responsibility for them.

Teena approaches her, looking uncertain. "Can I hold him?" she asks, holding out her arms.

"Of course," Scully says quickly, giving her Christopher before her automatic doubts overwhelm her.

Teena offers a brittle smile. "He doesn't look much like Fox, does he? Not with this blond hair and your eyes. But I see my son's mouth." She gently touches Christopher's rosebud lips.

"And his ears," Scully says, trying not to cry.

"Yes." Teena nods to herself before carrying Christopher over to his siblings and grandfather.

Scully looks at Skinner, who is still nearby, although he had taken a few respectful steps back while she spoke to her erstwhile mother-in-law. She looks up at him as she says, "He'll never know the answers to the questions that haunted him most of his life, now. His family and his search, those things were his whole life. It never bothered me, you know, knowing that there was something else that was as important to him as us. The truth. But now, knowing that he never found it..."

"Maybe he learned enough. And he loved you and the children with all his heart. He had a fuller life than most," Skinner says firmly.

"I'm not supposed to be here!" Scully says, beginning to cry. "I'm supposed to be old, comforted by my grown children and a covey of grandchildren. I'm not supposed to be this young, carrying a baby who'll never know his father, and with three more boys who won't remember him. It isn't fair!"

"I know," Skinner says quietly, reaching for her hand. "I know."

She doesn't let him, but instead takes one step back. There's no tremble in her voice when she says "You'll probably need it in writing, but I'm going to start my maternity leave early. Immediately. HR can use my accumulated vacation time to make up the difference."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Skinner says automatically before asking, "Are you going to come back?"

"At this point, I don't know."

"Okay," Skinner tells her. "Take your time deciding."

* * *

Later

"Grandma, I'm tired." Sammy sighs, rubbing at his already red eyes. Maggie sighs and looks down at the paper plate sitting in front of her grandson. Half the food on it is untouched.

"You want to take a nap?" she asks, knowing the answer is probably yes. Page and April went to bed as soon as they'd finished eating too.

It's not even five o'clock but Scully, Maggie, and Sammy are the only ones awake since Missy's family and Scully's friends went home. Even Michelle pled exhaustion and went to bed herself after putting the babies down.

"Yes." He pushes the plate across the table. "I'm all done."

"Do you need help getting ready to sleep?" He shakes his head. "You can put your jammies on yourself?"

"Uh huh." He slips off his chair and throws himself at her for a quick hug. A minute later the silence in the house thickens after the sounds of his feet on the stairs fade away.

Maggie drifts into the living room where she finds her daughter curled up on the couch, staring off into space.

"You haven't eaten anything," Maggie points out.

Scully turns towards her listlessly. "I'm not hungry."

"Be that as it may, you need to eat for the baby's sake."

"At the moment I don't care what the baby needs. Not in the least."

"You don't mean that," Maggie says, nervous about the sudden irritation in her daughter's voice. "You want this baby."

"Do I?" Scully shifts towards her mother. "Maybe if I hadn't been pregnant, I could have found him in time."

"You can't blame the baby for that!"

"I can blame whoever the hell I want." Scully growls.

"Fine," Maggie says icily. "If you really feel that way... It's too late for an abortion, but I'm sure you can find a home for him. Maybe your sister would want to take him, but that may not be a good idea if you don't think you could keep yourself from blaming him for Fox's death-"

"Mother, do you have to be so goddamned self-righteous? I know you think having been a military wife makes you an expert on raising children without help, but it's not the same! Dad came home!" Tears begin to slide down Scully's cheeks, even though she's still furious. "He came home every time!"

Maggie squelches her impulse to be angry when she sees the naked pain on her daughter's face. Not everyone reacts to death the same way, so she decides lashing out probably isn't all that unusual.

Scully doesn't protest when Maggie gathers her in her arms. "I know, Baby. I know he came home."

"Why couldn't Mulder?" Scully tearfully demands to know, and Maggie has no answer for her. "John and Skinner, they expect me to be grateful that we found his body. But I'm not. I'm just so angry..."

Neither of them say anything for several minutes as they wait for the currents of Scully's angry outburst to dissipate from the room.

Eventually Maggie finds herself broaching a subject that she hadn't planned to bring up yet. "Dana, Missy and I are planning to visit Charlie soon. We'd like to bring the kids with us."

"Which kids, exactly?"

"All of them, unless you object. I think they could use a change of scenery." She refrains from adding that the rest would do Scully good, too.

"No, if you think the two of you can handle seven kids between you, fine," Scully tells her.

"We'll manage. Page and Emily will probably enjoy bossing the rest of them around," Maggie says with a slight smile.

"No doubt. I suppose it's a good thing they don't spend much time around Bill. He's a poor role model for being the oldest."

"He could have been worse." Maggie turns slightly pink when Scully raises an eyebrow. "I'm sure I could think of a few ways how."

"Well, he wasn't Hitler, I'll give him that much," Scully says grudgingly. "When do you plan to see Charlie?"

"In two or three weeks."

"That soon?" Scully looks surprised.

"We've been planning this for a couple of weeks. Before...There's a website offering discounted fares, probably trying to dig out of the post-holidays slump. Anyway, your brother suggested it at Christmas. Now Brandon will have even more cousins to play with."

"Do you ever think that it's strange?" Scully asks.

"That what is, Dana?"

"Both Brandon and Mattie are only children. I know Bill and Tara wanted more kids, but Charlie and Elaine chose to have just one."

"No, it doesn't strike me as so strange, at least not where Charlie is concerned. To be honest, of all you kids, he's the one I least expected to have children. So to have one first! That was quite a surprise. I'm also surprised that Bill and Tara haven't adopted to increase the size of their family. When I asked him about it, though, I wasn't stunned that she's the one who doesn't want to, but wants to keep trying for another baby. He doesn't care as much about genes as she does."

"You thought he'd end up with more kids?" Scully asks curiously.

"Oh yes. You may not see it yourself, but you and Bill are a lot alike. If not for Tara's medical problems-" Maggie notes the shock on her face, and decides that her children have never discussed which member of that couple has fertility issues. "-I'd of expected they'd have a house full of children, too. Who knows, he might change her mind yet."

"Maybe," Scully agrees. "And I think you're right."

"About?" Maggie watches her pull herself to her feet.

"Getting something to eat. What about you, Mom, hungry?"

"I could eat," Maggie tells her, trying not to sound too relieved that Scully is taking care of herself.

"Good. There's so much food I won't have to cook for a month. Good thing we bought that chest freezer a couple of years ago." Talking about something she did with Mulder saddens them both, but Maggie is more sure that her daughter will get through it now than she was a half hour ago.

"That's handy," Maggie says, following her into the kitchen.

* * *

Skinner's Office  
January 17th, 2001

After shuffling some papers on his desk for a few seconds, Skinner looks his guest in the eye. "Agent Reyes, thank you for coming in this morning."

"You're welcome," Reyes says, but her eyes are curious. He hasn't told her the reason he requested her presence.

Skinner decides that there's no point in beating around the bush. "When you assisted agent Doggett with a case this fall, I hoped that it could be a dry run for an offer to instate you on a more permanent basis come agent Scully's maternity leave, which I expected to begin in April. Agent Mulder's recent death changes things."

"I'm sure," Reyes says, but he can tell that she isn't following his line of thinking.

"Agent Scully has decided to start her maternity leave this week, which is understandable. Up until now I expected that she'd be back this summer. At this point that's up in the air. And of course, we're permanently down one agent, even if she does decide to return after the baby's born."

"Right..."

"So instead of asking you to join the X-Files on a temporary basis, I'm hoping you'll consent to relocating here for the long term...for good."

"Oh. Sure," Reyes says casually, surprising him by the speed of her answer.

"If you need more time, I understand-"

"No, I've been hoping that you'd offer me a permanent transfer, honestly."

"Why?" Skinner asks, then nearly kicks himself for blurting out what he's thinking.

"I like it here."

"Okay then. I'll work out the details with your old field office," Skinner tells her.

"Great."

Skinner shakes his head as she leaves, shocked that it was that easy to convince her, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

Early February 2001

When Maggie and Missy arrive the kids say goodbye easily - except the twins who hang on Scully's legs. It gives her a pang when she looks down at them...it's usually Mulder they do this to. Or was.

"Why don't you get everyone else in the car?" Scully asks her mom. "I'll bring them out to you."

"Fine." Maggie picks up Christopher and takes April's hand. The other kids skip ahead, chattering to Missy.

"Hey, aren't you ready to go visit Uncle Charlie and cousin Brandon?"

"Nope," Jared tells her. "You be lonely."

"Home all alone," David adds morosely.

Scully crouches down. "I'll miss you kids, but I want you to have fun. I'll be fine. The baby makes me tired so I'll sleep a lot and you won't miss any fun at home. Okay?"

"Okay," Jared says reluctantly, reminding Scully a lot of his father when she used to try to talk him into something. David, on the other hand, looks like Mulder did when he believed her.

"Bye, Mommy," David tells her before placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

Jared gives her a serious look. "Don't be sad."

"I won't." Scully hugs them both. "I love you, guys. Have fun with grandma and auntie."

"Okay," they both tell her and hug her back. She takes their mittened hands and leads them out to the car where her mother is waiting with Christopher. Missy has the bigger kids in her car already, and she shoots Scully an impatient look as the little boys take their time stomping through the snow.

Soon enough Scully is in the big quiet house, and it hits her: she lied to her small sons. Even though they've barely left, she already feels lonely. Belatedly, she wishes that she'd insisted on keeping Christopher home with her, because her arms are already feel empty.

Looking down at her belly, she says aloud, "I guess it's just you and me, kiddo."

When he kicks, she tells herself that it's not because of anything she's said, but she feels better anyway.

* * *

Two days after Maggie and Missy take the kids to see their uncle, a small hand plucks at Scully's blanket, making her murmur into her pillow "What, Sammy?"

This doesn't get her an answer, nor do the little fingers stop pulling at the covers. Trying not to sigh, she rolls over and looks over the edge of the bed.

The little boy standing there isn't her eldest son. In fact, this child is not even alive anymore. But the expression on his transparent little face shows woe and concern.

To her credit, she doesn't scream or fall out of bed. Instead she looks at the ghost and asks in an even voice "Was there something you wanted?"

The ghost vigorously nods his head and beckons with one hand.

She pulls herself upright and tries to decide if she ought to honor his obvious desire for her to go with him. It doesn't seem too sane to be seeing ghosts and doing what they want, but everyone else insists that the "ghosts" are real, so if it's insanity it's shared and contagious.

The small ghost looks impatient.

"I'll go with you if you'll tell me one thing," she says impulsively. "Is my husband here, in the house?"

When he shakes his head, she feels a crushing disappointment. If ghosts have to be real, why can't Mulder be there? It wouldn't be like having him alive, not at all, but it might be some comfort to have a small part of him around.

"Of course not," she says aloud. The ghost frowns at her, and she nearly laughs. "It's ironic, you have to admit that. Unless you died before learning the meaning of the word."

This seems over the ghost's head, and she sighs. Sammy probably couldn't define irony either, and this child hardly seems older. "How did you die so young?"

He makes no move to acknowledge he even heard the question as he leads her into the hallway. Instead he holds out one vaporous hand.

"Take your hand? All right." She reaches for it, fully expecting to close her fingers on nothing, like trying to hold a handful of smoke.

But the small hand is warm and solid, much like her own children's. There's a strange pulling sensation, and the world yawns dizzily. She closes her eyes against it in a bid to hang on to consciousness.

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she's instantly struck by a sense that something isn't right. The little ghost who brought her to the hallway is gone. Stranger still, the kids' coat rack isn't in the hallway, and there's something wrong with the lights. They're far dimmer than they should be, even for a February morning. Before she can quite work out what's going on, she's startled by the sounds of voices downstairs. Men's voices.

Although she presses her back against the wall, she's soon seen. A teenage boy, no older than Luke or Gibson hurries up the stairs towards her. "You shouldn't be up here, Ma'am," he tells her, pinning her with a pair of curious hazel eyes.

"I..." I have no idea what's going on, is what she meant, but it didn't think it would be wise to say so.

"Are you here to see one of the flu victims?" the boy asks. "They're up in the attic."

"No." The flu, she wonders, which flu? Improvising she says, "I thought I could help out."

"Oh, are you a nurse then?" he asks eagerly. "My parents said that the hospital hoped to send a couple by."

Though it's on the tip of her tongue to correct him, she doesn't. By now she's realized that the lights are wrong because they're gas, not electric. And the boy's clothes also suggest a bygone era.

Hers do as well, but more alarming than the outfit she never put on is the fact that she's slender. If she's actually in the past, her unborn baby didn't make the trip through time with her. She tries not to think about it.

"Yes. I'm a nurse," she says at last. "Nurse Scully. I'm not from the local hospital," she adds quickly, foreseeing problems if the expected nurses show up and rightly can't identify her. "I was visiting my aunt and she suggested that I offer my help here."

The kid impulsively holds out his hand. "I'm Saul Mulder. My parents own this house."

Scully's eyes widen involuntarily as the puzzle pieces fall into place. Their house is haunted because people died of the flu in it. They've known for years that some sort of tragedy must have occurred in the house - as much as she tried to convince herself and Mulder both that the ghosts he recorded before Sammy's birth were some sort of defects on the tape - but this wasn't nearly as awful as the possibilities could be. At least there had been no violence.

And this was Saul's connection to the wandering spirits who still haunted the home he'd grown up in. She finds herself wondering if he saw the ghosts himself, over the long years he lived in the house.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" Saul gives her a concerned look.

She snaps to. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about how I knew someone with your surname back in Massachusetts."

"One of my brothers lives there!" Saul says eagerly. "Maybe you know him."

"Actually, it was a young girl I went to school with."

"Oh. Probably a distant relation in any case," Saul says, looking slightly disappointed. "There are a lot of Mulders."

Not any more, Scully thinks, but doesn't say. Mulder has never talked about cousins, so it seems as though his parents and his children are the end of the family line. "There are a lot of Scullys too. My aunt told me that your family is caring for some of the victims of the flu. How did that happen?"

"Oh, it was my father's idea. He wanted to serve in the war, but they told him he was too old." Saul's expression suggests that this didn't go over well with his dad. "When this flu broke out, they told him there was something he could do to help the war effort - provide a place for the children of servicemen to recover from their illness."

"But they haven't all gotten better," Scully decides out loud.

"Nope. We've had to bury a few." Saul's casual tone surprises her, but he's been living in a house where death has been a frequent visitor.

"That must be sad. Them being children, and all," she suggests.

"Yeah, but they don't really leave." Saul's voice is low, and he studies her face, looking for a reaction.

"You've seen ghosts?" Scully wishes she could tell the boy that his great-nephew has seen them too. It would make him think that she was completely insane, though, so she doesn't.

"According to my folks it's my imagination but I've heard them playing in the house. Seen a couple too."

"Were you scared?"

"Of course not! Little kids like that, they don't mean no harm." Saul grins suddenly. "They gave the maid a right scare, though, appearing in the hallway when she carried up the wash. Last thing she said to me was 'Saul, you was right about them ghosts!' She quit straight away after that though."

"Poor woman."

"Nah, one of the neighbors hired her. She's a fair sight happier in a house that isn't haunted." He glances at one of the light fixtures on the wall. "The neighbor's got electric lights, not gas like this. Father keeps saying that we'll get them too, but he says we can't until the sick kids are gone. The flu is going to go away, isn't it?"

"It will. There have been other epidemics like this, and none of them lasted more than a few years," Scully tells him, groping for facts she learned in a virology classes.

Saul doesn't look impressed. "Father said this all started two years ago. People thought it'd go away the first year come summer, but it just hid out until it got cold again."

It's 1920, Scully realizes. The last year of this particular flu. "I'm sure that I heard that there are fewer and fewer cases being reported. I wouldn't be surprised if it's gone all together before."

"Tell that to the kids upstairs," Saul says wistfully. "We've been here yakking too long. You wanted to see those kids, didn't you?"

"I do," she says.

But her mind races as she follows Saul to the familiar set of attic stairs. What if she somehow managed to catch the flu and brought it to the present? This worry doesn't stick, though, because she's not pregnant in this time. If she couldn't bring the baby into the past, then she shouldn't be able to bring the virus into the present day. She hopes.

What worries her more, however, is that she's not going to be able to do much for the sick children. Even though she probably knows more about how to treat them than people of the current age do. Especially because she does.

All "wisdom" on time travel insists that the traveler do nothing to change the past, least they change the future. Not that she doesn't wish to change the past. She'd do anything to keep Mulder out of his grave, but it's impossible to know how one could change that sequence of events from eighty years in the past. Change the wrong thing, and Mulder might never have been born... So as tempting as it is to try to change the present from the past, she doesn't dare to. It's far too reckless.

* * *

Instead of being filled with discarded belongings, this boy's future belongings she realizes, it's host to two rows of iron bed frames. Small figures covered in blankets fill half of the available beds.

Scully grabs the boy's wrist as he wanders closer towards the sick children. "Aren't you afraid that you'll catch it?"

"Nope. My father thinks we're immune. Some people are, you know." Scully nods at his declaration. "Since there have been sick kids here going on three months and none of us has had so much as a sniffle, he thinks we're safe."

"Okay."

She lets him go, but he stares up at her when she makes a move to check on the children. "Don't you worry about yourself, Ma'am?"

"No. I've been a nurse so long that I think I'm bullet-proof when it comes to germs."

"'round enough of them, maybe you are at that." Saul grins. "There aren't as many kids up here as usual - and none of them died recently - so maybe you're right about the flu getting better."

"Maybe." Scully looks down at the small sweaty children who fill the beds. "Do people come and check on them? Family, I mean."

"Mostly," Saul says. "Mothers, grandmothers, a couple have mostly grown brothers or sister. They're scared to get it, but they come anyway. Except for him." Saul points at a bed in the middle. "We don't even know his name. A constable brought him around three days ago, found him in an alley, and he hasn't been awake to tell us who he is."

"Oh, that's so sad," Scully says, edging towards the mystery child. "I think I'll sit with him."

"If you like," Saul says indifferently. "I need to go do my chores, but nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Saul." Scully smiles at him.

There's another woman up there tending to the children, and Scully asks her if it's okay if she pulls a chair over to the boy. The woman doesn't seem to care one way or another, so she does. It's not until she's sat down that a chill creeps up her spine.

Just looking at the boy, she knows that he's not going to get better. It's not that he looks any sicker than the other kids, but that she's seen him before.

This boy is the ghost who brought her here.

* * *

She waits until the other woman has left the room to speak to the boy. Leaning close she whispers "I know you. Why did you bring me here?"

In response to the sound of her voice the boy tosses his head, but seems no closer to gaining consciousness.

Frowning, she touches his forehead and gasps at the heat. Feeling a person's head isn't really a good indicator of fever, but it seems impossible that he could be so hot and not be feverish.

"I really need to know," she continues to whisper. "But more importantly, how do I get home?"

When he still fails to rouse, she settles back in her chair, and wonders why the hell she's there. She's not going to save him, or indeed any of the kids in the room, because they all seem past the point of no return, and there's nothing in the room that would help her aid them. And she's probably not going to witness the boy's death, because it doesn't seem likely to happen immediately.

Eventually the heat of the attic makes her drowsy and her head begins to nod. Right before she falls asleep she feels a small hand reach for hers, and the world tilts again.

* * *

The feeling of warm flesh fades away, as does the boy who had been holding her hand. He smiles as he flickers out of her vision all together.

Shaken by the abrupt return to normal, the first thing Scully does is run her hands down her belly. To her relief, it has its familiar contours. Almost immediately the baby kicks, confirming his presence.

She lets out a breath she didn't even know that she was holding. As much as she tried to push her worry to the back of her mind, she had been terrified that the baby might still be missing when and if she made it back to her own time. Despite the comments to her mother the day of the funeral, she knows full well that she'd be devastated if anything happened to the baby.

"I want to talk to you," Scully tells the empty room, and when no one appears, she begins to feel foolish. The ghosts have never spoken to anyone - at least not to her or Mulder - so why was she convinced that the little ghost would present himself for interrogation?

Still, she looks around, hoping to see a transparent shade looking expectantly at her. Her little prankster doesn't return. That, however, doesn't stop her from addressing him. "What was that about? What was the point?"

A sliding noise makes her jump and look about wildly. Eventually she sees what caused the noise - a framed picture of Mulder's father has come free from one of its two hangers, and is now hanging askew on the bedroom wall.

* * *

Bill Mulder's Home  
2 p.m.

The sound of the doorbell wakes Bill from his light doze. An announcer on the TV gives the current score, so he hasn't been asleep long because it's the same game.

Yawning and barefoot, he goes to the door. To his surprise, his daughter-in-law is on the other side. Trying not to grimace, he steels himself for a discussion about Fox. "Dana, come in."

She shivers a little as she hangs up her coat and scarf. Something in his chest aches when he notices how her sweater outlines the swell of her belly - this grandchild is already unfortunate and he's not even born yet.

Once the settle in his living room, she gives him a weak smile. "I was hoping you could tell me about your uncle Saul."

This request startles him, because he wouldn't in a million years have suspected that is what's on her mind. "Uh, sure."

"He grew up in our house, didn't he?" she asks.

"Sure. He inherited it. Four boys, and only two outlived their parents. Uncle James died during World War two, and Uncle Andrew in a house fire. His whole family with him, it was a terrible accident... My father didn't inherent because he was the youngest, and people didn't split up estates back then like they do now. Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"No," Scully tells him. "I never knew any of this about your family. Mulder never told me about your uncles."

Bill gives her a sad look. "I'm not sure how much Fox knew himself, to tell the truth. Andrew and James both died long before he was born, and Uncle Saul...though we were close when I was a boy, we didn't talk much after I got married."

"He didn't like Teena?"

Bill smothers a laugh. "You'd of thought that was why, but it was actually my job he couldn't accept, not my wife."

"He knew what you...did?" Her voice sounds uncertain.

"Probably more than he ought to of. I was so young when I was drawn into that web... Even then I knew that my folks wouldn't understand, so I turned to my favorite uncle for advice. And he gave me plenty. All of it was to get out while I still could. I didn't listen of course. But you know that."

"Yes," Scully concurs.

"The last time I spoke to him, Teena was pregnant with Fox. He said to me 'Will' he was the only one to call me that 'You're involved in dangerous stuff, Boy. One of these days it's going to take you down. Or maybe it'll be even worse, it'll come to haunt that pretty wife of yours, or that baby you're expecting. Get out now, or mark my words, you'll live to regret it.' Of course he was right. I thought about telling him that after we lost Samantha, but there didn't seem to be a point." Bill sighs. "I've spent half a life time wishing I'd listened to him."

The look on his daughter-in-law's face suggests that she wishes he'd listened to his uncle too. "That must be hard," she says.

"What is it that the Buddhists say, life is suffering? They're right. And so much of it is our own fault." He looks up at her with a faint smile. "Not that my son lived long enough to screw up that badly with his kids. But I don't think he would have ever, not even if he lived to be a hundred."

"Mulder was one hell of a man," Scully says and he detects a note of pride in her voice.

"There aren't many like him. Saul was like him, though. That's what you wanted to know, isn't it?" She nods. "If I could take it all back, they would have known each other. Then he would have had a better role model than me."

To his surprise she gets up and kisses him on the cheek. "Don't sell yourself short. You had a hand in how he turned out."

"I suppose."

"Thank you for speaking to me today."

"Any time, Dana."

As she walks out to her car he finds himself making an impulsive vow - he needs to be a better grandfather than he was a father. It's important to stay a part of Fox's children's lives.


	100. Deadalive

March 31st, 2001  
Late

April looks up at her mother as Scully bends to tuck her in. Her serious, curious expression has Scully smiling despite the lateness of the hour. Giving the purple comforter one finally adjustment she asks her daughter, "What are you thinking about?"

"My birthday."

"Ah, that's tomorrow, isn't it? I almost forgot," Scully teases. "What does my girl want for her fourth birthday, I wonder?"

"Just one thing."

"What's that?"

April snuggles deeper into her bed. "To see Daddy," she says tentatively, perhaps already anticipating her mother's reaction.

A dark look creeps over Scully's face. "Sweetie, you can't. Daddy died."

"I know," April agrees.

This confuses Scully. "When someone dies, we can't see them any more."

"But we will," April tells her.

"April," Scully starts to say, but the little girl closes her eyes tightly, and refuses to look at her.

Scully waits a moment before waddling to the door and shutting off the light.

* * *

April 1st, 2001

Doggett pulls into Scully's driveway but makes no move to get out of the car. Instead he gives his passenger a questioning look. "Are you sure she'll want to see us?"

Reyes taps the brightly colored box on her lap. "Correct me if I'm wrong. Today is April's birthday and Dana invited Hannah over for cake, didn't she? And we drove all the way over, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but do you really think she's up for company? Maybe she was just bein' polite."

Reyes looks exasperated. "If you were seven and a half months pregnant and home with just the kids and the nanny don't you think you'd like to have other adults to talk to?"

Doggett smirks. "If I seven and a half months pregnant my main priority would be avoiding the tabloid reporters."

Reyes swats him, making him laugh.

"Are we there yet?" a sleepy voice demands to know. Even now that she's five, Hannah still doesn't last more than twenty minutes in a moving vehicle before falling asleep.

Doggett reaches over the seat and brushes her dark bangs out of her eyes. "We're here."

"Good." She quickly climbs out of the car, giving her father no choice but to follow her. Doggett places the present in her arms as they approach Scully's front door.

The door swings open, and Page waves to them. "I'm official door opener," she informs them. "Mommy's in the kitchen."

"Thanks Page," Doggett tells her. "You're doing a good job."

"I know," Page acknowledges, and Doggett hides a smirk at her smugness. She and Hannah disappear into the depths of Scully's home.

As soon as they're out of the girls' earshot, he leans down and whispers to Reyes, "Dana better watch out, that one is going to be just like her father."

"One of them is bound to be," she whispers back. Her warm breath near on his neck sends a shiver through him he's reluctant to acknowledge, as much as he's enjoyed occasionally seeing her outside of work - platonically of course - since the week of Mulder's funeral.

Scully catches sight of them and waves them forward. "Hey, glad you could make it."

"Thanks," Reyes says for the both of them. "How are you doing? It won't be long now."

The older woman grimaces slightly. "The last month an a half are the longest part of any pregnancy." A slightly wistful expression accompanies her next statement, "I suppose I shouldn't complain, since it's the last time."

"Yeah..." Doggett casts about for a change of topic. "Do you have a few minutes to talk, one on one?"

"Sure. Missy's watching the kids and we plan to let them play a while more before serving cake."

"I'll give your sister a hand," Reyes volunteers, excusing herself.

After gesturing to the couch, Scully slowly lowers herself into an armchair. When she notices Doggett watching, she says, "I can get off of this one without help."

"Must have been harder when you were pregnant with David and Jared."

"True. What's on your mind? I'm sure you weren't hoping to talk about how ungainly I currently am."

"Kersh tried to pressure me into transferring to another division within the FBI." Doggett decides to leave off the fact that there was also an offer to promote him as well.

"What did you say?" Scully asks, looking curious.

"I said no. If Monica is the only one on the X-Files, they'll plow her under for sure. It's not that she's not a good agent, just that she's new and has no standing. Without me there the X-Files would be gone for sure."

"And you don't want to see that happen."

He shoots her a startled look. "Of course not. It's Mulder's legacy. Don't you agree?"

"I'd prefer to think that his legacies are here-" She touches her belly. "-and in the other room."

"Well of course," Doggett says quickly.

"I'm sure he'd be touched that you're trying to keep his dream alive, but don't unless it's somehow yours too." She looks him in the eye.

And he doesn't flinch. "I've grown accustomed to looking for the answers to big questions, and they don't get any bigger than on the X-Files."

"Give it some thought. Before you find yourself unable to escape."

"I'm going into this with both eyes open," Doggett attempts to assure her. She looks unconvinced.

"Right." She pulls herself to her feet. "I hope you like chocolate cake."

Feeling nonplused he follows her, hoping he won't be expected to wear a paper hat.

* * *

Falls Church, Virginia  
11:17 p.m.

Thunder grumbles outside of Doggett's window that night, chasing a driving rain, but he's fast asleep and doesn't notice it. What eventually does wake him, however, is the sound of his bedside phone.

"What?" He yawns into the phone.

"It's Skinner. I want you to meet me at the Bureau in about 20 minutes."

"How come?" Doggett asks grumpily. His bed is warm and comfortable, making him relish being out in the elements even less than he usually would that late.

"I got a call from the police. Pathologist down in Wilmington, North Carolina. Fishermen pulled in a dead body 50 Miles offshore which they've now identified as Billy Miles."

"Should I know who Billy Miles is?"

"I thought you read the case files," Skinner says shortly.

"Yeah, but I've just been woken from a sound sleep. Give me a hint, would ya?"

"The first case Mulder worked with Scully involved this kid. He was a multiple abductee. Most recently he and Teresa Holsey vanished from a DC hotel room days before Mulder went missing."

"He was with Holsey? But you said they found a body. Why can't that wait until tomorrow?" It's not like the guy was Mulder, Doggett finds himself thinking.

"The hurry is that it's not a body anymore. Billy Miles is, as unlikely as it sounds, alive. It's like that old nightmare scenario about waking up during your autopsy. Lucky for Billy, they realized that he was alive before they began cutting."

"I'll be right there."

* * *

"What's going on, Daddy?" Hannah appears in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

"I've got to go into work, Sweetie. You and the boys can sleep, though. I should be home soon." At least he hopes so.

His daughter scowls. "Luke's not the boss of me."

"When I'm not here you need to do what he says," Doggett says in as stern a voice as he can at that hour. "I don't like hearin' that you give him a hard time."

"But he deserves it!" Hannah insists.

"Hannah."

She changes the subject. "This work stuff, is it about April's Daddy?"

"What?" Doggett is started by the question. "What makes you think that?"

Hannah shrugs. "April said her Daddy was coming home for her birthday."

"Did she tell you that today?"

"Yup. And lots of other times. But we can't talk about in front of Page and Sammy 'cause they say she's a liar. And Sammy cries." Hannah looks a little guilty.

Doggett decides to deliberately lie to his daughter for the first time. "I have no idea why my boss needs to see me."

"Oh." She looks disappointed. "I hope April's daddy does come home tonight. Having one parent is less fun."

This makes Doggett wince, but not as much as Hannah's next comment.

"Luke says you got to marry someone who likes us. _Monica_ likes us." She gives him an expectant look.

"Let's get you back to bed," he mumbles.

* * *

Hoover Building Parking Garage

Doggett pulls up beside Skinner and walks over when the other man gestures to the passenger seat.

Skinner glances at him as he gets in the car. "You look shook up."

"Hannah informed me tonight that April has told her 'lots of times' that Mulder was coming back for her birthday. Today. On the other hand Hannah also told me who I should marry." Doggett chuckles nervously.

"April is damn good at unsettling adults," Skinner says gruffly. "When Mulder was in the hospital she told Scully's mother that Mulder could hear people's thoughts. April wasn't quite two and a half at the time."

"What's so strange about a little kid believing that?"

"It was strange because it was true."

"Oh." After an uncomfortable silence he asks, "You told Agent Scully any of what you told me on the phone?"

"No. Not yet."

"Maybe you shouldn't. Judging by April's conviction that her father is going to miraculously return from the dead, I think it's safe to say that Dana and her kids have a lot of healing left to do. We wouldn't want to go ripping scabs off their wounds, would we?" Doggett shoots Skinner a pleading look, willing him to agree that telling Scully would be cruel at best.

"John, I understand your instinct to protect her, but I've known her for several years. The last thing she would want is for us to shield her from this, like she was a child in the need of protection from harsh truths. If this pans out the way I hope it will, she'll be the first to know."

Doggett looks out the window. Skinner's tone tells him that there's no way that he's going to be convinced, so trying further to change his mind would be futile at best.

* * *

The graveyard looks different at night. The severe look of the headstones is softened by the snow that blankets the ground and piles in small drifts on the tops of the stones. The rain is lighter here, but it's doing its level best to disperse the snow that stubbornly clings to the scene.

Skinner moves quickly, leaving widely spaced footprints in the snow. Feeling less of a compelling sense of determination, Doggett trudges behind him.

"Sir, what are you hoping to find here? Best case scenario?" When his boss doesn't answer, he plunges on. "I know we all feel like Moldah's death was tragic and unfair, but the science that put him in his grave doesn't give one whit about that."

Skinner eyes him over his glasses. "As far as science is concerned, Billy Miles ought to be dead right now, but the fact is that he isn't."

"We're not just digging up a grave tonight," Doggett says. "We're unburying things that could lead to a lot of heartache, and not just for us. Are you sure this is the wisest course of action? When Scully finds out-"

"What if I listened to you, and we don't do this?" Skinner's tone is harsh. "And she finds out that we didn't bother to make sure instead? Do you think she'd have a greater peace of mind from wondering if her husband was buried alive and if something could have been done about it?"

"No."

"Then consider your objections evaluated and over-ruled."

When they finally reach their destination in the center of the graveyard, there's already a backhoe digging into the ground beneath Mulder's recently placed grave marker.

In a final desperate bid to get his boss to see reason, Doggett says "How could he possibly be alive? We saw what he looked like three months ago, and even then he wasn't... unblemished."

"The same can be said for Billy Miles. The state of his body, the tissue damage, it all points to him having been in the water for months, as if the craft that returned him accidentally dumped him into the ocean when it returned Mulder. But his metabolism merely slowed down to a nearly imperceptible rate. He's got a pulse. We're here to find out if Mulder does too." Skinner sounds even less like he's in the mood to listen than earlier.

Doggett gives up. "Fine."

When he notices that the men excavating Mulder's grave are being excruciatingly careful not to disturb his daughter's adjoining resting place, Skinner feels an unexpected burst of gratitude. These men are taking their duties seriously, which he is sure Scully will appreciate no matter how things turn out this night.

It's sad, he thinks as he looks at the baby's headstone. There might be a second chance for her father, but she didn't even get a first chance.

* * *

US Naval Hospital  
Annapolis, Maryland  
3am

Still stunned that Skinner's wild hunch is true, Doggett leaves Mulder's room and rejoins Skinner in the hallway in time to see the swinging doors explode open. Scully looks frantic when she runs to them, but Doggett suspects that she's still holding onto realism despite the wild hopes Skinner's call must have whipped up. The biggest evidence of this is the fact that she doesn't have any of her children with her.

"Is it true?" She demands to know before she's even reached them. "He's alive?"

"He's not dead," Skinner says noncommittally.

"Dana, he's not in good shape," Doggett warns her. "Doctors won't even hazard a guess as to whether or not he'll ever regain consciousness."

"That doesn't matter. Not tonight," Scully says, starting to walk past Skinner.

Skinner surprises Doggett by her by taking her arm to stop her. "I wish you wouldn't go in there right now."

"I have to." When she looks up at him, there are tears shining in her eyes.

He gives in. "All right. We'll go in together."

Doggett gives him a pointed look that clearly states that it isn't a good idea, but Skinner shakes his head. Neither of them are brave enough to keep the man's wife from him.

Skinner puts his arm around Scully's waist, and Doggett realizes that she's shaking. Still determined, however, she makes her way to Mulder's bedside. Once safely seated in the chair already pulled up beside the bed, she puts her head on his chest and begins to cry.

Watching this, Doggett wonders if she's crying because she thinks she's in the presence of a miracle, or because she's sure he'll never recover. He doesn't have the heart to ask before he and Skinner leave the room.

* * *

A Few Hours Later

"Your mother is telling everyone that this is a miracle."

Scully looks up in alarm and sees her brother-in-law standing in the doorway. "She hasn't said anything to the kids yet, has she?"

Krycek shakes his head. "No. Missy convinced her that it wouldn't be a good idea until we knew if he was going to recover. Why do you look stunned?"

"I'm not used to Missy being the voice of reason in my family."

"It happens now and then," Krycek says with a slight smirk. "You'll probably have messages on your phone from your brothers when you get home, though. Missy wanted to come too, but I asked her to stay home."

"I don't blame you. The last thing she needs is to fall in this weather." Scully doesn't acknowledge the fact that she's nearly as ungainly as her sister in the snow lately, but she does say, "I've had more practice."

"He been awake at all?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm going to check on the other man they found in just a bit and see if there's anything to be learned from examining him."

"Well, try not to catch space herpes."

"What?"

"I guess you missed Ice Pirates. It was a spoof of Star Wars back in the early eighties. Space herpes was a disease space travelers caught."

"Oh." She gives him a tight smile.

"I've got to report back to your sister." He pauses in the doorway. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Alex."

* * *

Meanwhile...  
Hoover Building

"You look distracted," Reyes notes.

"I am," Doggett tells her. "I keep thinking about what a mistake it was for Skinner to have told her."

Reyes gives him a piercing look. "Don't you think she had the right to know? This isn't a mere partner we're talking about, but the man she married."

"It's just." Doggett gives her a helpless look. "It's not right to get her hopes up. Not when it's unlikely that Moldah is ever going to see the outside of that hospital room."

"Maybe she deserves some hope right about now," Reyes tells him.

"Even if it's a false hope?"

"Even if," she says. "Hope might not be on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, but people don't function very well if they don't have any."

"I know. It's just..." Doggett breaks off, frustrated that he's the only one who seems to be looking out for Scully. Everyone else is completely caught up in a fantasy of Mulder getting better. He has the feeling that it's going to be left to him to pick up the pieces when the dream shatters.

* * *

Billy Miles' Room  
That Morning

The man on the bed doesn't look much like he did before his disappearance in May. Now he's as bloated and gray as you'd expect after months in the water. At least Mulder had been dumped on solid ground.

Scully sighs and picks up his chart. It's a masterpiece of understatement, just listing one aliment - acute hypothermia.

While she stands there, monitors begin to howl and the unconscious man's body thrashes in convulsion.

Once the convulsion passes, Scully gives him a cursorily exam and discovers that he has a fever and swollen lymph glands. She presses the call button for a nurse.

Space herpes, she thinks to herself.

"Who are you?" the nurse asks. "Billy hasn't had any visitors."

"I'm doctor Dana Scully with the FBI. Is he being treated by Doctor Lim?"

"Yes."

"Could you have him paged, please? Mister Miles just had a seizure and I'd like to discuss treatment options with him."

The nurse squints at her. "The FBI agent they brought in-"

"My husband," Scully says quietly.

"Oh." The nurse gives her a sympathetic look that's centered on her belly. "I'll have the doctor come speak to you."

"Thank you."

"Why don't I have him meet you in your husband's room?" the nurse suggests, already leading Scully out into the hallway.

* * *

Mulder's Room

"Mrs. Scully?" Scully looks at doctor Lim as he enters the room. She's not pleased that he's called her "Mrs."

"Doctor Scully," she corrects firmly.

"Yes, of course." Lim says uneasily. "Nurse Banks said you wanted to speak to me?"

"I've examined both my husband and Mister Miles-" She gives him a look that dares him to object, but he doesn't even met her eyes. "-and I'm fairly certain that they're suffering from some sort of infection or virus."

"That's probable. We've been giving them broad-spectrum antibiotics."

"Have you noticed any improvement?"

"It's been less than twenty-four hours since they were administered to Mister Miles." Lim equivocates. "Even less in your husband's case."

"So I take that the answer is no," Scully says evenly. "It's impossible to know what they've been exposed to, so to pin our expectations that their illness is caused by a bacteria is foolish. What I'd like you to do is to give them both a course of antivirals."

"I'm not sure that's-"

She forces him to meet her eyes. "It wouldn't take a lot of effort to get a court order that will force your hand. I'd think you'd like to avoid that sort of messiness. The hospital usually prefers to avoid involving the legal department."

Lim is easily cowed, she notes with some satisfaction. One allusion to being sued, and out of his mouth pop the magic words "There's no need for a court order."

"Today?" Scully prods.

"All right." Lim looks less like he's afraid that she's going to pull a warrant out of the pocket of her maternity top.

"The sooner the better," Scully tells him as he flees the room.

Once she's alone in the room, she looks down at Mulder and begins to feel something like hope. For the first time since she found out that he's alive, she allows herself to picture him out of this bed.

* * *

Scully's Home  
Afternoon

The fact that Scully's mother and sister have been over since the wee hours of the morning is wearing a bit on Michelle's nerves. The two women keep exchanging glances that are full of meaning, and she wishes that they would just go somewhere for a while so they can have the conversation they're obviously dying to. She can't understand why they haven't already, given that being around the kids and not talking is obviously frustrating them both.

And her too. She has things well in hand, so she can't quite figure out why they've set up camp in Dana's home. That they keep asking if she has called is grating on her as well.

Which is why she's immediately put out of sorts when the kids begin to argue. They usually get along, which might be why she's so shocked.

Page insists that she, Sammy and April draw pictures, and the two younger kids instantly bend to their eldest sister's will. Things don't go south until Maggie makes the innocent mistake of asking them what they're drawing.

"We're drawing pictures for Mommy," Page and Sammy both declare, showing the adults pictures of houses and fish.

April, on the other hand, doesn't say anything at first, but continues to concentrate on what's she's drawing. Eventually she puts the crayon she's been clutching aside and smiles up at Maggie. "I drew a picture of a flower for Daddy."

Sammy scowls at his younger sister. "Why? He can't ever see it."

"Yes he can," April insists, holding the picture to her chest.

"Dead people can't see anything," Page points out. "And he is."

"No..." April protests.

"Is so," Sammy insists. "That's what the funeral was for, Dummy."

"Sammy!" Maggie cries. "Do not call names!"

"But she is being dumb," Page says coldly. "And acting like a baby too."

It's on the tip of Michelle's tongue to defend April's belief that her father is alive, but pointed looks from the girl's grandmother and aunt kill that desire. Instead she holds out her arms to April. "Let's go check on your flowers."

"Okay," April agrees, her voice a bit watery.

Michelle looks down at the girl and wonders, not for the first time, if the child can read minds. In case she does, Michelle makes an effort to telegraph one thought to her. I believe you.

* * *

That Night

"Doctor Scully?" A tentative voice gets Scully's attention. She sees doctor Lim standing in the doorway. He looks as anxious as a small boy about to show his report card to a parent.

"Yes?"

"I, uh, thought you'd like to know that Mister Miles' condition has much improved over the past couple of hours." Lim says nervously.

"Improved in what way?" Scully gets out of the chair and approaches the other doctor.

"Oh, his fever's gone, the swelling in his lymph glands is going down, he's regaining his color... and he's awake."

"He's awake?" Scully asks eagerly, "Can I speak to him?"

"Yes. I told him I was going to see you and he seemed pleased by the idea of seeing you."

"Can I see him now?"

Scully hurries to speak to Miles, but she goes away disappointed. He's seems cognitively intact, but remembers very little of his long ordeal. "There was a blinding light, and then I was gone." Is about the extent of what he's able to tell her.

And as the night wears on, Scully feels her grip on hope beginning to loosen. The antivirals were given to Mulder no more than fifteen minutes after they were administered to Billy, but he seems no more likely to wake than he did when he was first admitted.

* * *

Federal Correctional Facility  
Perkey, West Virginia  
April 3rd, 2001

Doggett gives Absalom an impatient look as he sits across from him in the interrogation room. "I was told you wanted to speak to me."

Even though waiting to see what will happen with Mulder is wearing on everyone's nerves, Doggett would rather be in DC still, not here in Virginia because a con wants to speak to him. Skinner apparently sensed his reluctance, because he insisted Doggett go before he could even attempt to put it off.

"Oh yes. I'm very pleased to speak to you." Absalom does look delighted.

"About?"

"I just wanted to know how it feels."

"What feels?" Doggett asks suspiciously.

"To have thrown a monkey wrench in their plans, of course."

"Whose plans?"

"Don't play stupid, agent Doggett. You know very well whose plans I mean."

"Suppose I do, how have I thrown a monkey wrench in their plans?"

"Not you in particular, but your group." Doggett realizes he means the FBI. "To be honest, I'd preferred to speak to agent Scully, but I know she's busy today. Do you know what they had planned for your friend Mulder?"

"No."

"He was going to come back as one of them. They infected him with their virus, and expected it to replace him body and soul. But your clever agent Scully defeated their plans with simple modern medicine. Still himself, he'll go on to ruin the rest of their plans. It's exquisite." Absalom's eyes shine with excitement.

"Don't you think you're being a little hasty celebrating? Moldah hasn't even woken up."

"Hasn't he?" Absalom asks, raising his eyebrows.

* * *

Mulder's Room  
Afternoon

Feeling exhausted and desolate because the wonder wrought on Billy Miles hasn't been duplicated on Mulder, Scully finally gives into the emotions she's been holding in check for two days. She puts her head on his chest, and begins to cry, this time in despair.

She freezes when she thinks she feels him move, but it doesn't repeat itself, so she chalks it up to her imagination. At least until a peevish voice says "Stop that. I'm getting soggy."

Pulling away, she gasps and looks down. His eyes are open. "You're awake!"

"You look surprised," he says, sounding rusty.

"It's April, Mulder," Scully tells him. "You've been missing since August."

"Oh. Anybody miss me?" Mulder asks.

"We've all missed you!" Scully declares, leaning down to hug him.

When she does, a smile lights up his face and he reaches out a hand to touch her belly. "I guess try try trying again was successful."

"Very," Scully says with a short laugh. "The fruit of our labor ought to make its appearance in May."

"I can still do the math," Mulder teases. "But I'm glad to know the big news immediately."

"There's some other news, but I'm not sure you're up to it yet."

"How bad can it be? You're worrying me, Scully. Is it about the kids?"

"No, it's about Missy."

"Is she okay?" ::I know she's been living on borrowed time...::

To his surprise, she laughs. "Physically, she's fine. Mentally, I'm not so sure...do you want the bad news or the worse news?"

"Start with the worst, and it'll get better from there."

"Missy married Krycek on Christmas Eve."

"Jesus," Mulder says weakly. "I always thought she'd dump his sorry ass one day."

"There's always divorce," Scully suggests.

"What's the rest?"

"Uh...a couple of weeks before we have our latest baby, we're going to welcome a new nephew to the family."

"We'll never get rid of him now." Mulder groans. But secretly he's not that upset. Krycek has inexplicably grown on him.

"He, um, I figured out how to cure you because of him. Space herpes."

"What?"

"He made a stupid joke about a movie character getting space herpes, which lead me to giving you and Billy Miles an antiviral. If not for that stupid joke..."

"How's Billy?" Mulder asks urgently.

"He seems like his old self, why?"

"I felt guilty, about him and Teresa. I told them being in DC would keep them safe."

"They're both fine, Mulder. We got her back in January." Scully smoothes his hair with one hand. "She's back with her baby now."

"Oh, good," Mulder says, swallowing a yawn.

"What are we going to tell the kids?" Scully asks giddily.

"We'll think of something," Mulder rumbles.

"April knew," Scully confesses. "She's been telling people all along that you'd be back. And you are! It's amazing."

Mulder doesn't have anything to say about that, and it doesn't surprise her that his eyelids have already fallen. But this time it seems to be a normal sleep.

* * *

Out in the hallway Doggett looks into the room and feels a deep confusion. The logic he's been relying on his whole life told him, once they found Mulder in that field, that it was the end for the man. Clearly this was wrong. What other solid beliefs that he holds could also be built on sand foundations? It scares him a little to think about it.


	101. Three Words

April 7th, 2001

Ah shit, Mulder thinks as the flashbacks hit him. The only thing he's thankful for is that he's sitting down, clad only in a blue hospital gown on the paper-covered examining table. His breathing is harsh and unsteady while his pupils dilate, but he's unaware of his physical reactions to the psychological trauma, only that when it's over, he's still alone. Absent-mindedly, he touches his scars, forcing himself to breathe deeply before the doctor and his wife come back in. He's still on his breathing exercises when Doctor Lim walks in, followed by Scully. "Mulder?" she asks, concern on her face.

He forces a smile on his face, but it's obvious how much his effort is costing him. "All things considered, it could be worse." He pushes himself off the table, then starts to walk around a bit, giving himself some literal space between them so he doesn't have to look at them. "Hey look, dead man walking," he comments, his voice somewhat steadier than his

Scully's got herself a nice view of his ass through the open back of his hospital gown, which isn't bad for a dead man, really. When she remembers the doctor's got the same view, she quickly tells him, "Well, you might want to consider sitting down when you hear what we have to tell you."

Mulder does so, hoping it's the same news as before. "Hoo boy," he says, looking at their faces. Maybe not.

Doctor Lim rushes to reassure the patient. "It's good news, really," he tells the man who was literally dead for about three months. "I can't possibly exaggerate the inconceivability of you sitting here. Let's be honest... your recovery is nothing short of miraculous."

Scully chimes in, "Thanks to a course of transfusions and antivirals, your body has rid itself of the virus that was invading it. The scars on your face on your hands, on your feet, on your chest, they, they seem to be repairing themselves." As Mulder lightly touches his scarred face, Scully covers his hand with her own. "Mulder, you are in perfect health."

Very relieved to find some things haven't changed, especially with the brain disease already out of the way, Mulder says, "I better be, especially with a new kid on the way." Without knowing it, he smiles a genuine smile as he shifts his hand from his face to her tummy. He looks up to see her smiling back at him, and he finds his smile widening.

"How do you feel, Agent Mulder?" Doctor Lim breaks in.

The corner of his mouth goes up. "How soon can I indulge in, um, 'strenuous' exercise?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows at his wife.

The Asian-American doctor, surprised, laughs loudly while the redheaded woman blushes. "Um, I wouldn't advise anything too strenuous at this point," he strives to regain some professionalism, but really, this whole situation is insane, what do you tell a man who's been underground for three months and now acting like he's merely been unconscious for half an hour? Opting for the safest course, he plows on valiantly in the face of medical unknowns, "I'd suggest taking your time, Agent Mulder, with everything from eating and exercise to socializing. As much as possible, I'd recommend drinking vitamin- and mineral-enriched drinks, as well as lots of bed rest."

"I can do bed rest," Mulder leers at Scully, who swats him. "What?"

"Mulder, let's go home before they have to hospitalize you again." Scully groans, but very much relieved that this is her husband in front of her, for better and for worse.

"Uh, okay," Doctor Lim says, then unfolds a wheelchair sitting on the side. "Hospital policy," he tells the agent who's about to protest. "We need you two to sign some papers," he starts off as Mulder sits down in the wheelchair.

"Before we do that, can we see Billy Miles?" Mulder asks.

"All right," the doctor says, looking from the patient to the wife, who looks similarly startled.

* * *

"Hey," Mulder says when Billy Miles is in sight, "mind if we come in?"

The young man, who was staring out the window, turns around, his eyes wide. "Agent Mulder," he says, and then notices the redheaded woman and Asian doctor behind him.

"How are you doing?" Mulder asks, having a pretty good idea of what the kid must be feeling right about now.

Billy shakes his head. "Weird," he admits. "I mean, they tell me I'm fine, thanks to," he nods at the pregnant woman, "Agent Scully, but I'm starting to remember..."

"Yeah," Mulder interrupts when he sees how uncomfortable the young man is. "Do you have any plans when you get out?"

Billy Miles blinks, surprised. "Oh, I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure if I'll have a job back home, since I was gone so long and all." He chuckles mirthlessly. "I really haven't thought about it much, especially since everyone I know back home is either gone or probably wishes I were, too."

"The sooner you have a game plan, the easier it is," Mulder says. "And with your experience and intelligence, you could start again anywhere."

Billy smiles self-deprecatingly. "Who'd want an abductee ex-cop?" he questions. "Especially one who'd been drowned and dead for a while?"

A voice answers, "You could stay with us, until you think of something." They all turn to see Teresa Hoese standing there with her baby, shifting a little in the doorway. "I wanted to see how you were, especially since they said you woke up."

"Teresa?" Billy looks at her.

"I'm working part-time at the Smart-Mart, but baby-sitters are expensive on top of rent," the young woman says evenly. "If you wouldn't mind looking after my baby, I'd be happy to put you up until you figure out what to do next."

"Uh, sure," Billy says. "But I've, I've never babysat before."

Teresa Hoese shrugs a little. "You'll pick it up," she says. "Are you okay to get out of here?"

The young man on the bed looks at the doctor, who shrugs. "As fine as Agent Mulder here, maybe even a little better, since he woke up first."

Billy nods, then swings his legs over the bedside. Doctor Lim quickly opens a wheelchair, smiling a little as the patient sits down in it. "I never thought I'd be discharging two former dead men, but I guess strange things happen." He wheels Billy out the door, and Teresa and her child follow after him.

Scully takes the handles of her husband's wheelchair, then quickly grabs her husband's shoulders and shoves him back down into his seat. "Hospital policy," she admonishes him when he turns around to pout.

"Can't a living dead man get a break?" he whines, then grins as she snorts before giggling.

Then she regains her composure, and he gives in somewhat gracefully. "Let's go, Mulder," she sighs, pushing his wheelchair out the door. It isn't long before they're out the door and down the hallway, but they're quite a ways away from the trio that left before them. "You think they'll hook up?" Scully leans down to murmur beside Mulder's ear.

He smiles a little. "Are you hedging bets, Doctor Scully, or is it professional curiosity?"

"Well, it's nice to know that they're looking out for each other, even more so since they've gone through the same things and came from the same town," she shrugs, straightening up, "you never know what might happen."

Mulder chuckles as they catch up to the doctor and unwitting pair. "Like the doctor said, strange things happen."

* * *

"Home again, home again, jiggedy-jig-jig," Mulder quips when Scully pulls into the driveway. Wow. Last time was pretty awkward, but then, it was just him, Scully, and pre-natal William. This time, there's kids, a nanny, and others who've seen him put in the ground... this is gonna be really, REALLY weird, he thinks, even for him.

"Mulder, you okay?" Scully asks when she opens his door.

"Is there a protocol for reuniting with your family after you've been dead?" he asks her, feeling mildly queasy.

She smiles and squeezes his shoulder. "You've survived death, you can survive this," she replies, all but dragging him out of the minivan. "Come on."

"Okay," he says, and rings the doorbell.

Before Scully can separate the house key to open it, the door swings opens to reveal their oldest daughter. Page stares at her father, her face a picture of shock and more than a little fear, then she runs from the doorway, crying. "Um, I'm sure she'll be okay," she tells Mulder, putting a hand on his arm. He starts when she does so, and she's saddened to see the accompanying look of shock and sorrow on his face. "Give her time."

"Uh, yeah," Mulder says, forcing himself to walk across the threshold and into his house. Yeah, my house, he reminds himself, trying to prepare himself for any similar reactions from his family or others, okay, I can do this, it's my home, my family...

"We're home," Scully calls out, although she's sure Page probably told everyone by now, if the doorbell hadn't. It isn't long before they hear the stampede of little and big feet, and everyone who can walk or run does so, piling into the living room, and Scully finds herself holding her husband's hand as if it were one of their children's, for reassurance. "Daddy's home," she says unnecessarily.

"Hey," he says, and isn't surprised to see shock on everyone's faces, even though Scully had told them about his, well, resurrection. No, wait, April's not shocked, but she's crying, and running towards him, arms stretched out. "Daddyyyyy," she sobs, and he bends down and catches her in his arms, tears also running down his face. "Shhh, baby, it's okay," he murmurs, stroking her soft hair.

"They said you was dead," she sniffles, "they said I was lying when I said you was sleeping."

And not for the first time does Mulder regret his promise of silence, but he'd rather have April crying now than not have her at all. Hugging her to himself, he tries to comfort her, "You were right, I'm here, Sweetie, it's okay..."

Soon, he feels the impact of another small body, and he looks up to see Sammy, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. "I'm sorry, Daddy," he cries, clinging to his father's neck tightly. He's soon joined by his younger brothers, who don't know why everyone's crying, but they want to be part of the big hug, too.

"Mister Mulder," Michelle breathes, tears in her eyes, carrying Christopher over on unsteady legs. "Wow."

He smiles up at her crookedly. "How're you doing?"

She hiccups, her voice choked by tears. "I should be asking you that."

Mulder frees a hand to reach out for his youngest. "Can I hold him?"

"Sure," she says, and places the baby gently into his father's arms.

Scully finds herself tearing up from a multitude of emotions, one of which is guilt that she didn't believe as much as April. Another is sorrow that Page is still hiding from her father, and as a former Navy brat, she can empathize with both reactions, albeit on a lesser scale, since her father never died before coming back home. God, she prays silently, you've given us all another chance, please, please, keep our family together, forgive me my doubts, just please, please...

A crash from upstairs makes everyone jump, then look up. "I'll get it," Scully says, wiping her face.

Mulder starts to argue, then remembers his eldest daughter's reaction and subsides, surprised when his remaining children hug him harder. Wow, it's gotta be a weird day when your kids are comforting you, he thinks distantly, nodding at his wife while she heads upstairs. Shifting Christopher so he fits in one arm, he smiles a little as he ruffles Sammy's hair, pats David and Jared's sweet little heads, then strokes April's longer hair. Five out of six ain't bad, he thinks, I should be thankful that I've had better relationships with my kids than most dads, especially considering the weirdness we've surrounded them with.

Then he feels his legs start to give out from the strain of being smooshed by most of his children. "Okay, guys, Daddy's gotta sit down now," and feels guilty when April and Sammy spring back from him, knocking down David and Jared in the process. "Hey, hey, sorry, guys, I just gotta put a chair under me," he apologizes, rubbing the twins' dark heads when they start to stutter and cry. "Come on, up we go."

He shepherds them over to the couch, while Michelle disappears into the kitchen. Boy, it's gonna be a long day, he thinks, and he knows it's gonna feel longer with Page feeling the way she does.

* * *

The next day, Mulder's watching a tape of last night's news, since Scully insisted that he go to bed early rather than subject himself to "that bloodthirsty schlock that passes itself off as news." For once, he agreed, figuring if he couldn't handle Page freaking out in front of him, he probably couldn't handle even trauma separated by a tube. Today, however, he's feeling stronger psychologically, and leans forward while the reporter breathlessly states to jerky White House footage, "Again, our top story is the death of a man who jumped the fence at the White House last evening, his name now released. Howard Salt, a federal employee working on the US Census, got as far as the White House front door yesterday where he was stopped by security and shot accidentally by his own gun. According to a Secret Service spokesman, Salt appeared to be irrational and resisted arrest, shouting unspecified grievances against the U.S. Government and demanding to speak with the President. Co-workers describe him as likable and hardworking." He sighs, then shifts his arm under Christopher who'd just grumbled in the way babies do.

The doorbell rings, and he stands up, baby in arms, only to find he and Scully have reached the door at the same time. He smiles a little and does the "ladies first" gesture with his left arm, stepping back as she opens the door. "Hello, sir," he says, seeing a tall bald man frowning hard at him.

"We need to talk," Skinner says, pushing past him and walking inside.

"Okay," Mulder says, shrugging to Scully's silent question, but already knowing what's in store. "About what?"

"About your request for reinstatement, Kersh wants to put you behind a desk," Skinner says tersely once they've reached the living room.

"Let me guess, he wants me as AD to promote the FBI's image for the recently resurrected," Mulder quips, causing the bald man to sigh in exasperation and Scully to sink onto the couch with a groan.

"I think Kersh wants you to quit, Mulder," she rebuts with a straight face. Even though he'd woken up from nightmares more than once last night, you'd never know it by his easy manner right now.

"It's more than that," Skinner mutters. "He wants to punish you, to hurt you."

Mulder gives his boss a sympathetic look. "And you by putting you in this position. And Scully, for not giving up on me," he looks at her, and she squeezes his hand. "If this is his way of congratulating someone for coming back from the dead, I'd hate to think what his Mother's Day gifts are like.

Scully looks up at him. "We're not going to just sit around and let this happen, are we?"

He sits down next to her, still holding her hand. "Scully, you're going to give birth in a couple months. Now, I know you can bounce back to work quickly, but they've been know to use even a short time to shut down the X-Files." He pretends not to notice Skinner looking away, keeping his eyes on his wife and partner. "Don't worry, I'll be back in the basement before they can change the lock on the door."

"They're not closing the X-Files," Skinner interjects, his face a study of pained restraint. "Kersh aims to keep them open with Agent Doggett in charge with Agent Reyes to assist."

Scully and Mulder wear expressions of shock, each for different reasons. Scully asks, "Doggett's in charge?" while at the same time Mulder blurts out, "Agent Reyes was assigned?" They look at each other, then at Skinner, then at each other again.

"Doggett was assigned to find you," Skinner replies, "he stayed on because he believed in you, if not your work. Agent Reyes was recently assigned not long after you, uh, went under."

"I see," Mulder notes his boss's discomfort. "If Kersh is putting John in charge, the guy's either doing a really good job, or he's still a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic that Kersh hopes will leave the office soon enough." He shrugs when Skinner's lips flatten and Scully sighs. "I guess Agent Reyes got her wish to be a part of the X-Files, but I guess I'll have to prove myself and then some if Kersh figures all positions are filled. That's his game plan, isn't it?" he looks at Skinner.

"Pretty much," Skinner admits.

Then Mulder smiles, and it's something Skinner never thought he'd see again, and one that gets Scully's heart beating faster. "Then I think it's time to play ball, huh?" he says, his tone light and mischievous, but his eyes are dancing with excitement, already starting to put things together. When Michelle comes out with some milk for Christopher, he hands the baby over. "Sorry, Michelle, Scully's gonna keep you company instead of me," he tells her.

The nanny looks rather stunned, and she's not alone in her expression. "Mister Mulder?" she asks, wondering if being dead a long time made him crazy. Well, crazier.

His smile turns brisk. "I'm going to work," he says, and there's something like a perverse joy he feels watching everyone think he's out of his mind. Just like the good old days, he thinks. "And Michelle?"

"Yes?" she asks, still stunned.

"Could you just call me Mulder?" he says. " 'Mister Mulder' is my dad and that kinda weirds me out."

They all look after him, not moving, as he practically runs out and dashes up the stairs. "Um, Scully?" Michelle finally breaks the silence.

"Yes?" Scully snaps out of her daze to look at the young woman.

"Is, is he okay?"

The concern in the nanny's voice and face, while it ordinarily should have evoked some measure of sympathy, instead sets her off into a sudden fit of giggles. "Yes," Scully wheezes, to Skinner's and Michelle's further astonishment, "he's okay. He's more okay than he has been in a long time." A moment later, she snorts, then she laughs so hard she has to sit down, not just from that statement, but also from the other two's looks of mirrored concern for her own sanity.

* * *

"Agent Reyes," Mulder says, walking into the basement office, "hi."

Reyes spins around, then drops both her jaw and the files she's holding. "Holy shit," she says, and then smiles suddenly. "I'm sorry, I just didn't expect-"

"Expecting the unexpected is an on-the-job skill." Mulder smiles wryly, walking over to help her pick up the fallen papers. "Welcome to the X-Files."

She blinks, then bends down to help him help her collect and rearrange the files, a bemused smile still on her lips. "It's one thing to hear it, but it's another to see it," she says, looking at him when the files are finally collated. "Wow, you look really good."

"Thanks," he says, "where's Doggett?"

"John's taking the kids out for a movie," she says, "he says it's to celebrate his promotion, but I think the thought of taking a job that his newly-resurrected friend's got kinda weirds him out and he'd rather being among normal than here." She shrugs, then puts one of the files into the in box.

He almost smiles at the déjà vu of that phrase. "Why didn't you join them?" he asks, putting away one of the files.

Her eyebrows go up, and then she smiles. "For a man who's been six feet under for three months, you're pretty sharp," she says, reappraising him.

"That's why they call me Spooky," he deadpans, but can't help smiling back when he closes the file drawer. "Go on, crash the theater. I promise I'm not going to take over cackling with maniacal glee, I'll just catch up on what's been happening since I've been gone."

She gives him a keen look, and he almost squirms, having forgotten briefly that she's a pretty sharp observer herself, "feelings" and all. "All right," she says, "but if you start throwing parties down here, you better call me." Reyes favors him with a brief grin, then sails out the door with her purse and jacket.

Once he hears her footsteps fade, he slumps against the file cabinet. Jeez, it felt like he was a teen lying to his mom about doing his homework when he really wanted to jerk off to some porn. "Anyways," he mutters, now giving his office a more careful scan, noting which things had been moved, missing, and added. He's not sure how often the Gunmen have been doing their sweeps while he'd been gone, so he doesn't trust the computers just yet, nor the phone, with any unsecure searches. Still, he's relieved to hear that Doggett and his kids are out of the house, especially since, if memory serves him, this is about the time Absalom busts out of jail and hightails it over to Doggett's place. And this time around, he knows and likes the guy already, and would feel pretty shitty if he got kidnapped by that nutcase.

I wonder if it was Gibson's idea to go out, Mulder suddenly thinks, I wonder if he knows about Absalom's escape and his intentions. He wouldn't put it past the kid to do something like that, and if the boy is as canny as he remembers, he wouldn't be surprised if Doggett would've leapt to the suggestion, rather than stay here and play boss while sweating under that necktie. Mulder grins at the image, then opens the drawer of the desk closest to him. "Time to reacquaint myself here," he says, pulling his nameplate out and propping it on the edge of the desk, then doing the same with Samantha's picture. Stretching, he's relieved to find that the ceiling is still filled with pencils, then gets to work searching for bugs, under the guise of refamiliarizing himself with his surroundings.

* * *

FBI Task Force Briefing Room  
4:45 p.m.

"He goes by the name Absalom. A self-styled prophet Agent Scully and I apprehended in Montana where he commanded members of a small UFO cult," Skinner states, standing before a roomful of serious, absolutely dedicated agents, with a photo of Absalom, talking about the cult leader's escape. Meanwhile, at the back of the room, Doggett is hitting the redial button on his cell for the umpteenth time, frustration showing in the twitch of his jaw and restless pacing. Scully watches him, concerned, before giving her attention to the other agents and the assistant director.

Skinner, seemingly oblivious to Doggett's actions, hits the clicker for the next slide. The photo is of a prison cell wall, with "Fight the Future" and "Forever..." scrawled in capital letters. "These words were found on the wall of his cell after he escaped from a work detail forty miles from the state prison. Now, we don't know they mean, but Absalom claimed to have knowledge of an alien invasion. There were also claims of healings of numerous abductees ... that have been subjected to alien torture." The next photo is of the abductees found in Absalom's compound. The formerly sober agents don't bother to hide their amusement, but Skinner is far from joking. "Claims that have never been substantiated... or refuted."

The next slide is that of Teresa Hoese, taken in the hospital, her features barely recognizable, before she was healed. "But evidence of torture was real," Skinner sets his level glare at every man and woman in the room, and the agents, as expected, shut the hell up. "Now, the only way we're going to get answers is to bring this guy in," he says, putting up a picture of Absalom in his prison orange. "Just know the man that you're looking for is dangerous. He's a felon, and he is capable of physical violence. All right, that's it."

When most of the agents have left the room, Skinner strides towards the back, to where Agents Doggett and Scully are standing. "Agent Doggett, what the hell is going on that you couldn't give the opening speech?"

Doggett finally snaps his cell phone shut, exhaling before he speaks. "I can't get a hold of Agent Reyes."

"Reyes?" Scully frowns, mirrored by her boss.

"It's an X-File, right? And last I checked, Agent Reyes is part of the X-Files." He frowns down at Scully. "You don't think she woulda got a new phone or something, do ya?"

Scully shakes her head. "While her ideas about the supernatural are rather, well, unusual, in all other matters Agent Reyes is very reliable. Besides, she'd give us her new number if she did." Doggett nods, and Scully's about to elaborate when her own cell beeps. When she sees the text message, she sighs. "Well, it looks like we've got at least one believer in the basement office."

Skinner and Doggett give her uncomprehending looks until she shows them her phone, the message reading, "Where is everybody? Come on down. Mulder."

* * *

Everyone stromps down into the X-Files office, where they find Mulder, light blue dress shirt and dark blue slacks, sitting behind the desk, every bit the picture of a model agent, save for the fact that his feet are propped up on the desk and there's a huge-ass grin on his face. "Hey," the original agent of the X-Files division greets them.

Scully sighs. "Mulder..."

"Who says you can't go home again?" Mulder puts on an innocent face, then waves at Doggett. "Hey, John."

Under other circumstances, Doggett would be happy to see him, hell, he's relieved to see the guy's not only alive and talking, but that he's ready to work. Still, he's gotta say it. "Agent Mulder, I don't have time for this. What the hell are you doing here?"

Mulder blinks. "Nice to see you, too." Then he holds up a photo, asking, "Does your rush have anything to do with this? This Absalom abductee class picture?"

Scully stares at the photo, then at him. "Yes... It does. Why?"

He'd smirk, except he notes that odd tension in the room that hasn't been explained. Doggett's here, so why's everyone all uptight? He forces his own tone to be light as he explains, "Because I noticed that the man who was shot on the White House lawn is one of the men in that photograph. Top right hand corner. In profile. Howard Salt, if I'm not mistaken."

Doggett glances at the photo, then at Scully and Skinner. "You're right. What about it?" he snaps.

I'm pretty sure we're friends this time around, what stick lodged itself up his ass this time? Mulder wonders. But he shrugs, the picture of nonchalance, figuring Doggett's uncomfortable to see a dead man walking, like so many others. "Well, let's just say I got a real big hunch. This Howard Salt was a multiple alien abductee, worked for the U.S. Census Bureau. Wanted to get word to the President, unspecified grievances. What do you want to bet those grievances were?"

"You think he knew something?" Scully goes for the bait.

"I think they killed him for it," Mulder answers.

"The man jumped the White House fence," Skinner jumps in, his tone indicating case closed. "He had a gun."

Mulder leans forward. "Once again, I'm a betting man. I'm betting he had more than that."

"Moldah, this ain't no conspiracy," Doggett groans.

"You sure about that?" Mulder asks.

"You're being paranoid, Mulder. Even for you," Skinner grunts.

"Do you want to hear something really paranoid? The FBI gets its way, there's going to be nobody down here to ask the paranoid questions. Nobody to find those faces in those photographs." Then he pauses. "Speaking of paranoid believers, where's Agent Reyes?"

* * *

FBI Evidence Room  
9:48 p.m.

"Mulder, I know you know this, but if anything leaves this room you could be in violation of the law." Scully sighs as they sneak into the room.

While looking around the room, Mulder's thankful that some things haven't changed, like the lax security around this particular room. At the same time, he's hoping against hope that Reyes wasn't taken in place of Doggett, since Doggett said he never saw her last night. Could be that she decided to leave her cell off for an appointment, but it's not like anyone's peeked at her appointment book, if she had one. He keeps the banter light, however, as he replies, "Really? When I was dead I was hoping maybe they changed the rules."

"Mulder, just being here could be used by Kersh as cause for dismissal," Scully hisses.

"Then why don't you shut the door so he doesn't find out," Mulder suggests, and after a beat, she does just that. She's such a rebel, he grins inwardly, then pulls out a swiss army knife and starts cutting the plastic off of a stack of boxes.

Scully sighs again, as if that would have any effect on her wayward husband. "So you'll risk the consequences even though there may be nothing here?" she argues, but pulls out her flashlight to help illuminate matters physically, if not mentally.

Bingo, Mulder thinks, pulling out the laptop in less time than he did last time, and hits the "on" button. "The last time I checked, working the X-Files was meant finding the truth, no matter what," he looks up to face her. She gives him an equally level look, with no eyebrow raised. Okay. "Look, Scully, I need to make sense of what happened to me. So that I can stop it. Because if I can't stop it, it could happen to anyone. It could happen to you. And who's to say it's going to stop there?"

"Okay," Scully concedes. After all, she'd put up with Krycek only because they were reasonably sure that the kids were at risk during Mulder's disappearance. "You do realize they could put you in prison for what you're doing here."

"Yeah, well, compared to where I just was, prison would be a Princess cruise," he smirks half-heartedly, and Scully heads for the door. "Ooh, this looks sexy," he comments as the screen fills with numbers. "The entire hard drive is taken up with this. Ten gigs of memory and for what? If this is porn, it's got way too many numbers and not enough pictures."

Scully takes her hand off the doorknob and heads back to where her husband and the laptop are. "It's been encrypted."

Mulder flashes her a blinding smile. "Look out, Scully, I'm going to book myself on that Princess cruise."

She stops herself from rolling her eyes. "I'll book it for you," she retorts, effectively hiding the laptop inside her thick jacket and over her unborn baby, rebuttons it, then sails out the room. Mulder smiles more gently, covering up the boxes again before following her out of the room, locking the door behind them.

* * *

Reyes' Apartment  
9:48 p.m.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Skinner asks while Doggett unlocks the door with keys borrowed from the building super. "We've got people dedicated to the Absalom manhunt, and you should be at the head of it right now."

"Moldah's got his hunches, I got mine," Doggett grunts, walking into the living room. There isn't much to see, since the walls are pretty bare, and most of the floor is occupied by boxes rather than furniture. He flips on the light switch, but it doesn't improve the scene by much. It looks like someone's recently moved in, which is exactly what Reyes had done, having moved out of the hotel and into more permanent quarters. "If Absalom missed me, it's possible he grabbed her instead."

"That's a big if," Skinner says, "it's not like Agent Reyes is high on the list on anyone's radar. Hell, she's barely made waves since she got here, and that's surprising."

"We haven't had any big cases since she was assigned," Doggett grunts, opening various drawers in the kitchen. "None, except the one where we found Moldah's body at Absalom's compound. Absalom saw her there, that I'm sure of, and if he was plannin' on doin' somethin' crazy, she'd be just as good a target as me."

Skinner narrows his eyes, but says nothing. He's noticed that Doggett's accent has become more pronouncedly Southern during times of stress, but he figures he'll keep that under his hat until a poker game. In the meantime, there's nothing unusual about this place, just a lot of unopened boxes... oh, shit. "Agent Doggett," he says.

"What?" Doggett leaves the kitchen to discover what Skinner's looking at.

"Unless she's really clumsy at opening boxes, this shouldn't be here," the AD says tersely, staring at blood splatter on the floor behind a pile of boxes, along with a bloody boxcutter and discarded masking tape.

"Ah, shit," Doggett sighs, then pulls out his cell phone.

* * *

Federal Statistics Center  
Crystal City, Virginia  
1:11 a.m.

The FBI guard on duty is bored, but his interest is piqued when a tall woman with long dark hair comes walking towards his booth. She's followed closely by a guy with long white hair, and the guard figures they're lost tourists or something, but puts on a business face. Over the intercom, he asks in as brisk a tone as he can manage at this time of night, "State your name and your business."

"Special Agent Monica Reyes, FBI," Reyes replies in the same tone. The turtleneck top itches like crazy, but it's doing a good job hiding both the gun taped to the base of her neck as well as the bandage on her left jugular. She's not sure if it's a good or bad thing that her hair's long enough to cover both the goose egg she suffered when she was first taken, as well as the muzzle of the gun, but in a weird way, it's nice to know she can carry weapons in places other than her holster. That is, if she felt like killing herself anytime soon, which she doesn't.

Her dark eyes take in the security, and wonders, not for the first time, if this crazy asshole thinks he can get away with this. The guard types in her name and gets both her picture and record. Satisfied, he buzzes them through, but still a little curious about the May-December couple, since the old guy's got his hand on her back, all possessive and everything. As they walk through, they don't see the guard look up at another monitor, but continue walking as if it's normal for FBI agents to walk into the stat center with an unidentified civilian.

"All right, we made it past the door," Reyes remarks in as conversational a tone as she can manage, under the circumstances. "What's so important here that you'd risk getting caught?"

His eyes taking in the labels on the doors, his hand resting between her shoulder blades where he'd taped the gun, he replies, "I just need access to wherever they compile all the available data from the current US census."

"And then what?"

He smiles, as condescending a smile as she's seen on a crazed criminal. "Then you pick up the phone, and you tell the FBI why you aren't coming to work until somebody pays us some serious attention."

Great, just great, it's only until after I get my new place that I get the shit, she thinks. "Just to let you know, we might not make it that far. We passed through an x-ray scanner back at the gate."

"Well, you better hope we make it," Absalom says in a tone businessmen reserve for their lackeys. "I'd hate to see you die in vain."

"Then I'd like to know what's so important about some statistics that's going to get me killed," Reyes says evenly. "At the very least, I'd like to know I didn't die for nothing."

"It's all in the census data," the cult leader says, almost dreamily.

"What's in the census data?" she frowns.

"Proof," he replies, stopping them in front of a glass-walled white room with two computer stations and several large server banks, as if it was stuck with 1960s technology. "That they're already here. That they're already among us." He tries to open the door with his free hand, but it's locked. Turning his calmly mad gaze on her, he tells her, "The proof is in there."

Before she can ask who "they" were, a SWAT team enters the corridor. Shit. With reflexes quicker than one would expect, Absalom grabs Reyes tightly, holding the taped gun, and pulling her long hair off her neck in a painful ponytail to reveal the weapon. "I got a loaded gun pointed at this woman's head! She's an FBI Agent!"

"Please, just do what he says!" Reyes shouts, holding her badge out to the faceless men pointing their guns at her. Okay, part of her knows they're aiming at Absalom, but when she's facing the business end of a gun, that FBI part of her seems to shrink.

Indifferent to her plight or his own mortality, the white-haired cult leader continues to rail at them, "I'll pull the trigger! Back off!"

Ignoring both gunman and agent, the SWAT team moves in closer. Fuck, are they trying to get her killed? Who the hell's side are they on, anyway? "Just put the guns down!" she shouts. "Dammit, listen to him!"

Before she can blink or take another breath, one of the SWAT guys shoots Absalom in the head. Stunned, Reyes watches the cult leader slide to the floor, his expression as flabbergasted as her own. She's unaware of the bullet burn on her left temple, since she's wondering in a disoriented fashion if the SWAT team's going to take her out next.

* * *

Later, in the harsh light of day, Reyes is sitting across from Skinner, the bandages around her neck and forehead, making it look like she escaped from the ER. In some respects, she did. Skinner is seated behind his desk, while Doggett's in the chair next to Reyes'. There's a hint of amusement in his tone, if not his face, as Skinner says, "It may not be the best way, Agent Reyes, but it's certainly one way to catch an escaped convict."

Reyes shrugs, a little uncomfortable. "Next time, I'll try not to get knocked out or cut before taking them in," she says, wishing makeup could cover up her injuries, but really, there's no way to pretty up flesh wounds without making it worse.

"So Absalom claimed the U.S. Census Bureau had data information that he was after that connects to this man who was shot on the White House lawn?" Doggett leans towards her.

She smiles, relieved that the attention's off her and back on to the case, such as it is. "He said there was proof they were here among us," she answers, but a sudden thought makes her lips purse when she thinks of who "they" are.

"Sir," Mulder says, opening the office door.

Skinner raises his eyebrows, but isn't that surprised to see him. "Agent Mulder," he says mildly.

"Agent Reyes," Mulder says, taking in the bandages, "huh, getting injured on a seriously freaky case-slash-by a freaky guy and threatened by our own people, guess that makes it official. You are part of the X-Files." He holds out his hand, and Reyes shakes it, an "oh, brother" look on her face. "So, what did you guys find?"

Reyes blinks. "Nothing. Absalom said there was proof "they" were here inside the census data, but before he could elaborate or even get inside the room, he got shot." Then her dark eyes sharpen, even as a small smile comes to her lips. "You know who they are, don't you?"

"I got a hunch," Mulder says with the same smile. "I think you do, too."

She shrugs, lifting her right shoulder. "I do, but unless someone can talk to the dead, I don't think we'll be getting any more hints from Absalom." She smiles when Doggett grimaces and Skinner sighs. "Besides, even if we got a subpoena to search that room, we could be staring the answers right in the face without even knowing what we're looking at."

Mulder nods. "Then again, if the government can't keep track of illegal aliens, what makes Absalom think they can keep track of actual ones?"

Doggett rises to his feet. "What do you mean by that?" he frowns.

Mulder's already on his way out. "Let's just say I've got another hunch, but I don't want the new division head and agent to get into too much trouble. Besides, I'm sure you've got ample material to work with from the manhunt that won't require a medium to give you clues, right?" he waves as he walks out.

Doggett sinks back down into the chair. "Something's wrong," he mutters.

"What do you mean?" Reyes frowns.

"What I mean is," Doggett puzzles it out while he talks, "it seems like the whole thing's shady. Why did they have to kill Absalom? If SWAT was skilled enough to take out a man with a hostage at gunpoint, they could've just as effectively crippled him. And, no offense, Monica, but if they took out Absalom, why didn't they take you out, too? After all, they could've erased all witnesses." He exhales, rubbing his forehead. "Dammit, now I'm starting to sound as paranoid as Moldah."

"You're a smart man," Skinner concedes, "that's why I didn't fight your promotion in front of Kersh. But you're right, this is shady. And you know why they killed Absalom, to cover up his link to Howard Salt, and to the Statistics Center."

"And they didn't kill me because they knew if they did, it would only make you look for the answers that much more," Reyes finishes, a grim look on her face. "Trust me, I was surprised SWAT didn't gun me down, too, since their weapons were on me for longer than necessary. That wasn't my imagination," she gives Doggett a look.

"Hey, I believe you," he holds his hands up. "Now, I don't believe we're talkin' about little green aliens in America," and Reyes fails to reign in her smile, "but I do believe that there's something in that building that folks are willing to kill to protect. I'm curious to find out what, aren't you?"

"Since I was nearly killed to find it, hell, yeah," Reyes answers.

"Well, agents, get to work," Skinner says, and watches them walk out. Then he sighs, masking a prayer that this case, that's already opened a can of worms and then some, doesn't kill off Mulder, having come back from the dead so recently, or anyone else, for that matter.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the Mulder and Scully home, Frohike opens the door for Mulder. They smile at each other, and Frohike clears his throat. "You know, it's really not fair. You've been dead for six months and you still look better than me." Then he puts on a smirk. "But not by much."

The sudden hug doesn't surprise him, but Mulder chuckles at the strength of the little man, nonetheless. "I'm just glad you didn't make a move on my wife," he grins.

"Hey!" Frohike lets go to glare at him. "I would never... okay, almost never," he admits grudgingly when his compatriots join them.

"I think it goes without saying that we're all, uh, tremendously relieved," Byers interjects in his usual polite manner, but smiling behind his tidy beard and moustache.

"And not just 'cause we had to talk Fro here out of comforting a certain redheaded agent," Langly smirks.

Ignoring both the tall blond's comment and the short man's embarrassment, Scully remarks, "Well, the Gunmen were able to decrypt the data that you found on Howard Salt's hard drive. It was a series of file directories that were downloaded the day that he died."

Mulder plays along, for now. "Downloaded from where?"

"The FSC, the Federal Statistics Center," Langly replies.

Byers adds, "A government information bank used by the U.S. Census Bureau where your Mr. H. Salt worked."

"Surprise, surprise," Mulder says. "Okay, what are you waiting for? An open invitation from the FSC to crack their firewalls?"

The blond man scowls. "Hey, I've got great kung foo, but I've never seen such a radical counterdefensive."

"Fifteen minutes after Howard Salt was shot at the White House, firewalls went up on every data bank at that very facility," Scully tells her husband.

"Well, why do that?" Mulder grins as Scully and Frohike exchange glances. "Because I'm right. Because they would kill to protect what's in those files."

Byers holds up his hands. "Unless you've got a password, we don't see any way short of that of getting a hold of this data."

"And the thing is, even if you have a pass code you still have to break into the FSC just to use it." Then Langly pauses. "Wait, you're not gonna..." he frowns, "dude, you just got back from the dead, you're not seriously thinking about going there, are you?"

"I was thinking about it, yeah," Mulder says, then winces when Scully stomps on his foot. Wow, she's gotten subtle, he thinks, last time she only got the boys to gang up on me. "I plan on wrestling Doggett for the honor. After all," he smirks, "he's the new division head. I wanna see what he's got, and if he beats me, then he gets to do some funky poaching. You don't mind, do you?" he asks the Gunmen, who visually confer, then shrug. He grins. "May the best man win, then."

* * *

Reyes is behind Doggett's desk, standing over the photos of Absalom, the abductee group, the prison cell walls, and others, along with various papers in the case file. She looks up when Doggett comes in. "What did you find?"

Doggett gives her a grim look. "I found that someone's been in the evidence room, taken something from Salt's box. Judging from Moldah's oh-so-helpful manner earlier, I'm guessing it was him that took that something, but I have no idea what, since nobody bothered to itemize Salt's possessions." He sighs. "One would think the FBI would do better with chain of command, but either someone's getting sloppy, or they really want to bury this thing."

"He's a nutcase who jumped the White House fence with a gun," Reyes says mildly, "among other things."

"Like what?" Doggett asks, standing beside her to look down at the photos. He notices there are more photos and forms than before, some of them involving Howard Salt, others, Absalom's shooting, and one with Reyes in it.

As if she hadn't noticed her picture in the file, Reyes answers, "For some reason, the media neglected to mention that Salt had a computer diskette he wanted to give the president. For the same reason, the Secret Service also neglected to put that into their official report."

Doggett frowns. "So how did you know about it, if it ain't in the report?"

Reyes mouth twists. "A friend in a high place," she says lightly. "Wanna guess what the password on the label was?"

Doggett shakes his head. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"I'll give you a hint, it's three words," Reyes says. "Anything come to mind?" She waves a hand over the photos.

He looks at her, then at the photos. "I'll be damned," he breathes.

* * *

That evening, Doggett dials, then smirks when he hears the other person answer. "Merry Christmas," he says, "got a present for you."

"You shouldn't have," Mulder says. "I didn't get anything for you."

"Sure you did," Doggett says, "whatever you took out of Howard Salt's box in the evidence room." He grins as the other man groans. "So, what did you get?"

"His laptop," Mulder admits.

"Figures," Doggett says, "get anything interesting?"

"A general idea, but apparently, someone would need to be in the statistics center with a password to get the actual data," Mulder says as neutrally as possible. "You wouldn't happen to know what that would be, would you?"

"I'd need to see you in person to tell you," Doggett says, then knocks on Mulder's car window. "Fight the Future."

Mulder actually jumps in his seat, then scowls when he sees the other man laugh. Dammit. "And to think I thought I beat you to the punch."

"Yeah, right," Doggett says while Reyes pulls on a pair of black gloves, "if Agent Reyes had her way, she'd be bustin' down the doors while we'd be outside twiddling our thumbs."

Mulder raises his eyebrows. "Let me guess, you were busy trying to talk her out of it."

Reyes grins while Doggett purses his lips. Then Doggett asks, "Where's Agent Scully?"

"Playing lookout, but apparently she figured you guys were okay," Mulder makes a face. Some lookout. "She told me that if you showed up, I was to be backup."

Reyes smiles. "I like her more and more," she says. "I'm going to go with another hunch and say you've got friends inside, possibly tech friends?" His grimace is her answer. "Well, we better get moving if we want to get our hands on those files."

"You do realize this could be a trap, right?" Doggett asks, putting a hand on her arm.

She nods. "You know that, too, but that isn't stopping you. Come on."

* * *

Federal Statistics Center  
Crystal City, Virginia

Inside the compound, everybody, as if by some unspoken agreement, is wearing comfortable black clothes, as if that would hide them from sight. However, they are also wearing a mike and earpiece, which is much more practical for their purposes, as well as packing heat. "Guys, we're sitting ducks out here, are you ready?" Mulder asks.

"Use the bushes if you need a toilet," Frohike snaps, as he and his friends are hanging by harnesses in a vertical corridor of security cabling.

"You can start walking now," Byers says as pleasantly as possible.

"Is the system bypassed?" Mulder checks.

"You'll know if it's not," Langly says, oh-so-reassuringly.

"Great," Doggett mutters.

"Okay, we hijacked the feed from the surveillance cameras," Langly says, and the three agents hustle over and below the guard's window.

"What the guard is seeing on his monitors are still-frames from ten minutes ago," Byers explains.

"Nice." Reyes smiles, then tenses as they hear the phone ring.

"Say cheese," Frohike says.

"We'll be watching them get busted if I don't find that override circuit," Langly snaps. "This wiring must have been color-coded by Helen Keller."

"Everything's under control, Mulder," Byers says, trying to calm his friend down and now the obviously worried agents still on screen. "Just hold tight."

"Party!" Langly whoops when he finds the damn wire.

Frohike punches in a code and the door near Doggett clicks open. "Open sesame," the balding man grins.

"Follow me," Reyes says, once they're down the hallway. Mulder and Doggett look at each other, then jog to catch up. "Hopefully, your friends will have opened the glass doors by the time we reach it."

"Hear that, boys? The lady's counting on you." Mulder grins, and isn't surprised to hear various chatter from the Gunmen saying they're working as fast as they can.

When she reaches the glass doors, Reyes pulls on the handles, then pushes them. Then she frowns, touching her earpiece. "Who's working on the locks?"

"Whoops, sorry about that," Frohike apologizes while his fingers are typing away. "Okay, there you go." The door opens and the agents walk in.

Langly's nasally voice reports, "There ought to be two work stations in the middle of the room. Either one will give you access to the data, so I say log on and start downloading."

"In the meantime, we'll try and keep the firewall disabled so you can transmit the data out," Byers adds.

As Doggett takes point by the glass doors, which don't seem so protective any more, Reyes takes one station, Mulder the other, and they both type in "Fight the Future." "Type fast, get the files, and get out," Mulder tells them as the files practically fly past his nose.

"That's the plan," Doggett mutters as he tries to look for some kind of blind or shield to hide the agents from anyone passing by. Honestly, the room's like a damn fishbowl, and he's rushing up to one of the huge computer terminals to see if it can be moved. No good, the thing's like a wall. So he goes back to the glass doors, gun out and safety off.

Reyes is sending the files to not only her own e-mail, but to various others, in the hope that if her account has been targeted, none of the others has. "So what exactly are in these files?"

"Information about people being targeted because of their genetic profiles for abduction and replacement by alien facsimiles, doing to them what they tried to do to me, Billy Miles, Teresa Hoese and a host of others," Mulder answers. "Let's start off with the Washington Post and go on from there."

"Forward it to the CNN for all I care," Doggett says tersely, "just hurry."

A phone jingle cuts through, and the Gunmen answer, "Hello."

"Guys, get them out of there," Scully's voice is crisp and carries over the radio receivers.

"Right now that's basically impossible," Byers says helplessly.

"Fine, then you tell the armed men in jeeps to go back home," Scully snaps.

"Oh, shit," the three agents chorus, then look at each other.

"Hope you guys managed to get something out, because now they've got the data trapped and I can't get it uploaded, let alone start transmission," Langly interjects.

"Mulder?" Reyes looks at him, who checks his monitor and shrugs. She sighs. "Well, I hope I got something out there."

"I hope we make it back alive out there," Doggett comments as the other two agents leave the computer stations and pull out their guns. It's not fair, he just got promoted, albeit unfairly, and now he's gonna get killed. What the hell?

"What's happening, Byers?" Scully's voice is tight with panic.

"I'm trying to figure that out," Byers answers the phone, then raises his mouthpiece. "Everyone, are you there?"

"Yeah," Reyes answers first. "Exit plan that doesn't involve us making our last stand here?"

"Um," Byers races through the schematics, "there's really no good way out of there. Except, uh..."

The agents can hear the clacking of boots against tile, heavy artillery against flak jackets, and aren't looking forward to the encounter. "Except what?" Mulder practically screams, ready to boost both Doggett and Reyes up into the ceiling vent if Byers doesn't hurry the hell up.

The proper member of the Lone Gunmen snaps to. "Okay, uh, here's what you do..."

* * *

Reyes' Apartment  
The Next Day

"Okay, so give," Doggett says, opening another box. "Who's the friend in a high place?"

Reyes sighs, putting down the still-wrapped frying pan. "One of the reasons why I transferred to New Orleans," she says. "Brad Follmer."

It takes Doggett a moment to place the name. "Assistant Director Follmer?"

She nods. "You know, you don't have to help me unpack," she says, giving him an out.

He gives her a look. "You just moved here, got kidnapped and shot at, risked your life to get some info that didn't even make it past the computers, the least I can do is help you do something as mundane as opening a few boxes."

She chuckles. "Mundane. Interesting description."

"You know what I mean," he mutters. "Besides, I enlisted the boys to come over and help out after school."

Reyes blinks. "You could think of other ways to punish them, you know."

"What? Oh," Doggett laughs. "No, it's no problem. 'Sides, I figure, with more muscle, it'd make things go a lot faster."

"Just be careful," she cautions, "some things are -"

"Ow!" Doggett recoils from a newly unwrapped object. "The hell?"

"Sharp," Reyes finishes weakly. "Are you okay?"

Doggett checks his hands. His right middle finger's bleeding from a small cut, but other than that, he's okay. "Sharp things, check," he grimaces, then frowns at the thing. It's a mirror, but it's surrounded by what seems like thousands of gold-brushed metallic leaves or petals. "Jeez, if you had this thing out, you coulda just thrown it at Absalom," he groans.

"Poor baby," Reyes teases him, "let me see."

He holds up his hand. "It's just a scratch," he says, then jerks his hand away when she reaches for it, smashing it against his t-shirt to stop the bleeding.

"Yeah, and it's making a mess on your shirt," she comments. When he looks down, she laughs. "Come on." She takes his hand and looks at it. "You're right, it's just a scratch."

"See?" Doggett says, wondering why women made such a big deal about cuts and things. He's about to say more when she sticks his finger into her mouth and sucks on it. Something about the way she looks at him while she's doing it dries up any arguments, any words, hell, any thoughts, other than, Damn, that feels good and she looks good doing it.

"Hey, Dad, hey..." Luke's voice trails off when he sees Agent Reyes with his dad's hand in her mouth.

"Hey, guys," Reyes says, smoothly taking his finger out and removing a Band-Aid from her back pocket. Without missing a beat, she wraps Doggett's finger in the Band-Aid, then lets go, smiling at the boys. "Thanks for helping me unpack."

Gibson smiles back, "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he says. Then he turns to his friend. "Careful when you unwrap some of that stuff, though, some of them's got sharp edges."

"Why didn't I get the warning before they did?" Doggett asks, gingerly moving the mirror to the side using the bubble wrapping as gloves.

"I think she got distracted," Gibson replies, then gets hit by a flying dishrag. "What?"

"For your hands," Reyes says, tossing another to Luke. When Doggett's back is turned, however, she sticks her tongue out at the boy.

The shorter teen laughs. "Okay, but maybe you'd better give Mr. Doggett a couple of those."

"Duh," she says, but pauses to look at the man's backside before tossing him the dishrags.

Gibson rolls his eyes while Luke groans, "Aw, gross."

Doggett pulls the dishrags off his back and straightens up. "What's gross?" He knows Monica's got some interesting beliefs, but if they translate to her interior decorating...

"Nothing," Gibson says, while Luke shrugs. Both boys are studiously taking care with unwrapping the boxed items. "You wouldn't understand."

Doggett shrugs, since Luke's been saying that a lot recently. "Okay," he says, obliviously squatting over another box and cutting it open.

Both boys look at Reyes, whose attention is back on Doggett's rear view, then at each other. It was gonna be a loooooong afternoon.


	102. New Life After Death

May 15, 2001

It's been a while since he's cracked open his journal, especially since his abduction, but Mulder takes out the slim book and twirls the pen in his fingers before starting.

"Is it no less of a miracle, the birth of a child, no matter how often it's happened in this family of ours? Is it no less of an answered prayer that a new life comes into this world, helpless, vulnerable, and so full of potential? That a child should bear the hopes and dreams of its parents and that parents should be charged with the responsibilities and joys of raising this child, that is a mystery even the X-Files cannot hope to comprehend.

There have been countless times in my life that events have occurred that is beyond my limited imagination, both good and bad, that nothing could adequately explain - and that is what this new chance at life brings. Not just for me, but for Scully, for Melissa, for Alex... if there can be numerous chances for me, then why not him, too?

And why do we continually take second, nay, our numerous chances for granted?"

He smiles over at his sleeping wife, lying peacefully in the hospital bed, so different from the last time. But then again, William isn't her first child, nor is he "special," just another baby boy among baby boys sleeping in the maternity ward. This time, he's got a lot of brothers and sisters, both parents here to stay, two cousins he didn't have before, and an aunt that should've died years ago plus an uncle who would've bit the a week from now. Yeah, nice to know a lot has changed, Mulder brushes his wife's hair from her temple, whereupon she lets out a loud snore. Chuckling, he leans over, then kisses her forehead.

"I love you," Mulder murmurs to his sleeping wife, still blissfully unconscious. "Always have, always will."

* * *

Washington Memorial Hospital  
May 5th, 2001

There is a small crowd in the pastel hallway, a small blonde girl, a thin blonde woman, a short redhead, a short middle-aged brunette, a tall black woman, a short Saudi-American woman, and a middle-aged redhead. They are all staring at the swinging doors where a tall redheaded woman was wheeled through, attended by doctors and nurses. The black woman is the first to speak when the doors have stilled. "This is the first baby shower I've gone to where the baby actually showed up," Desiree grins.

"Babies rarely come when you expect," Mrs. Scully says, "I worry considering how long it's been since Emily was born. Should I?" She looks at the middle-aged woman with bright red hair expectantly.

Lizzy shakes her head. "There's nothing to worry about," she says, squeezing Mrs. Scully's shoulder. "But this hospital has the best NICU if there should be any complications."

"Knee-cue?" Mrs. Scully looks up, puzzled.

"Neonatal intensive care unit, N-I-C-U," Faizah replies. "I interned at one for a semester, but I was so glad when they switched me to podiatric. I'd rather reset broken bones than try to handle fragile little creatures."

Desiree laughs. "And that's why you were the muscle of the traveling sisterhood. Still can't believe you're a doctor, though."

Faizah shrugs. "Seeing the country with you guys was nice, but my brain was starting to turn to mush. No offense, Moon Child."

The waif-like blonde turns at the sound of her name. "Hm?"

"Never mind," the short, dark-haired woman sighs. "Your mom said you're a doctor, too, right? What in?"

Scully smiles a little. "Well, I'm currently a field agent with the FBI, but I have a degree in forensic pathology. As a mother, however, I've gotten a little more used to dealing with babies." Then she looks at Melissa's friends, who look about as mismatched as Mulder's. "I never got a chance to really talk with you at the shower, how did you all meet?"

"I picked up Missy in some small town in Georgia," Desiree replies. "Since she was the only white woman at the bus stop with a backpack, I figured I might as well help the girl out."

"I'm glad you did," Mrs. Scully smiles warmly.

"Yeah, well, at least she was out of high school. This girl," she jerks a thumb at Faizah, "Was running away from home."

"My parents were narrow-minded back then," the Saudi-American woman says matter-of-factly, "And they were practically railroading me into either marrying some guy the next city over or working at my dad's business. Selling vegetables," she says in a perfectly morbid tone.

Desiree shrugs. "I could kinda understand. I mean, I grew up in a small town, not many job options, and the only thing I had was a beat-up blue Mustang. College didn't sound good, and neither did the military, no offense, Mrs. Scully." The older woman shakes her head, and the black woman goes on. "So just driving around the country sounded good to me, even if it was with some crazy white girls."

"I'm not white." Faizah glares.

Desiree smiles, holding up her hands. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Anyway, at one of those New Agey kinda places, Moon Child joined us."

"She was sleeping in the backseat," the short woman adds, "And when we woke her up and tried to kick her out, she started talking about auras and telling us stuff about our travels. Pretty spooky shit, really." Then she remembers the little girl sitting two seats over, a storybook in her lap. "Um, don't repeat that word, okay?"

Emily nods. It's one of Daddy's Words, she knows.

On the other side of her is the skinny blonde lady. "It's not spooky, it's true," Moon Child says, her voice high and thin, her blue eyes wide and unfocused. "Some people fear what they cannot fully explain."

Faizah rolls her eyes and Desiree chuckles, and it's obvious to the others that this is an old argument. "Anyways, what's really crazy is how fast Alex came over," the short woman says, glancing at the closed doors. "I mean, wasn't he at your place with your husband and kids? How did he get here before we did?"

Scully nods. "It's not that much farther away from here than The Krycek Residence," she says, although she has to admit that, considering how often she and Mulder have been to the hospital, living where they do puts them in close range to a good many. "And I'm pretty sure that your daddy can be rather resourceful in shortcuts, right, Emily?"

The little girl looks up from her storybook again. "Daddy drives fast," she simply states, then goes back to her book.

And with that, the women had to be satisfied, at least until Missy and Alex come out of the delivery room.

* * *

Doggett's House

At the moment, there is a rather large herd at Doggett's backyard. Doggett's at the grill, cooking up all sorts of meat for the pre-race party, but Luke and Gibson are hauling out coolers with enough soda to serve a small army, and Reyes is bringing out the chips and dip. Mulder, for his part, is on Daddy Duty, since he was the one who brought his kids over in the first place. But he doesn't mind, since it means there's some grownups around that he gets to play with, since Krycek left for the hospital.

Hefting Christopher onto his left hip, Mulder makes his way over to the smiling FBI agent. "You're into NASCAR?" he asks Reyes, who is opening a bag of hamburger buns.

Reyes shrugs. "Kind of. But I am into picnics." Her gaze wanders over to Doggett, who's helping Sammy, standing on a plastic chair, put the meat on the grill.

"I see." Mulder grins, and she grins back. "And is he kind of into numerology?"

She shrugs. "Let's just say he's more open to me hanging out for burgers than he is to other things. For now." But her smile reappears, and Mulder can only shake his head. He never thought he'd see anyone more aggressive than John on a case, but seeing Monica on the hunt for John... he figures the guy should just be counting down the days left to singlehood, really.

Then a small hand tugs on his jeans. "Daddy, you have to be our butler," Page says, in the same semi-imperious tone her mother uses.

And since it's only been a couple of weeks since she got comfortable being in the same room with him again, much less talking with him, Mulder obeys. "As you wish." He bows, careful to keep Christopher from falling.

"The tea party is this way," his little girl continues in the same tone, but there's a smile on her face as she leads her hapless father into the house.

Reyes smiles, waving him off as he follows Page to join Hannah and April in the kitchen. Then her smile becomes a little more predatory as her eyes wander over to the master griller.

"Be nice," a young voice admonishes her, and she turns to see Gibson handing her a Coke can.

Taking the can, she tries for an innocent look and fails. "I'll try not to say anything too embarrassing, okay?"

"Okay," Gibson shrugs, then walks over to his friend. "I'll bet you she says something totally embarrassing in the next ten minutes."

"Make it five," Luke says, then gulps his Coke. "Loser has to do dishes for a week."

Gibson grabs a 7-Up from the cooler. "Winner has the first hour of Tony Hawk for a week."

"Deal," Luke says, and they toast cans, check their watches, then watch their respective elders at the grill.

* * *

Speaking of chicks, Mulder's youngest daughter pats his arm. "Daddy, do all boys watch cars on TV?"

"Um, some do," Mulder says, startled out of his reverie. "But some girls do, too. Like Auntie Monica." He points over to the woman leaning forward, as intent as the boys and man watching the screen.

"Okay," April nods peaceably while Page and Hannah look mildly shocked.

"But cars are for boys," Hannah says.

"Who says?" Mulder asks, not as a challenge, but curious.

The little girl looks at the boys on the couch. "Luke says," she says, "an' Daddy always asks Luke to help fix the car. Even Gibson helps Daddy fix the car."

"Oh," Mulder says, as his mind races faster than the cars onscreen. "I think he asks them to help because they're big enough to help, not because you're a girl. When you're bigger, you can help your daddy fix the car, too."

"Really?"

Don't let her down, John, Mulder thinks, even as he says aloud, "Sure."

Then Page asks, "How come you don't work on the car, Daddy?"

Because I suck at it, is on the tip of his tongue, but just barely holds it back. "Because we have a good minivan," he says, "And if it needs to be fixed, your uncles can fix it." With duct tape, wire and a prayer, he thinks, but also holds that back. "Of course, if John's up to fixing cars, he could fix ours if it ever needs help. Right, John?"

"What's that?" Doggett turns to his friend, now that commercials are on.

"I said you could fix our minivan if it ever needs it," Mulder says over the din of the TV and kids. "Maybe even get Hannah to help."

Doggett blinks, then looks at his little girl, who, to his surprise, actually looks excited at the idea. "Sure," he says. "But she'd have to practice on our car first."

Now Luke looks surprised. "Hannah wants to work on your car?"

"Yes," she says shyly.

"Cool," Reyes smiles warmly, and Hannah smiles back. "When you get good, you can teach me."

"I could teach you," Doggett says, a little hurt.

Reyes chuckles. "I think I'd be less distracted if Hannah was my teacher," and grins unrepentantly when he blushes. Luke makes a face, while Gibson sighs and shakes his head, the peanut gallery to this little comedy.

Then Mulder realizes that this isn't the first time that Reyes has made a move on his friend. Whoa. He'd always thought of John as aggressive, but perhaps it wasn't true in terms of relationships, especially after a divorce. Heh heh, good luck, Johnny boy, he thinks, and raises his plastic tea cup to Reyes in salute. She raises her Coke can back, even as Gibson groans, "This is so embarrassing."

Then Luke checks his watch. "You get first dibs on Tony." He makes a face when his friend grins.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the ladies and little girl are at the cafeteria, since the shower was cut short mere minutes after starting, and everyone's rather hungry by this time. After the women share stories of work, motherhood, and chasing goldfish dreams with butterflies (that would be Moon Child), they switch to stories about Melissa. Mindful of Emily, they keep their stories as PG as possible, keeping the subtext intact. Well, no one was really quite sure what Moon Child was talking about, but then again, half the things she said never quite made sense, anyways.

"He's here," the waif-like blonde suddenly sits up straight, her blue eyes wide.

"Who?" the women ask, looking around.

Moon Child looks at them, her eyes clear and focused, and that unsettles them more than anything they've seen or heard so far today. "The child, of course," she says, her voice still high and thin, but her gaze unnervingly steady. "That is what we came here for, is it not?"

"You're right," Mrs. Scully says, then laughs, startling the others. "You're absolutely right. Well, I suppose we'd better wait until the doctor comes by."

Scully pulls out her cell, ostensibly to check on her husband and the kids, but really to check the time. Hm, 5:19 p.m. She wonders how Melissa's holding up, if she gave in and got an epidural, or if Krycek needed to be sedated... an irreverent giggle escapes her lips, catching herself and her mother by surprise. "Um, nothing," she says, her face reddening to nearly match Lizzy's dye job.

* * *

Doggett Residence  
6:22 p.m.

The adults are knocking back cold ones while watching the pre-race hype on TV, the teens are busy playing Tony Hawk in their room, and the little ones are sleeping in Hannah's and the guest room. The cell phone rings, and Mulder grabs it, heading into the kitchen. "Mulder," he answers his cell in a low voice.

"Mulder," Scully says on the other end of the line, "Is everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Mulder says, closing the door behind him. "I was just giving John and Monica some breathing room. Is, um, is your sister okay?"

"Yeah," Scully says, "in fact, they practically had to knock Kry - I mean, Alex out because he was yelling at the birthing staff that they were killing her." She giggles, and Mulder's got the feeling she would've happily administered the anesthetic if given the chance. "Anyways, Missy's resting in bed right now, along with her little boy."

"Have they named him yet?" Mulder wonders.

Scully chuckles, and Mulder knows it's not good news for Krycek. "Alex hasn't woken up from his sedatives yet, but they've got time." She pauses, and Mulder wonders if Krycek woke up yet. "I can't believe Missy gave birth without any drugs. She told me she heard horror stories about women who were given epidurals being unable to walk afterwards, and she was determined not to let that happen. Sometimes I wonder if being pregnant for the first time later in life makes you incredibly paranoid or insanely brave."

"Maybe both," Mulder replies, remembering the last go-round and Scully's experiences. Then again, she'd had good reason to be paranoid, and Scully giving birth in that godforsaken town in the middle of nowhere - what the hell was Doggett thinking? "Anyways, she's sleeping now, so I'm sure come tomorrow, she'll be demanding something stronger in her IV."

His wife chuffs a short laugh, "Probably. I'm going to talk with the doctors before I go home tonight, but Mom's gonna stay here with Missy and Alex. How are the kids?"

"Blissfully unconscious," he answers, "We're over at John's place, so I'm gonna wait a bit until I take the kids home."

"John's place? Why?" Scully asks, surprised.

"Well." Now Mulder fidgets, feeling about as little as his kids, "When Krycek left, I didn't have anyone to play with."

He makes a face as he holds his cell away from his ear, his wife is laughing that loudly. "Any time now," he mutters, his eyes up at the ceiling, waiting until she's breathless for her to stop laughing at him. "I love you, too, honey," he sighs a long-suffering sigh.

"Hee hee," his wife chortles, "Oh, oh, Mulder, you are too cute."

"Sure." Mulder scowls, unconsciously looking like Sammy scowling as he does so, "as a trained psychologist, I know you really meant to say, 'Oh, Mulder, you're too immature'."

Now Scully laughs at his fake Scully voice. "That's not what I said, nor what I sound like." She smiles. Yes, he can practically hear her smiling through the phone. "I don't sound like Minnie Mouse on helium."

"Yes, you do," Mulder argues, but he finds himself sliding towards the dark side, that is, agreeing with his wife that he's being silly.

"I'm hanging up soon," Scully says, "When I get home, I expect to see you behaving like a grownup and the kids behaving like the angels they are."

Before Mulder can retort, she cuts the connection, true to her word. "Aw, man!" Mulder groans, then hits his forehead repeatedly. "Argh, stupid, stupid, stupid..."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the living room, John Doggett, finding himself alone with the very fetching Monica Reyes, is starting to sweat nervously. Granted, it's not the first time he's been alone with her, but this is not work, nor is it a hi-bye greeting. She's just a friend, he tells himself, just like Fox and Dana, just a friend from work. Yeah, that's it.

His calming thoughts are shattered when she leans against his arm, her long legs sprawled out on the rest of the couch. "Hey, John," she says, "Who's your favorite racer?"

"Huh?" He blinks, doing his best not to push her off his arm like a grade school boy. "Oh, uh, they're called drivers."

"Drivers?" Reyes frowns a little, and now Doggett finds himself unable to look away from her lips. "That's kinda boring."

"Well, that's what they are." Doggett shrugs.

Reyes nods, then tilts her head back as she takes a swig of beer. He can't take his eyes off the way she looks as she swallows from that long-necked bottle, nor the way she licks her lips when she's done. "What? Do I have something on my face?" she asks when she sees him staring, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Uh, no, not now," he lies, flustered. "So, um," he sits up, as if that could straighten his thoughts, "I never got around to askin', but, what do you usually do for fun on the weekend?"

Now she shrugs. "Not much. Watch TV," she points at his screen with her bottle, "maybe some jogging or working out at the gym, and if I'm bored out of my mind, catch up on my magazines. And that's if we're not on a case, of course."

Doggett blinks. "That actually sounds pretty good."

Reyes laughs, surprised. "What? That's boring!"

He shakes his head. "I love my kids, but it's been a while since I've had some time to myself, you know? And when I do, it's usually 'cause I'm on the job, and it's miles from relaxing."

She smiles, and he finds himself smiling back. "Well, you should give yourself a day off every now and then. Luke and Gibson are old enough to take care of themselves as well as Hannah, right? Let them be the men of the house once in a while, and you can go out and, you know, relax." She lifts one shoulder, "Worse thing you could do is enjoy yourself."

His clear blue eyes shift away from her, actually thinking about it. Yeah, why not? It's not like he's abandoning them or anything, just a day off to be a grownup without having to work. Aside from watching TV and the kids, he doesn't really do much on the weekends. "Damn," he mutters, not realizing how sad his life must seem to others. "Yeah, sounds like a good idea." Then he pauses. "You know, I don't even know where to go. I've been working and looking after the kids, I wouldn't know the first place to even get a decent bite to eat outside the supermarket."

"That's easy," Reyes says, "There's a little stand on M Street that has the best Polish sausage in the city. You should try it."

As she and he look at each other, there's a moment, not quite vertigo, not quite déjà vu, but it feels both familiar and displaced at the same time. Doggett, suddenly uncomfortable, takes a swig from his bottle, hears the cheesy commercial on TV, sees Mulder coming back from the kitchen, and somehow, the world is right again. Okay, that was weird, he thinks, as Mulder picks up his own beer. "So, everything okay?"

Mulder nods. "Yeah, Scully said her sister Melissa just had a healthy baby boy, but they're staying at the hospital overnight. Scully's gonna come home soon, so," he shrugs, "Sorry, we can't stay for the actual race. Guess I'll go and wake the kids."

When he leaves the room, Doggett and Reyes look at each other. "Let me guess, sometimes Mulder needs a day off, too?" Doggett raises his eyebrows.

Reyes smiles. "Don't we all?"

He can't argue with that, so he clinks his beer bottle against Reyes' raised one, and, as if they'd planned it, they both lean back against the couch and each other, watching the commentators going into overdrive on superfluous details as they do their pre-NASCAR hype. They only move a little when they wave the kids goodbye and shake Mulder's hand. Otherwise, the rest of the evening, they're vegging out on beer and NASCAR and each other's company.

* * *

The Mulder-Scully Home

Dinner was rather lively, since Scully was sharing stories about Missy interesting friends, Page and April were talking about their tea party, Sammy and the twins were running around, and Christopher seemed to interpret food as toys. Then Mulder stands and puts his hands into a T-shape, "Okay, hold on! One person at a time speaks!" When his wife and children look at him questioningly, he shakes his head. "Who needs TV when you've got family?" he mutters rhetorically.

"Huh?" Sammy looks up, causing his younger brothers to knock him over. "Ow!"

As Scully's mouth drops into the comforting-mommy face, Mulder hustles over and picks his boys off the floor. "Okay, big guys, up, up," he says, as Sammy scrunches his face, David crosses his eyes and Jared bounces his head around like a bobble-head. Then he ruffles each boy's head. "Maybe you guys should try football."

"Or maybe not." Scully grabs Mulder by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him up partway. "Not until they've got protective gear on."

"So you're open to football?" he smiles at her. "Cool."

Then she whaps the top of his head. "We'll discuss this later."

Now he's standing, but there's a look in his eyes that's playful and flirtatious. "You know how much I like the rough stuff." He winks at her.

Now she's blushing, "Mulder, not in front of the kids."

He wraps his arms around her, his eyes on hers, a smile on his lips. "I trust you not to shoot me," he leans in, still smiling, "I could make football worth your while."

"I don't think we're talking about football anymore," Scully says breathlessly as his lips come closer to hers.

"We're not?" He smiles, then kisses her.

"Ewwwww," the boys say, while the girls smile and giggle.

* * *

Later that night, Scully's walking down the dark hallway, lit flashlight in hand, to get a midnight snack. Out of habit, she stops by each of her children's bedrooms, careful not to shine the light too closely to her babies' faces, but breathing a sigh of relief and love when she sees them sleeping peacefully. That is, until she comes near the end of the hallway and hears sniffling. Forgetting all about her craving, Scully rushes in, flips on the light switch, and is at her son's side quicker than she would have thought possible.

"Oh, Sammy, Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asks when she sees her son's tear-streaked face. Her heart gives a lurch when he flinches at her touch. "Sammy?"

"Mommy!" he wails, then throws himself into her arms, sobbing harder.

"It's okay," Scully says, her throat tight with worry, but stroking his tousled hair, holding him close. "It's okay, shhh, Mommy's here, it's okay..."

"No, it's not," he says, muffled by her shoulder. "I still got the bad dream."

Oh, thank goodness, Scully thinks, even as she says, "Bad dream? What bad dream?"

His little fingers twist into her night robe more tightly, almost painfully. Not looking at her, he tells her, "I dreamed that we buried Daddy. I dreamed that Daddy was alive inside there, and he was scared. So he yelled a lot, and brokeded the box."

"Yeah, that sounds scary," Scully agrees, and wonders how long he's had this dream, especially if it's a recurring nightmare like he said. And why hasn't she noticed before?

Before she can further mentally berate herself for being a bad mother, her little boy says in a small voice, "There's some more."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Sammy says, his voice getting choked up with fear, "Inside my dream, Daddy's all gross an' scary like a dead man. And he comes pounding on our door, and he, he wants to hurt us!"

Now Scully's eyes well up, and she hugs her son to herself. "Oh, Sweetie, I'm so sorry you had this bad dream for so long. Why didn't you tell Mommy?"

He doesn't answer, because he's crying too hard to. Then he wipes his face with his pajama sleeve, snorts up his snot, and does his best to put on a brave face, even though his eyes and nose are still red and his breathing is hiccupy from crying. "I dunno," Sammy replies at last, "Everybody was so happy when he came home. I didn't want to make you sad."

Oh my God, Scully thinks, I've taken my children's resilience and acceptance of strange things for granted, I'm surprised we aren't all in therapy in one way or another. She'd honestly thought it was only Page that had a problem with Mulder's return, but she of all people should know better than to assume, especially with her family.

Wiping off the rest of the tears from his face, Scully puts on her own brave face for her brave little boy. "It's okay," she says, "You should know that if you have any more nightmares, or if there's any problem, you come to me and Daddy, okay? We love you, and we always will. It's our job as parents to protect you, okay, not the other way around." She ruffles his hair, and he makes a face, trying to smooth it. "So next time you have a nightmare, what do you do?"

"Tell you and Daddy," Sammy answers promptly. Then he adds, "Even if Daddy's the scary man?"

"Especially if Daddy's the scary man," Scully says. Between her own military upbringing and Mulder's divorced parents, she doesn't want to repeat any cycle of any kind of trauma on her children, or worse, inflicting more damage due to her and Mulder's unusual jobs. Then again, it's not like she expected to see Mulder alive again after being buried... Before she ties her mind into some torturous emotional Gordian knot, she hugs her son again. "Okay?" she asks, looking him straight in the eye.

Sammy, his dream as vivid and frightening as Mulder's ever were, is still scared, but nods. "So I have to tell Daddy, too?"

"Not tonight," Scully tells him, and he looks as relieved as a prisoner in front of a firing squad is to get a reprieve. Oh boy. "But tomorrow, we'll have to tell him."

"You're gonna be there, too?"

"Of course," Scully answers, shocked. Then her craving kicks in again, and she smiles fondly at her oldest son. "You want some milk? I was going to get a snack."

He shakes his head, then hugs her tightly. "Good night."

She leans her head against his, smiling. "Good night, Sammy." Kissing his forehead, the smile is still on her face, and he smiles back, although it's a smaller one. "I love you."

Then he makes a little boy icky-face. "Love you, too," and Scully wishes that her baby wasn't growing up so fast. "Can you leave the light on?"

Okay, not so fast. "Sure," she says, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

"Mulder," Scully says when she gets back in bed, "Do you ever think that what we do would affect the children?"

Mulder pushes his laptop to the side, the online article on radioactive disposal at Groom Lake no longer sounding quite as interesting. "What's wrong?"

"It's Sammy," Scully says, not looking at him. "He's been having nightmares." She twists her robe tie in her hands, "Ever since you got back."

He's quick enough to put two and two together. "I take it Page isn't the only traumatized by my comeback," he mutters, but there's no sarcasm in his voice, just weariness.

"No," she agrees. "I was hoping it was the case, but honestly, I'm surprised we haven't checked our kids into therapy, considering all they've seen and experienced."

Now his tone is droll. "You sound like you're surprised _you're_ not checked into an institution," and he smiles when she sticks her tongue out. "Seriously, though, I think you checking in on Sammy is a good idea. God knows, I don't want him thinking that he's gotta suffer through the nightmares alone."

She squeezes his hand, wondering, not for the first time, how Mulder turned into a fine FBI agent and father, considering what he grew up with. "As long as they're our children, they'll never fight alone."

"When was the last time I said I love you?" Mulder asks, keeping her hand in his.

"Just now." Scully smiles.

He raises her hand and kisses it. "Do you think it was a mistake?"

She frowns. "What was?"

"Coming back."

Her eyes fill with tears. "No," she says, grabbing him by the collar of his t-shirt, "don't ever say anything like that ever again, got that?"

Mulder, surprised, can only stare at the large blue eyes boring a hole into his own. "Okay," he says. "Wow."

Still holding onto his collar, she asks, "What do you mean, 'wow'? You idiot, of course things are gonna be strained, if not strange, but we want you here! We. Need. You. Here," she says, shaking him with each word, "dammit!"

He grabs her shoulders to stabilize his position and his vision. "Whoa, got it. Um, thank you."

She pushes him off, and he lands with a "whoof." "Don't thank me, idiot. Just be there for us." Then she notices at the dumbfounded look on his face. "Wait a minute... were you aiming for pity sex, too?"

"Uh, no," he stammers, but it's obvious he's lying by the way his lips twitch. "Aw, damn..."

"Mulder!" Scully puts her hands on her hips. "God!"

And for the rest of the night, Mulder suffers the righteous indignation of his beautiful, pissed-off wife.

* * *

The next morning, Melissa wakes up to see a bunch of sleeping people. "Wow," she croaks, but there's a smile on her face. Her mom's sleeping in the plastic chair, while her friends, Desiree, Faizah, and Moon Child, are sharing a fold-out cot, and her little girl is snoring peacefully on the padded chair. Then she remembers... "My baby," she says, struggling to sit up. "Where's my baby?"

"Missy, you're up," her mother says without opening her eyes. Then she sits up, blinks awake, and yawns. "Honey, don't sit up, lie back down."

Melissa does as her mother says, but it's with great effort. "My baby," she repeats, "Where is he?"

The smile her mother gives her is a weary, if loving, one. "Under the careful watch of his father," she replies. "I'm glad this hospital is so understanding, because even I would have pushed him out of the baby ward hours ago. For some reason, that man is even more paranoid than Fox about his child."

"Oh, okay," Melissa smiles back, her body relaxing. "Well, it's his first." She notes her mother's surprise, and wants to smack her forehead. "First son, you know?" she adds.

Now Mrs. Scully chuckles. "Oh, I remember how your father was like when you were born," she says, "When Bill Jr. was born, he was so proud as if he'd given birth himself," and Melissa snorts. "But when you were born," and her eyes mist with something suspiciously like tears, "Oh, he was so amazed, like he'd been given artwork by Da Vinci himself. He was so..." And now the tears roll down her cheeks, but she blows her nose first.

"Mom," the eldest Scully daughter says, "Mom, it's okay." She starts to sit up again, but her mother gets up and stands beside her. "I, I just want to see my baby."

Mrs. Scully strokes her daughter's hair out of her face. "I know, Sweetie," she says, "how are you feeling? Do you need any water?"

"No, I," Melissa starts to argue, then coughs. Smiling weakly, she says, "Could I have a little water?"

"Of course," her mother says, handing over a plastic cup of water with a straw. "As soon as you're feeling stronger, we can take you out to see your son."

Melissa nods as she sips the water. Honestly, she doesn't know how Dana can do this over and over again, giving birth to one child is tiring enough. That, and she's thankful that her mother didn't stop with Bill Jr. "Thanks," she says, meaning it for a lot of things.

Mrs. Scully bends over and kisses her daughter's head. "You're welcome," she replies.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

Now Melissa looks embarrassed. "Could you see if Alex is behaving himself? He gets really cranky if he's gone without sleep or food for a while."

"If you're used to that from your husband, taking care of a newborn's going to be a breeze," Mrs. Scully says, leaving her daughter laughing in bed.

* * *

When Mrs. Scully turns the corner, she sees a familiar sight, that of a proud father smooshed against the glass window with a goofy smile on his face. "Alex," she says, and laughs when he jumps away, startled. "Good heavens." She smiles, shaking her head, "don't stop staring at your child on my account."

"Sorry," he says, looking at the ground while running a hand through unkempt dark hair. "It's just-"

"I know," Mrs. Scully interrupts, hugging him like she would any of her children, "it's amazing, isn't it?"

When she lets go, he finds that he misses mom hugs, and wishes like hell that his parents were alive again, if not to hug him, then to see his firstborn. Well, first child born of the woman he loves. "Yeah, it is." He smiles, looking through the glass to watch his baby boy, sleeping soundly. "Isn't he the most perfect baby you've ever seen?" Then he realizes how stupid he sounds to a mother of four. "Well, he's perfect to me," he mutters quickly.

"Of course he is," Mrs. Scully squeezes his arm reassuringly, "He should be."

He sags with relief. "Yeah, I knew that," he says. Then he quickly hugs her, "Thanks."

For some reason, she's struck with the urge to pat him on the head like she did when her boys were little, but knows he's embarrassed enough at how obviously silly he's acting. "I'm sure you'll have your hands full soon enough when the baby comes home," she says, "have you two decided on a name yet?"

"Oh! Um, not really," he answers, "Well, Missy wants a Russian name, and I want an American name... I mean, I know times have changed and all, but I still think it's easier for a kid to go through school with a regular name than one hard to pronounce."

"I see," Mrs. Scully nods, then she looks through the glass. "I think that'll be the least of your worries, at least in the near future, however."

"Really? Why?" he asks, panicked.

Now her lips twitch upward, something that her daughters have picked up from their mother. "You're going to be losing sleep on a regular basis, feeding and changing a crying at all hours - and don't forget Emily's going to have to deal with not being the only baby in the house."

"Oh yeah," Krycek blinks. "Well, she's already the kid's second mother, making sure Missy eats right and sleeps enough, thankful that the baby's healthy, and I'm holding her to her promise that she'll change diapers at least once a week."

Mrs. Scully chuckles. "Be patient when she changes her mind, all right." She smiles, remembering a little Melissa making the same promise when Dana was newborn. "You know, I never get tired of seeing new grandchildren. It's like getting a second chance."

Krycek looks at her, confused. "But you're a great mom."

She pats his arm, "I'm glad you think so. But I've made my mistakes, being a wife, being a mother... At least as a grandmother, I get to spoil them rotten, while leaving the real parenting to you folks."

"Great," Krycek tries to frown, but fails, "Now we know who to blame if the kids turn out to be like the 'Different Strokes' gang."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing," he says, then sees a nurse rounding the corner. "Hey! Yeah, you! Can I take my kid out to see his mother?"

"Oh, boy," Mrs. Scully watches as the poor nurse is hounded by the overeager father. "Should I help Alex or the nurse?"


	103. Welcome Back

May 6, 2001

In the end, neither the nurse nor Alex Krycek required Mrs. Scully's help, for which she was profoundly thankful. However, someone had notified security, who kept a close eye on both the nurse, who handed the small baby boy over to his father, and Krycek, who carried said small boy to his mother. Mrs. Scully followed behind the odd procession, not bothering to hide her smile as she watched the proud papa lightly rock his infant son, patting him every so often to calm him down. Not for the first time, Mrs. Scully is thankful that her daughters have found good men to have families with.

Her heart swells with happiness, hoping against hope that every day for Alex and Missy will be just like this, with the best of intentions, actions, and words. It isn't until the security guard turns around that she sees the taller man's expression, and it switches from grimly stern to a sudden, goofy grin. Mrs. Scully finds her own going from surprised "o" to an answering smile, and the smile stays on her face when her son-in-law asks, "Was he flirting with you?"

The older woman blinks, then scraps her original answer. "Would it surprise you if he did?" she asks in the same tone. Forget telling him the guard was a fellow new father, she thinks, suddenly feeling as rebellious as her daughters.

He smiles. "Wouldn't surprise me a bit. You're a charming woman, Maggie Scully," and he winks at her before going into Melissa's well-occupied room.

She shakes her head as she walks after him. What a terrible flirt, she sighs inwardly, even as the huge smile returns to his face, seeing his sleeping wife. "Don't wake her, now," she tells him.

He looks a little startled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says, then carefully places the baby boy on his mother's right shoulder, since her left arm was hooked to an IV. He moves her right arm so it's cradling her son, then makes sure the hospital bed guardrails are sturdy so neither child nor mother moves too much. "There," he says, and crosses his arms, surveying the scene of mother and child proudly as if Michelangelo had painted it.

Oh brother, Mrs. Scully thinks, he might be worse than Bill.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Mulder and Scully's house, breakfast is the usual controlled chaos that occurs in any household with children. "So, what's his name?" Page asks around a mouthful of cereal.

"Page, don't talk with your mouth full," Scully admonishes her eldest child. She's about to answer the question, however, when her next eldest child jumps in with another question.

"Does that mean I get to be his big brother, too?" Sammy wonders.

"Cousin's not the same as brother," Page declares, having swallowed her cereal.

"Baby, baby, baby," David and Jared chant, waving their spoons around.

"Mommy, where's the bread?" April paws through the refrigerator.

The cats, in a fit of pique, hop onto the table and meow at the human occupants for both attention and food, and Sammy, easily diverted from his confusion over his new cousin, waves his toast at them.

Scully her eyebrow raised, takes the toast away from him. "Sammy, you know better than to do that," she scolds him. While he pouts, she tells him, "And take Teliko and Piper off the table, they don't belong there."

"Okay, kitties, come on," he says, and finds that corralling cats is no easier than herding his little brothers. "Come on!"

As they jump nimbly off the table, Mulder pulls a frozen loaf of bread from the freezer. "Sorry, April, this bread's icy," he says, then uses the sink edge to crack the slices apart. "There we go."

"Daddy, they're still icy," she admonishes him.

"Ah, but observe," he says in his magician voice. With a large flourish, he pulls out two slices of cold bread, pops them into the toaster, sets the level to the highest possible, and depresses the button. Then he waves his hands over it, muttering, "Alakazam, alaka-most, when this bread comes out, it shall be toast!"

April giggles, but watches nonetheless. When it pops out a crispy brown, she claps. "It's toast!"

Some of the other children turn their attention to the spectacle. "Daddy, can I have magic toast, too?" Sammy asks.

"There's no such thing as magic toast," Page scoffs.

Scully, her hands full with refereeing the twins, looks up. "Mulder, what have you been doing?"

Mulder holds his hands up, his face the picture of innocence. "Just toast," he says in a "this-is-a-surprise-to-me-too" kind of voice.

"Sure, fine, whatever," Scully replies in a "don't-bullshit-me-this-early-in-the-morning" kind of voice. Then Christopher starts crying, and she sighs. "I'm sorry, baby, just a minute," and turns her attention to feeding her youngest child. Well, outside the womb, that is.

Once everyone's fed and most of the mess is cleaned up, Mulder walks over to his beloved wife, great with child, wraps his arms around her and kisses her head. "I love you," he murmurs as her eyes fly open in surprise.

"What was that for?" she asks.

He smiles lopsidedly at her. "No reason," he replies, brushing her long red bangs out of her eyes. "I better get to Sammy before he puts the twins in his jammies again."

Scully grabs him before he can leave her, then pulls him down for a kiss. "I love you, too," she says. "No fair you being all romantic on me without any warning."

Then his smile widens, and he scoops up Christopher from the high chair. "That's the best time," he says, and runs up the stairs with his youngest son, taking two steps at a time.

Scully sighs, hands on her hips. "That man." She shakes her head. Then she smiles and takes her time up the stairs, one step at a time.

* * *

In the hospital room, everyone is finally awake and crowding around the mother and newborn. "Mommy, can I hold him?" Emily asks. "I'll be careful."

"Okay," Melissa says, gingerly handing over her baby to, well, her bigger baby. "Move your arms like this," she repositions her daughter's arms, "That way you keep his head up and support the rest of him, too."

"Wow." Emily's blue eyes are shining as she takes in the fact that she's actually holding her baby brother, and that he's a lot heavier than her dolls. "Mommy, he's so soft."

"Yeah, he is." Her mother smiles at her children. Wow, I have more than one child, she thinks, and even though she knew this before, seeing it right here and now pretty much brings it home. Then she thinks, Our kids must be good-looking because their parents are, and laughs out loud.

"Girl, I hope you're thinking clean thoughts," Desiree mutters as Faizah snorts. "If not, don't say anything."

"Hey, I'm curious." Krycek grins, then withdraws when he sees Mrs. Scully sigh. "Or not."

Melissa shakes her head, suddenly tired. "No, nothing like that," she says, yawning on the last word. "Oh," she puts a hand to her mouth, "I've been sleeping so much, I don't know why I'm tired."

"Having a child takes a lot out of you," Faizah says, and Desiree rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Now I do," the redhead sighs, leaning back against her pillow and the raised portion of the bed. "I don't know how Dana does it, having one kid after the next."

"So you're not gonna have any more babies?" Emily asks, looking up from her little brother. "I was gonna ask for a baby sister next."

Everyone looks at the little girl, then at the mother, and they all burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Emily asks, while at the same time Melissa groans, "It's not funny."

Melissa starts when a hand suddenly rests on her forehead, then relaxes when she sees it's Moon Child. "You should rest now," the blonde waif tells her friend. "Perhaps by tonight you shall be rested enough to return home."

"Mm, that sounds good," the redhead closes her eyes. "Did my aura tell you that?"

"It's merely common sense," Moon Child replies, oblivious to the sudden stares.

* * *

8 a.m.

All is mostly quiet on the western front after Scully leaves to bring the kids to a mass. He offered to come along, maybe even instead of her, but she just patted him on the head like he was a small child himself. "I _like_ bringing them to church, Mulder. You hate it, so enjoy your Sunday morning."

Since it's just him and Christopher at home, they spend some quality time lying belly down on the playroom rug and running trains over the floor, and occasionally each other. The toddler shrieks with laughter every time Mulder runs an engine over his foot.

"So, do you think it's funny, or it tickles?" Mulder asks him.

"Again!" Christopher demands instead.

"That used to be Page's favorite request, too. Well, in her case it was more like a royal decree." Mulder smiles, thinking about the sea monster trip. It had been a lot of fun until the dog was almost eaten. "You're not nearly as bossy."

"Who is?" Christopher asks, shrugging - which leaves Mulder staring at him open-mouthed.

"Are you sure you're not even two yet?"

Christopher holds up one finger. "I this many!"

"Until August, anyway," Mulder agrees and holds up two fingers. "Then you'll be two."

"No."

"Actually-" Mulder's thought is cut off when the phone rings. "Dad?"

* * *

Half an Hour Later

Bill Mulder looks up from reading the newspaper when his son bursts into the room, precariously balancing Christopher on one hip. "Fox."

"Dad, what happened?" Mulder cries, depositing Christopher the chair next to Bill's hospital bed.

"Son, I'm going to be okay," Bill says quickly. "I went to the doctor earlier today because my leg was bothering me-"

"Bothering you how?" Mulder wants to know, realizing that Scully will want to be debriefed.

"It was red, swollen and hurt like a son of a-" Bill's eyes cut to his youngest grandson, who is busy playing with Mulder's keys. "-gun. The doctor decided that it's a blood clot, so here I am."

"Are they going to do surgery?"

"Nah, at least not as a first resort. She said they've got a medicine they call a clot buster, so they're going to try to get rid of it that way. There isn't supposed to be much risk, but-" Bill reaches for a stack of paperwork on the end table. "-there's a little. I want you to sign this, Fox."

"What is it?"

"Medical power of attorney. Basically, if there's ever a time I'm not able to make medical decisions for myself, they'd ask you to make them."

"Okay," Mulder agrees cautiously.

"Do you remember your mom's uncle Glenn?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"At the end they had him on machines, and it wasn't even him any more. He was just a husk. I want the plug pulled before then."

"I thought you said there wasn't much risk."

"There isn't, but I'm thinking ahead, Son. I'm not a young man. This sort of thing might become an issue someday, so this afternoon seems like a good one for settling things."

"Right."

"Thank you, Fox," Bill says after Mulder signs the paperwork. "This will let me be easier."

"No problem."

The two of them watch TV for quite a while before Christopher begins to get fussy. "I guess you need to get him home for a nap." Bill says, yawning a bit himself.

"That's probably best. Love ya, Dad." He bends down so both he and Christopher can hug him. Christopher also pats him on the cheek, making Bill smile indulgently.

"You too. Drive safely."

"I will," he says without smirking. It's been decades since he got his license, but Bill always warns him to be careful anyway. He usually does anyway, but he figures the warning is a Dad thing. Someday he'll be warning Christopher to drive his grandkids carefully, too.

Bill has already turned off his reading lamp by the time Mulder shuts the door behind himself.

* * *

"Mulder?" He turns at the sound of his name, and sees Scully staring at him. "Did you decide to come and visit Missy on your own? I was going to come back later because they just threw everyone out of the room-"

"No, my dad's here," Mulder tells her, and quickly explains the situation. "He will be okay, won't he?"

"He'll probably be right as rain before you know it," Scully reassures him.

"Good." Mulder exhales noisily. "Hey, guess who's learning sarcasm?" he asks, pointing at the child in his arms.

"You can't leave me **one** that won't talk back?" She looks half-serious.

"Well. There's always the next one." He grins, and tells her about Christopher's pronouncement about his oldest sister. "Where's everyone else?" he asks, looking around for the rest of the kids.

"The Sunday school decided to have a movie day. I think they're watching that new movie Joseph that came out last year. I'm going to pick them up in a couple more hours."

"Ah, okay. I think we need to get this one home soon. He's a bit cranky."

"Aww, just like his parents," Scully says with a smirk. She laces her fingers between his as they head for the exit.

* * *

11:32 a.m.

The only other people in Melissa Scully's room is her husband and newborn child, everyone else being currently at the Krycek home since hospital regulations could only be bent for so long. "It's pretty quiet without all those chicks around," Krycek murmurs, leaning in the chair as they wait for the doctor to give the okay to go home. "No offense, but your friends are pretty weird."

"This feels pretty weird, too," Melissa notes as she breastfeeds her son. Then she sits up, pulling her breast away from her son's super-suction mouth, "Hey, ow, whoa! These are real, not plastic!"

"Mind if I have a go, then?" Krycek smirks.

His redheaded wife rolls her eyes at him. "Please. This whole thing is weird enough as it is. I mean, I'm a mom without giving birth, then I'm a mom giving birth this late in life..." She leans back, and her son starts hiccupping, then starts a thin, high wail. "I'm sorry, sorry," she says, repositioning her baby against her nipple, "For a kid, you're not real gentle." Then she looks up at her husband. "Like father, like son, I guess."

"Hey!" Krycek tries to look indignant, but ends up smirking. "If he hurts you too much, do you think I could kiss them to make it feel better?"

"Alex!" Now he's chuckling, so she throws her plastic cup at him. "Shut up!"

He holds up the cup with his false hand. "You've got lousy aim, love." He smiles. "We better work on that."

She sighs, knowing there's no stopping him when he's like this. "If you want to make me feel better, Alex, try sticking an Oreck vacuum to your nipple and flipping the on switch."

"Kinky," Krycek approves with a leer as the doctor walks in. "So, are they clear to leave?" he asks in the same insouciant tone.

The doctor looks at the scruffy man in the black leather jacket and the redhead belatedly covering both her chest and child with the thin hospital blanket, then nods. "As long as Mrs. Krycek gets a decent amount of rest and nutrients, I don't see any problem," he says, "If you could just sign here." He hands the clipboard over to Krycek, who signs off. After taking back the clipboard, he pulls out the fold-out wheelchair. "Take care," he waves as he leaves.

When the door closes, Krycek looks at his wife. "I guess once the human leech finishes his lunch, we're good to go."

"That description makes me feel so much better," Melissa mutters, "I'll just turn the vacuum cleaner on high."

* * *

Meanwhile, Reyes and Doggett find themselves holding down the fort. Well, if the fort was located in a basement office of the Hoover building and one's definition of "holding down" included tossing wadded paper balls into Styrofoam coffee cups, playing football with folded paper, and idly flipping through the meager files that read more like pranks than actual X-Files. "I swear, this is boring as hell," Doggett sighs. "And I don't care if any secret conspiracy group might hear us, hey guys, feel free to make things less boring."

Reyes chuckles, closing shut a book on were-creatures she'd taken off the shelf. "You ever hear of the phrase, 'careful what you wish for, it might come true'?"

Doggett shrugs, then stretches. "Sometimes I think Mulder's ideas are full of it, and I don't mean sincerity. Unless they're sincerely full of it, then, yeah."

"John," Reyes sighs, then casts her eyes upwards to see the ceiling full of pencils. She can't help but smile as she sees the other efforts of the original X-Files agents. "Well, at least we're not the only ones bored around here."

He looks at her like she's finally lost her mind. "Uh, Monica, we're the only people in this room as far as I can tell, and the only bored ones, for that matter."

She points up at the ceiling. "Ever wonder why the interior decorators bothered to plug the ceiling with lead?"

He looks up and grins. "Oh. Yeah. That'll do it."

"So, wanna add more pencils?"

Doggett looks around, narrowing his clear blue eyes as he takes in the unorthodox décor. "Nah, I think we should do something else to this room."

"Like what?" Reyes frowns at him. "You know if you throw out the bottled specimens, they'll kill you."

"It's tempting, but no," he answers. "I was thinking something less destructive." He pulls open his desk drawer and pulls out the new unofficial decorations. "What do you think?"

The smile on her face is pure mischief, which matches his own. "You are simply devious, John, you know that? It's nice to know that under that cool, professional exterior lies a mind just waiting to pull pranks."

"What are you waiting for?" he grins, uncapping a felt tip marker. "You wanna bet Skinner sees this before Mulder and Scully?"

"I'd rather place my bets on how early Scully's gonna give birth now that her sister's done it," Reyes takes a marker. "You game?"

Doggett starts writing down numbers. "Bring it."

* * *

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Mulder sighs, idly stirring his coffee.

"What do you mean?" Scully frowns.

"Not checking up on the office," he answers. "What if John and Monica are t.p.'ing the place?"

Now Scully sighs, accompanied by an eye roll. "Mulder, they're FBI agents, not drunk teens," she tells him. "Goodness knows I trust John to behave himself, and Monica knows better than to disturb your erratic filing system."

"Yeah, but-" he starts to protest when she shuts him up with a kiss. "Okay."

She smirks. "Wow, I should do this more often when we're out in the field." She smiles as she arranges the last sliced sandwich.

"You wouldn't dare," he says, his voice "shocked" but his face all smiles.

"Don't push it," she does her best to keep a straight face, but fails. "Mulder, you dork."

He grins widely. "And you love me for it," he says, kissing her forehead before he swoops in and carries both the tray of sandwiches and the tray of drinks. "I believe the natives are restless," he comments mildly as the din of the children in the living room carries into the kitchen.

"Then I guess you're the sacrifice," Scully says, pushing him from behind.

"Hey!" Mulder spins around. "Ladies first."

"Careful with the trays!" Scully scolds him, thankful nothing's spilled or fallen off. "Enough playing, concentrate on balancing those things."

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder replies, pretending to be hurt, but inwardly thankful he didn't spill anything. God knows the kids are making enough of a mess for him to add to it. "Okay guys," he says in a louder voice, "sit down, food's here!"

* * *

And, contrary to his directions, they all swarm around his legs as if to crawl up the tall man to get their sustenance. "Daddy, Daddy, me first, me first!" Sammy tugs at his pants.

"Sammy, I'm the oldest." Page bats at his hands.

The twins have monopolized his left leg. "Daddy, Daddy," Jared cajoles while David whines, "Food, food."

Scully nimbly steps around her harried husband and their starving children to sit beside her second daughter and youngest son. "Thank you for looking after Christopher," she tells April.

"He's hungry, Mommy," April says before her tummy gurgles. "Me, too."

"Sorry, Baby, as soon as Daddy can move, we'll get something for you and Christopher, okay?" Then Scully looks at her husband, who is mouthing "help me" while trying to walk with children attached to his legs without spilling anything. "Just a minute."

When she takes the trays away from him and puts them on the coffee table, Mulder's shoulders sag with relief as his children swarm over the sandwiches like ants at a picnic. "I owe you ten," he says, and she laughs at him. "What?"

"For a guy who's handled aliens, mutants, and crazies, it's just funny to see you swamped by our sweet babies." She grins.

He makes a face before handing over a half-sandwich and sippy cup. "Next time, you be the food-bearer and I'll just sit back and laugh."

"You won't because you love me," she says with absolute conviction, then hands the sandwich over to April and sits Christopher up for a drink. "Right?"

There's no winning with this woman, he thinks, it's either love or insanity. "Right," he says, then catches Sammy wolfing down his half-sandwich. "Hey, hey, you'll choke if you eat too fast." And ends up thumping the kid's back lightly when the boy does, indeed, choke on a bite too big. "Oh, boy..."

* * *

The Krycek Home

Later that afternoon, once Melissa has shooed off her friends back to their varied homes and most of the painkillers have worn off, the new mother rolls over on her side and grimaces. "Mom," she groans, "My twat feels like I've turned the damn thing inside out and boxers have been using it as a punching bag. Ugh, I think I could cheerfully be a nun for the rest of my life."

Mrs. Scully looks shocked, then erupts into a peal of laughter, which makes her daughter groan some more. "Oh, Missy, it may hurt now, but it won't last for long. Otherwise I wouldn't have had you, Dana, and Charlie."

"Thanks," Melissa mutters, closing her eyes. "Maybe I should have had an epidural."

Her mother checks her watch, then picks up the pills on the table. "Time for your meds," she says, "I'll remind Alex to give you these every six hours."

"Make it one," her daughter groans, and her mother smiles.

"I'm sure after so long between Emily and this one the body forgets," Mrs. Scully strokes her daughter's hair once Melissa swallows the pills. "Goodness knows, I'm sure if I were to have a child now, I'd be in much worse shape." And she stretches her hands at her hips to illustrate her point.

"Mom!" Melissa laughs. The thought that sheʼs again lying to her mother about Emilyʼs birth also being from her own womb, however, sobers her quickly, although she tells herself that someday, sheʼll tell her mother the truth. "Ow, ow, oh, don't make me do that again," she whimpers with tears in her eyes and her hand on her stomach, "But if you ever tell Dana that, make sure I'm in the same room so I can see her face."

"All right." Mrs. Scully shakes her head, then hugs her eldest daughter. "You get some rest now, I'll check up on the little one."

"Thanks again," Melissa says, then yawns. "Wow, those are fast." And promptly closes her eyes before her mother is out of the room.

* * *

"How is she?" Krycek stands when he sees his mother-in-law come in to the living room.

She waves him down. "Missy's just tired," she says, "I just gave her the painkillers, so the next time is in six hours." As he checks his watch, she adds, "Have you gotten around to naming my new grandchild yet? It feels awkward calling him 'the baby' or 'little one'."

"Oh, uh," the new father stumbles, looking everywhere until he sees his daughter.

"His name's Ryan," Emily says. "Ryan Nikolai Scully Krycek. Doesn't it sound like he could be the next president?"

Krycek looks more shocked than his mother-in-law. "What?"

"I think you're right, having a American name would be easier, 'cause some of my classmates have a hard time the first day of school," the little blonde girl says. "But I like Nikolai, too. Was that my other grandfather's name?"

"Yeah, it was." He hugs his daughter. "You're a smart girl, you know that?"

She beams up at him. "'Cause I'm your daughter," she agrees, snuggling into her father's embrace.

Mrs. Scully smiles. No, in this respect, Emily's more like her mother, but doesn't want to disagree with anyone at this point. "Well, now that you've given your little brother a name, and an impressive one at that, are you going to help your mommy and daddy take care of him?"

"Of course!" Emily says, and her raised voice wakes the baby up, making him cry. "Uh-oh."

"It's all right," her grandmother tells her, leading the little girl over to the baby. "Babies cry when they need to eat, have their diapers changed, or go to sleep."

"Like my littler cousins," the little girl says, and Mrs. Scully nods. "How do I know which cry is which?"

And as she told Emily's mother so many years ago, Mrs. Scully replies, "You'll learn. But usually, you start by checking the diapers, and if that's clean, then you can feed him with the bottle. If he's not hungry, then you can rock him to sleep."

"Wow, that's hard," Emily says, and then she looks up at her grandmother. "Do I have to smell his diapers?"

Mrs. Scully chuckles. "Usually, you can smell his diapers if he did his business already," and the little blonde girl makes a face. "Sometimes you have to open it up and smell it a little," and she demonstrates. To her inner relief, it doesn't seem like Ryan's done anything in there yet, "Looks like we don't have to change his diapers." Emily looks rather relieved, too. "So that leaves two more things."

"Food and sleep!" Emily chirps, and Ryan hiccups, then wails again. "I'm sorry."

"Guess you'll have to keep your voice down for a while." Krycek walks over. "I'll get the milk ready, you can carry him on your shoulder and pat his back to see if he needs more sleep." He waves and makes his way to the kitchen.

"Okay!" Emily calls out, then looks crestfallen when Ryan starts crying again. "Sorry."

"Here, let me help you." Mrs. Scully lifts the baby boy out of his bassinet and hands him over to his older sister. "There, got him?"

Emily nods, then cradles him against her shoulder like she's seen her cousin Page do for her baby cousins. "Like this?" she stage-whispers.

"Like that," Mrs. Scully nods.

"Don't worry, Ryan, your big sister will take care of you when Mommy's sleeping," Emily continues in her stage-whisper, and Mrs. Scully puts a hand over her mouth to cover a small case of the giggles, remembering a similar scene thirty years ago with the little girl's mother and uncle. At least this time, she's closer to the girl in case she accidentally drops her brother. Goodness knows, Charlie still hassles his eldest sister about that one.

* * *

While Emily spends the next couple of days learning the fine arts of being a big sister with the help of her cousins, her Aunt Dana is marveling at the child in her own belly. "He's kicking so much, he'll probably come out a soccer player," she gasps, thankful she's sitting down. The house seems so quiet without the kids, but for today, she's relieved that she doesn't have to worry about them while being distracted by her own pregnancy.

"I'll have a ball ready for the kid, then." Mulder grins, and she sticks her tongue out at him. "Hey, you started it."

Scully closes her eyes. "No, he did," she mutters. "Or maybe there's a memo for kids to come out earlier that their mothers haven't heard yet."

"Maybe." Mulder shrugs, "or maybe he doesn't want to be too far behind his cousin."

Scully smiles a little, her eyes still closed. "I'm surprised you haven't suggested an alien conspiracy yet."

"Oh, it's definitely *not* aliens," he says, so vehemently that his wife opens her eyes to look at him. Then he tones down a bit, also surprised at himself. "But it's not like we can exclude the paranormal entirely, since there's a whole host of wisdom in old beliefs surrounding childbirth. Most of which I'm unfamiliar with, currently," he adds sheepishly.

She shakes her head. "Wow, a whole area of knowledge about which you are wholly unfamiliar with. Will wonders never cease."

He puts his hands up. "Hey, that doesn't make me any less of an authority on weird shit."

Scully giggles, "I'll remember to put that on your diploma, then."

"You don't mess with my credentials, I don't mess with yours," he retorts in a lofty tone. Then a familiar, paranoid look returns to his face. "Hey, you think John's messing with our office?"

His wife sighs a long-suffering sigh. "Mulder, if you're so worried about it, why don't you go over and find out? I swear, you're more comfortable leaving our kids in the hands of others than you are about leaving the office to others."

"It's not like that," he protests, then realizes she's right. Whoa. "Um, I'm gonna go pick up the kids, then, and we'll swing by the office on our way home."

She pats his head fondly, "You do that." She chuckles when he makes a face brushing his hair with his fingers. "Go on, me and the bump will still be here when you get back."

He kisses her forehead. "I love you."

"Love you, too." She smiles, then shakes her head when he leaves. "Silly man."

* * *

Later that night in the Krycek household, once Mulder and his children have cleared the area, Emily sits beside her weary mother on the bed. "You know what, Mommy?"

"What, Sweetie?" Melissa says, smiling a little as her daughter turns away to give the illusion of privacy as she breastfeeds little Ryan.

The little blonde girl pauses. "I think it's okay for you to wait until I get a sister," she says finally.

"And why is that?" Melissa says carefully, both to smother the laugh threatening to bubble over and the attendant pain that laughter would cause.

"'Cause I'd need lotsa help, just like Page does," her daughter says in all seriousness. "And I'm not good at being a big sister yet, so Ryan's good practice."

Melissa pauses in her breastfeeding, staring at Emily. Then the dreaded fit of laughter hits, her stomach killing her as she doubles over. "Ooh, ooh, owwwww, ohhhh," she groans, tears in her eyes even as her son wails for a completely different reason. "Sorry, baby," she says, wiping her eyes and her son's, and trying to reposition the infant without further pain, but it's not working.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Emily grabs her mother's arm. "Is Ryan hurting you?"

"No, no," her mother gives up on explaining, since she's still in too much pain. "Can you help Mommy put Ryan back where he can get some milk?"

"What?" Emily looks stunned, then bites her lip, trying not to look directly at her mother's semi-nudity. "Um, okay."

Guess somebody had to have a sense of modesty in the family, Melissa thinks, too bad I'm gonna be the one to have let her know modesty and practicality don't always go hand in hand, especially when it comes to babies. "Just lift up Ryan, yeah, just like that, whoa, okay, thanks," Melissa sighs, finally leaning back as her baby boy resumes feeding. "Mommy's not as strong as she used to be, but give me some time."

"Okay," Emily nods, looking away again. "Um, Mommy?"

"Yes, honey?" Missy murmurs, her eyes back on her son.

"Do you need to get shots, too? 'Cause I can give you some if you need to feel better."

"Huh? No! No, it's not that," Melissa rushes to reassure her daughter. "Giving birth isn't easy, that's why I'm feeling so weak. But I'll be back to normal after a while, don't worry."

"So it's all the baby's fault that you're not okay?"

Oh boy, even Dana wasn't this incisive as a child, Melissa sighs inwardly. At least for Mom's sake, I hope not. "No, it's not that, either. Look, Emily," she says, her voice unconsciously slipping into a more mommy tone, "There are some things that you go through in life that might be painful for a little while, but in the end, it's worth it. Like giving birth - my body's sore, but I'm so glad that Ryan's here, and after a while, I'll be healthy enough to run after you and Daddy."

"Really?"

"Really," Melissa says firmly. She's relieved only when her daughter's worried look eases off. "Besides, I don't trust your Daddy not to stay out of trouble for long."

"Oh, he's good!" her little girl says quickly. "Um, I mean..."

"What did he do?" the redhead raises an eyebrow.

And they spend a good portion of the afternoon discussing Alex Krycek's misdeeds and what exactly should be the consequences of such deeds.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the office, Doggett and Reyes are totally busted. No if's, and's or but's about it, they are totally and completely busted. As if it wasn't bad enough that the room is practically covered in post-it notes like an office blizzard hit the room, the fact that they were busy scribbling on more didn't help matters. "Hi," Reyes smiles widely, and Doggett blushes hard enough for the both of them as he futilely tosses the incriminating evidence aside.

"Wow," Mulder drawls, counting on years of poker face to carry him through, "And here I thought the worst that could happen was Skinner changing the locks."

"Daddy, how come there's yellow paper all over?" Page asks, her eyes wide.

"Why don't you ask Uncle John and Auntie Monica?" Mulder says blandly.

The little girl with the big eyes looks at them, their guilty expressions, and the state of the room. "You guys are in churr-ah-buuull," she states as only a big sister can. Her younger siblings nod in agreement. It's not often that grownups get caught doing dumb stuff, and this was definitely dumb stuff.

"Yes, they are," Mulder agrees, unable to keep the smile off his face. The smile stays on his face as he pulls out the camera he'd used earlier to snap "cute family shots" with his kids and Krycek's, and commences to use it as a tool for future blackmail, or at the least, serious embarrassment. "Say cheese."

"Aw, come on," Doggett whines, "we're gonna clean it up."

"Yeah." Reyes nods. "See, it's not permanent." She peels off a few from the desk to prove her point.

"Your daddy's gonna be so mad," Sammy comments.

The two official X-Files agents look at each other, then laugh. "I don't think we have to worry about that," Doggett smiles.

"Yeah, you got other people to worry about, like me," Mulder says, and their laughter dries up. "And Luke, and Hannah, and Gibson."

Suddenly, Doggett's at Mulder's side. "You're not gonna tell them about this, are ya?" he says, his drawl more pronounced.

Mulder pretends to blink in surprise. "I have to tell somebody," he says, "As a responsible citizen and adult. Or would you rather I tell Skinner?"

"No, no," Reyes says, appearing rapidly on Mulder's other side. "You don't have to, really."

"Really." Mulder looks from one agent to the other, who are acting like his own little troublemakers. "Then you don't mind if I tell, well, anybody else that comes by the office. I've got nothing to lose, being on hiatus, but you two," he trails off.

"Just tell the kids," Reyes says hastily.

"Hey!" Doggett protests. "I live with them, you don't!"

"I know," she says coolly, "but I'd rather have them know than our colleagues or boss, wouldn't you?"

"Aurrrghhhh," Doggett makes a noise similar to a compactor grinding a car into a pancake. "Okay, fine, sure."

"Wow, you're good, Daddy," his eldest child looks up in admiration. "You musta been a great older brother."

"I'd like to think so," Mulder says, and the familiar shaft of guilt lodges itself inside his heart. Oh well, serves him right trying to lord it over his coworkers, he sighs inwardly.

* * *

Doggett didn't mean to go out shopping, but thanks to he and Monica's, er, Agent Reyes' earlier misdeeds and their getting caught, he's not only buying cleaning equipment for the basement office, but also cake-making supplies. In short, chick stuff. Not like he says so out loud, because the cake is for Hannah, who's making cupcakes for a classmate's birthday. The old lady behind them, however, sees the shopping cart's contents, or the fact that they're nice people, and decides to make conversation.

"Goodness, that's an awful lot for a little girl," the old woman comments.

"I got two older brothers, so they can help me," Hannah chirps.

The old woman raises her nonexistent eyebrows. "They help you cook and clean? What about your mother?"

"Oh, Mommy's far away," Hannah says, "And the cleaning stuff's for Daddy. He got busted," she whispers.

"Thanks, Sweetie," Doggett groans, but the fact doesn't escape him that Hannah already regards Gibson as part of the family. Hell, the boy's grown on him, too, but still... Before the granny gets any more wrong ideas about his family, as it seems she thinks Barbara's dead as well, judging by the sudden sympathetic cluckings, the person in front of them is gone, and he pushes the shopping cart forward. "Come on, Hannah, we're next." He nudges her.

"Okay." She smiles, and he can't help but smile back. "Daddy, if Gibson gets tall like Luke, does that mean he won't be nice to me?"

Distracted, Doggett almost puts his wallet on the conveyor belt but stops in time. "Why's that?"

"'Cause Luke said he was all grown up, so he doesn't have to be nice to me, an' since Gibson is younger, he has to be."

I am gonna wring that boy's neck and throw him into next year, Doggett thinks, but says aloud, "That's no excuse. I'm all grown up and I'm very nice." He grins, and she giggles. "Besides, family has to be nice to each other."

"Okay." Hannah nods seriously as if he's spoken gospel, "So that means Gibson's a better brother than Luke."

Hoo boy. "I wouldn't say that in front of Luke," he admonishes her, then pulls out his credit card when the cashier tells him the total. "And I think Luke and I need to have a little chat."

"Like you and Uncle Mulder?"

Out of the mouths of babes, Doggett sighs inwardly. "Yeah, like that." He can't leave the supermarket with Hannah and the groceries soon enough, that's for sure.

* * *

That night, Scully is crying, but mostly because her family is making her laugh so hard, her hand on her belly as if to hold that laughter in for her unborn child. "I can't believe they did that!" she gasps between her laughter. "I can't wait to see that film developed!"

"Yeah, well, wait 'til you hear what John and Monica did," Mulder murmurs in her ear.

She stares at him, a smile on her lips. "What, what did they do?"

"Oh yeah," Page jumps in, "Uncle John and Auntie Monica did something baaaaaad."

"Yeaaaaaah," Sammy adds in the same sing-song tone. "Daddy tookded pictures, too."

"Took pictures," Scully corrects him, then turns to her husband. "Okay, I give. What was this bad thing that they did?"

Then everybody explodes into explanations, with much gesticulation, until Scully puts her hands into a T-shape. "Time out!" she says, "one at a time!" Then she points at Sammy. "Okay, tell Mommy what happened."

"How come I don't get to tell?" Mulder pouts in an exaggeration of their kids.

She doesn't want to tell him that he acts like that anyways, but raises an eyebrow, "Wait your turn." While he pouts for real, she turns to her oldest son. "Okay, Sammy, tell Mommy."

Puffing with pride, her redheaded boy regales her with the story of How Uncle John an' Auntie Monica Was Putting Yellow Sticky Paper All Over the Room and We Busted 'Em, with more than a little help from Page and Mulder. April gets her water, because she's giggling so hard, the little girl thinks she's got hiccups. Then David pulls at Jared's hair, and Jared yanks his brother's hair right back, and soon Mulder's in the middle of that, until David tries to reach for Jared and ends up yanking Mulder's nose instead. That's when Scully's giggles turn into belly laughs, and her other children join in.

* * *

Either Late At Night, or Early In the Morning  
May 15th, 2001

It's the middle of the night, and Scully feels like she's less a mother-to-be-again and more like a walking bladder. Yawning, she forces herself out of the warm, comfortable bed and out into the cool night, wrapping a robe around her as she shuffles to the bathroom. It doesn't take long to relieve herself or wash her hands, and as another monster yawn escapes her lips, her water breaks.

"Great," she mutters, "why couldn't this have happened over the toilet?" Part of her wants to clean up the mess, but the more pressing issue, that is, her unborn child, is telling her to hurry the hell out of there.

Without further delay, Scully goes back to the bed, but not to sleep. "Mulder," she says loudly, shaking him roughly, "get up."

"Mm?" He blinks at her uncomprehendingly.

"My water broke, we need to get to the hospital," she says in her take-charge voice.

It only takes a second for him to sit up, and a few more to grab the bag, his wife, and the keys. "Okay," he says, ready to go.

Well, not quite. "Mulder, I think you need a few more clothes," Scully points out, and then Mulder realizes he's in his briefs and undershirt.

Oops. It's not the first time his wife's labor has left him ready to run off half-cocked and half-dressed. Even as she chuckles, he quickly pulls on a pair of jeans, socks, and his black leather jacket, then goes for the bag, the keys, and his wife again. "Better let Michelle know," he says, and she nods as they rush out the room.

Within minutes, they've notified the nanny, jumped into the car, and are out of the driveway. And then they hit the midnight crowd, which are made up of singles returning from partying, delivery truckers on a long haul, or politicos on their way to making transactions not normally done during the daytime. "Great," Scully sighs, "Just when we need it," she glowers at the large sixteen-wheeler that seems to take up three lanes, then hisses as a contraction hits her.

"Could be worse," Mulder quips, "You could be in some middle-of-nowhere town in Georgia stuck with Reyes while the rest of us are battling evil alien pod people."

Scully grits her teeth before shooting her husband a look. "You have a weird imagination," she says before another spasm of pain hits. "OH!"

"Driving as fast as I can through the gridlock," Mulder mutters hurriedly, ignoring the honking horns and middle fingers as he drives like aliens are after him.

* * *

Having broken at least several traffic laws and perhaps a couple laws of physics, Mulder gets his wife to the hospital before she can strangle him. "My wife's about to give birth!" he shouts as he and Scully hustle through the ER.

"Fill in the form and get in line," the orderly mutters, not looking up from his Tetris game.

Mulder's ready to cheerfully strangle the pimply kid when his wife pulls out her cell phone. "Doctor Hart? Yes, this is Dana Scully, I'm at the hospital, my water broke about fifteen minutes ago, my contractions are less than twenty seconds apart, and there's an idiot at the front desk," she says evenly, then pauses. "Yes, thank you."

When she hangs up, she grabs the scrawny orderly by the collar of his scrubs. "Don't you ever give a woman in labor that kind of attitude, got that?" she shouts, shaking him a little before pushing him off. "Come on, Mulder, Doctor Hart's getting a room prepped," she says without looking back.

Mulder couldn't be more surprised than if she'd pulled out her gun and badge. Hell, the kid looks as if she's done just that and pissed his pants, and he grins. "What she said." He smiles nastily before running to catch up with his wife, who's just doubled over with another contraction. "Come on," he murmurs, and they make their way through a hospital they're way too familiar with, what with all the kids and work-related injuries.

* * *

In spite of the late hour, it doesn't take long for everyone to fill up the waiting room, and soon Mulder's got company and coffee, both very welcome at this time. "Has it been just a week since we were last here?" Krycek asks.

"Yep," Melissa says, patting Ryan's back as she walks to and fro. "I'm surprised the staff doesn't know us all by name by now."

"Be glad they don't, they keep calling me 'Fox'," Mulder makes a face.

"It's your name," Mrs. Scully sighs. "I don't see why that's such a problem."

Mulder shakes his head. "It just is," and is saved from further elaboration when Sammy and the twins use his arms as a makeshift tug-of-war rope. "Pull harder, guys, maybe you can stretch them so my arms can touch the ground like a caveman."

"Daddy, don't be silly," Page scoffs, then yawns. "How come the baby wants to come out so late?"

Actually, he's a week early, but Mulder smacks his inner wiseass before replying, "Maybe he's so excited to see you all that he couldn't wait for tomorrow."

"Maybe," Mrs. Scully smiles, then shifts the sleeping baby in her arms. "Little Christopher won't be the baby any more, will he? Not like he'll notice very much." Then she smiles at April, who's curled up on one of the plastic chairs, already fast asleep.

Melissa yawns, and Emily pipes up, "Mommy, can I hold him now?" Her hands are already reaching up for her little brother before she finishes the question.

Her mother smiles. "Sure thing, Emily. Careful, now," and she gently puts her baby boy into her baby girl's waiting arms. "Okay?"

"Okay," Emily whispers loudly, and Mulder chuckles, seeing the contrast between the shy, withdrawn little girl he and Scully'd first met so many Christmases ago and this bright, energetic child so eager to share her love and attention with a new sibling. I'm so glad, he thinks, I'm so glad we've all got this second chance.

And as the tears begin to fill his eyes, the doctor comes out, looking pleased but surprised. "That was the easiest delivery I've ever seen," Doctor Hart says, shaking Mulder's hand, "Your little boy just wanted to be here, I guess."

"Yeah," Mulder says, his voice suddenly hoarse. ::William's back,:: he thinks as the others surround him and congratulate him or hug him.

* * *

That Night

Though he's disappointed to have narrowly missed witnessing William's birth for the second time, Mulder is relieved that there was no danger this time, not aliens, and no ghost town in the middle of Georgia without safe and adequate medical facilities.

::So,:: Mulder thinks as he holds William for the first time in more than nine years ::we meet again. I meant it when I promised that you'd still be born, and here you finally are. Things are going to be different this time around. This time you have six older siblings and Emily as a living cousin rather than a dead sister. Your mom seems a lot happier, if busier, and there shouldn't be any pesky aliens after you. Which isn't to say you're not a miracle, because you are, but you're a much lower profile one. Welcome to the world, Little boy, I've been waiting on you forever.::

"What are you thinking about, Mulder?" Scully asks sleepily.

"How every new life changes the world a little bit."

"And their parents' world a lot."

"That too."


	104. BEK

May 16th, 2001  
Early

"Congratulations," Reyes whispers to Mulder as she admires the baby he's holding in his arms.

"Thanks. I'll let Scully know that you stopped by," he says, before bringing his newest son back into the hospital room where Scully is sleeping.

"Guess we'd better be going," Doggett tells her. It had been her plan to stop by before work, making him promise to arrive at the same time. "It's almost eight."

There's a lot of traffic around the hospital at even that hour, so he's anxious to get going. Somehow he doesn't think Skinner would be amused if they're late because Reyes really wanted to see Scully's new baby.

"Oh God, he's so cute," Reyes says for the third time as they reach the parking lot. "I wish I'd seen the older kids when they were that small."

"He looks like the picture Mulder sent me of Sammy when he was brand new," Doggett offers.

"I keep forgetting that your families kept in touch all that time."

"Yup. Luke was rather enamored of the Feds, so it was inevitable." Doggett grins. "The baby looks like his big brother, but I keep thinking about when Hannah was a baby."

"It makes sense, she and Sammy are just a few months apart. Naturally you'd think of back then," she says, but kicks herself for reminding him of his ex-wife.

"It seems so long ago," Doggett says with a sigh. "Barbara and I were happy then."

"Yeah..." she half-heartedly agrees.

"But that was definitely a million years ago," Doggett says softly. He then leans over and kisses her.

Surprised that the hunter has suddenly become the prey, it takes her a moment before she kisses him back.

"I thought I was going to have to make the first move," Reyes says when she finally pulls away.

A small smile plays across his lips. "I like to keep you guessing."

She nods slightly. "Well, mission accomplished."

He hums to himself as he walks to his car.

* * *

The Next Morning

May seventeenth dawns rosily and Mulder is awake to greet it. Scully sleeps in her hospital bed, and William is in Mulder's arms. The baby hadn't woken up crying, but Mulder just wants to hold him. Just in case.

By the time William was thirty-six hours old the last go around, Mulder had already been warned by Kersh that staying would put Scully and the baby's lives in danger.

::But things are different:: Mulder thinks as he looks out the window. ::This time there are no aliens hunting my little boy. Billy Miles is settling into his new career rather than tearing off heads or spying on women in labor. Scully didn't have an audience - hell, the baby came so fast I didn't make it into the room on time after updating the family! Nothing is going to take me away from them this time::

William stirs in his arms and lets out a mewling cry.

::I hope::

"Is he hungry?" Scully asks sleepily.

"I think so." She holds out her arms and he obligingly fills them. "Here you go. Are you going to be to be ready to go home today?"

She yawns. "If you can keep the restless natives quiet, I'll be fine."

"I'll do my best," Mulder promises.

::What if problems are tied to the date, not his birth?:: Mulder wonders nervously. May 22nd is still days away.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Later

The fact that the three older kids are at school makes it easier for Mulder to fulfill his promise. The little boys aren't even up for the day yet when he pulls into their driveway and helps Scully out of the car.

"I'll take him," Mulder tells her when she makes a move to open the back door. She nods and he gently removes the newborn from his car seat. Scully leans on the arm that isn't cradling their new son.

::We're home.:: Mulder telegraphs to William. ::It's nicer digs than your mom's old apartment.::

Scully yawns beside him, and he remembers she's there with a little startled jolt. Even with part of her weight on his arm, she's so quiet that he almost felt alone with the baby. "Better get you to bed," he suggests. "Get in a nap while you can, since Sammy and April will be home in about four hours."

"That sounds like a good idea," she agrees and yawns again. He kisses her on the forehead.

No sooner has Mulder watched her close the bedroom door than he hears small feet behind him. He's not surprised to see David and Jared standing behind him in their PJs. The two small boys are staring at the baby in his arms with slightly puzzled looks.

"Hey guys, this is your new brother, remember? Mommy and he just got home from the hospital. She's sleeping." He adds, hoping they won't demand to see her immediately.

David looks at Jared before saying. "He's one baby."

"That's right," Mulder agrees.

"How come?" Jared asks.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Mulder tells him, wondering if they're confused as to why their new cousin isn't there too.

"He's one, Christopher is one, and Page is one, and Sammy's one, and April's one," David rambles before pointing to Jared and himself. "We're two."

"Oh! That's because you're twins. Most of the time mommies only have one baby at once, but sometimes they have two like you guys," Mulder tries to explain.

He looks down at his small sons and wonders how long ago it occurred to them that they're slightly different from their siblings. He has the sudden sense that they've given the idea a lot of thought. Mulder has overheard them speak to each other far more often than anyone else, but has never really wondered what they'd been talking about.

"Just sometimes?" Jared looks disappointed. "We wanted him to be two. We waited and waited."

"Sorry, Buddy, we don't get to pick how many babies we get at once. That's something God decides." Mulder tries not to laugh out loud. Scully might _eventually_ find the idea that her sons had been hoping she'd have a second set of twins amusing, but he knew that two days after giving birth wasn't the time to share that thought. "You know what, though?"

"What?" they both ask.

"Sammy and April's friends Tilly and Billy have twin brothers who are going to be in your preschool class in the fall. So you won't be the only twins there!" He tries to sound as cheerful as possible because neither twin has expressed much interest in beginning school after the summer is over.

"Yeah?" David asks. "What their names?"

He has to think about it for a moment, because at first all he remembers is that he hates their too similar names. "Taylor and Tyler."

"Oh." David surprises Mulder by pulling his arm down so he can get a better look at William. "It's not your fault you're one," he tells his new brother, his face inches from the baby's.

"Nope," Jared agrees. "Maybe the next time baby can be two."

As Mulder watches them race off, he thinks ::Don't let Mommy hear you say that!:: Then he whispers down to his sleeping newborn. "I'm glad it's just you. You're perfect the way you are."

No sooner has he put William in his crib than the phone rings. It's Kersh, demanding an audience on the twenty-second. Mulder's heart skips a beat when he hears the date.

* * *

Hoover Building  
May 22nd, 2001

Kersh doesn't seem at all nervous when he has Mulder and Skinner sitting in front of him, not like he had when he'd announced the threat on Mulder's life in another when, so Mulder's anxiety melts away into impatience. There's obviously something else on the man's mind, but he can't imagine what it could be. He nearly has to sit on his hands to stop his fidgeting.

"I've asked you here today because I've been notified that you've requested to return to work."

Mulder sits up straighter. "That's right, I have. I feel that I'm ready to return to work as soon as possible."

"I understand that you feel that way." Kersh gives him a bland look that hides gleeful malice. "We'll revisit this issue again in October."

"Why October?" Mulder demands to know, ignoring at warning look from Skinner. He's too annoyed to take good advice. "I feel fit to return to duty now."

Kersh slowly shakes his head. "What you've been through is a unique and highly stressful situation. I've consulted with one of the bureau's head psychologists, and he's recommended that you be put on administrative leave for six months. Beginning retroactively in April," Kersh adds.

It's a carefully calculated gesture that's supposed to appear generous, and Mulder swears silently. He'll appear completely ungrateful if he protests. "All right."

Kersh raises his eyebrows, and Mulder doesn't reward his expectation of having a temper tantrum. Things are different this time around, as evidenced by his presence in his home several days after William's birth. No dire warnings have surfaced putting his safety in doubt, so he supposes that he ought to try to act appreciative - if only to fate, and not his odious employer.

"There's another matter I'd like to discuss while I have you here," Kersh chillingly announces while gesturing to someone Mulder can't see. "Something that has been put off while you've recovered - physically - from your ordeal."

When Mulder turns his head, he sees Gibson Praise and an unfamiliar woman entering the room. Mulder wonders what is so important that Kersh has the boy in at midday instead of waiting until after school lets out. He'd been expecting the worst, but can't figure out what the boy has to do with being told to leave.

From the corner of his eye he sees that Doggett is hanging back in the hallway, and Mulder is struck by a sudden certainty that his friend has been forbidden from coming in. That can't be a good sign.

Kersh waves a hand at the boy, indicating an empty chair. Gibson sits reluctantly. "Gibson, I've been told by John Doggett that you don't believe that agent Mulder is the man who abducted you last summer. I asked you here today so you can either confirm or refute that. I want you to be honest either way." Kersh's expression says otherwise, and Mulder would not be surprised if his thoughts did as well.

Gibson frowns at him. "It wasn't agent Mulder who took me or broke my ankle. It was some...one else. He looked like agent Mulder, but it wasn't."

"You're sure of that?" Kersh asks, leaning forward in his chair.

"Positive." Gibson's voice is firm.

Kersh's expression is a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. "Very well. Thank you for clearing that up. She-" he gestures to the woman Mulder already forgot is in the room. "-will take your statement in writing, and then you're free to go. As are you, Agent Mulder."

"Thank you, sir," a somewhat dazed Mulder says politely enough that it'd make Scully proud. "If there isn't anything else, I'll see you in October."

"That's everything. See you then."

* * *

As Mulder walks out of the room, he keeps looking back, half expecting that Kersh will call him back and tell him that he has something else to talk to him about after all. "Mulder, we need to talk about one last thing," he'd call. Then he'd explain the death threats that he'd been given for Mulder. It would all culminate in Mulder packing up and leaving before he endangered Scully and the kids.

But Kersh never calls out.

By the time Mulder reaches the elevator, he feels a sort of hopeful wonder. Has he really changed the past so much that there's really no reason for him to worry about being separated from his family for no good reason? He lets himself hope that it's true, and refuses to worry that it might not be.

Apparently unaware of his new elation, Skinner and Doggett give him sympathetic looks. "Sorry it turned out this way," Doggett offers. "I know you've been anxious to get back into the swing of things."

"Yeah," Mulder agrees, realizing that he's really annoyed as well as being grateful.

"I don't understand why I'm here." Gibson looks puzzled. "I couldn't tell why he wanted to talk about what happened last summer. I know it had to do with Mulder wanting to come back to work, but I don't know how."

Before Mulder can say anything, Skinner addresses the boy. "He was hoping that you'd say that Mulder was your kidnapper so he could immediately bar him from returning to the FBI."

"Why does he hate you?" Gibson asks Mulder.

"I think I cause him to think too much. Some people resent that sort of thing," Mulder says with a what-can-you-do expression.

"Maybe," the boy agrees.

Mulder glances down at his watch. It's one o'clock. "Gibson, how about you and I go to lunch? It's too late to go back to school. I can drop you off at John's afterwards."

"If it's okay with John," Gibson says, but he looks eager.

"Yeah, sure," Doggett tells him. "I've got to get back to work."

* * *

"So how's school?" Mulder asks as he and Gibson set their plastic trays on a table. Gibson insisted he wanted to go to Arby's, which is fine by Mulder though he'd been hoping to go some place a little fancier. Teenage boys, unfortunately, aren't the arbiters of taste.

"Good. I'm getting As and Bs in everything. So's Luke."

"You guys have the same classes?"

"Some of them," Gibson says.

Their conversation drifts off to silence until they're nearly done eating. "This will sound strange, but I have a question for you," Mulder asks abruptly.

"Okay."

Trying very hard not to think of aliens or cults himself, he asks, "Did Kersh want to tell me anything else, but didn't?"

To Mulder's surprise, Gibson blushes. "He um...John would get mad if I repeated the names he calls you in his head."

"I can imagine," Mulder says with a grimace. He has a few pet names for Kersh too.

"He was mostly thinking that he wishes that there was a way to keep you from coming back, but he thinks you'll be back like a bad penny no matter what."

Nodding, Mulder thanks him. If that's the most revealing things Gibson can think of, it seems like Kersh hasn't gotten any death threats on Mulder's behalf. This time.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

"Mulder, we need to talk," Scully tells him after he vents to her about how unfair it is that Kersh won't let him go back to work for another four months.

He crosses his legs, somehow sure that she's going to bring up his long ago promised vasectomy. He does mean to get one when she hits forty but that's still nearly three years away. So much for a next time baby. "About?"

"About Michelle," she says, surprising him.

"What about her?" he asks, uncrossing his legs.

"We're going to keep her on, aren't we?" Scully asks.

"Why wouldn't we?" Mulder asks blankly.

"I'll go back to work sometime this summer but you're going to be out of work until October," she reminds him.

"And? I can manage to stay out of her way until then. It's not fair to lay her off for a few months and expect she'll still be around when we need a nanny again in the fall." Assuming that he actually is reinstated without a fuss then. He doesn't imagine Kersh will welcome him back with open arms, despite the thoughts Gibson relayed to him.

"I was hoping you'd see it that way." Scully looks relieved.

"Good nannies are hard to find. We've been lucky so far, but who's to say it would hold? The last thing this house needs is a hand that rocks the cradle," he tells her, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"Mulder..." She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't seem annoyed. "It would be wasted on you anyway. No nanny would want to cat around with a man with seven kids. She'd be too afraid of getting knocked up."

He gives her a solemn look. "I'm nothing if not virile. But I save all my love for yoooou."

"You damn well better," she says in a playfully fierce tone.

* * *

Doggett Home  
That Afternoon

When Doggett gets home, Luke and Hannah are playing cards. He waits until Luke stops groaning at her declaration of war before asking, "Where's Gibson?" Mulder should have brought him home a couple hours ago.

Luke shrugs his shoulders. "He's upstairs. We asked him to play, but he wouldn't."

"Okay, I'll go see him." Doggett finds himself wondering what might be wrong with the boy. Usually he and Luke are inseparable, so it's unlike him to hide in their room. He worries that the interview has upset him, and kicks himself for not being more insistent that he be allowed in.

He knocks gently, and waits for a voice to invite him in. "Hey, Luke said you didn't feel like playing with them."

Gibson nods and hands Doggett a piece of paper. "You got a call about an hour ago."

"They leave a message?"

"Nope, just wanted you to call back when you got home." Gibson's voice is dull, which worries Doggett.

"Thanks, I'll give them a call right now. You up for going to the video store later? I'll let you guys each pick a movie."

"Okay." The boy looks slightly more cheerful, but not much.

"You sure they didn't say who they were when they called?"

"I'm sure."

Studying the boy's face, Doggett is sure that he knows even if the caller didn't identify him or herself.

"We'll probably head out in an hour or so," Doggett tells him, but there's still little reaction.

* * *

Sighing to himself, he heads to his room and picks up the phone by his bed. "Hi, this is John Doggett. I was told that you asked for me to call you?"

A smoothly profession voice speaks to him. "Hello Agent Doggett, my name is Geraldine Lowman from the department of social services. I've been in contact with assistant director Kersh, and he asked me to talk to you directly."

"About?" Doggett asks uneasily.

"Your ward, Gibson Praise," Ms. Lowman replies. "I asked the director if the child needs to be in protective custody any longer, and he told me to speak to you."

"I think he does," Doggett replies, too quickly. Something twists low in his belly. He should have thought about having to give Gibson up, but it has never occurred to him before now. If it had, he would have corrected Hannah weeks ago when she'd spoken of her "two brothers."

There's a pause, then her voice returns, a little less professional-sounding. "I understand that you're fond of the child, but I think you ought to know that being under the FBI's protective custody isn't the only way that you can keep him."

"It isn't?" Doggett asks. He immediately is filled with an urge to bang his head against the wall. His eagerness all but confesses that he doesn't really think Gibson is in any immediate danger.

"No. The boy has no family of his own, and he's been living with your family for nearly a year. You'd be in a good position to adopt him if you wanted to."

"But I'm single," Doggett protests. "Wouldn't that be held against me?"

"Single individuals and married couples are both freely able to adopt in Virginia," Ms. Lowman tells him, sounding slightly defensive herself. "I assure you that it wouldn't pose a problem."

"I'll confer with my boss about Gibson's need to be under protective custody," Doggett promises. "And if it isn't necessary any longer, I believe I'd be interested in investigating the possibility of adopting Gibson."

"Excellent. I hope to hear from you later this week, then."

"Right. Bye."

When Doggett hangs up he's not surprised to see Gibson standing at the door. The boy looks anxious, so Doggett gives him a smile. "You ever wanted a brother and sister, Gibson?"

Gibson doesn't say anything. He just grins.

* * *

That Night

"Mulder, do you have to carry him everywhere?" Scully asks, looking a bit frazzled.

Mulder glances down at the baby in his arms. He's still not one hundred percent sure that there's no looming threat, so it's his plan to spend as much time as he can with William while he's awake. ::If I get through tomorrow without hearing from Kersh, then I'll believe:: he thinks, fairly certain that he's not lying to himself.

Scully, however, is staring at him with her hands on her hips. Waiting for an answer.

"He's a week old, it's not as if he can walk on his own yet," Mulder says glibly. He makes no move to put William down.

"When he's six months old and still wants to be held all the time, it'll be on your head."

"Okay."

"You'll be the one carrying him around all the time," she warns.

"That's fine."

"By that point he'll be getting teeth and drooling all over you."

"I'll wear shirts made of terry cloth and keep my fingers out of his mouth."

She gives up.

The doorbell rings a moment later and Mulder puts finally William down to answer it only to have Ryan put into his arms a moment later.

"Thanks, Fox," Melissa tells him before turning to help Emily take off her raincoat. When did it begin to rain, he wonders. The skies outside are leaden, he just failed to notice.

The baby in his arms smacks his lips and Mulder finds himself studying his nephew. He and William are of similar age and coloring, but they're easy to tell apart.

His eyes drift to his sister-in-law and niece, and he finds himself slightly awed by his nephew. Ryan's whole family is supposed to be six feet under, but here he is. Mulder finds it extraordinary that his tampering has not only saved lives but allowed for the creation of a brand new one that wasn't made from personal effort. Not that he minded any of the work that went into creating his own offspring.

"Come to mommy, Sweetheart," Missy croons as she takes Ryan back and heads for the kitchen. He then notices that Scully has taken William back upstairs while her sister distracted him. ::I wonder if they planned that. Nah.::

The doorbell rings a second time, and Mulder again answers it. "Dad! Come in. How are you feeling?" he asks, though he knows his father will say he's okay. It's what he's said every day since being released from the hospital.

"You know I'm fine, Fox." Bill Mulder gives him a small smile and hands him a wrapped box. "Your mom been by to see the new baby yet?"

"Yesterday. She didn't stay long. William's upstairs. Scully just took him up so he's probably still awake," Mulder says as he leads the way to the baby's room. Bill follows quietly.

"Here he is," Mulder proudly announces as he flips on the light.

His father's walks forward and peers into the crib. Mulder is surprised to hear Bill gasp softly.

"Dad?" Mulder asks uncertainly.

Bill shakes his head. "I didn't expect another redhead after the twins and Christopher."

"Surprise. Ryan's a redhead too."

"Ryan?"

"Melissa's new baby," Mulder reminds him. "He's almost two weeks old. And in our kitchen as we speak."

"Oh," Bill says faintly.

"There's a pretty strong thread of redheads in Scully's family," Mulder tells him, wondering why his father looks concerned.

"So it seems." Bill gives him an inscrutable look. "You have a couple of other nephews by marriage, are they redheads too?"

"Nope. Mattie and Brandon have dark hair," Mulder says as he picks the baby up carefully. "Do you want to hold him?"

The older man seems on the verge of saying no, but he holds out his arms. William waves his fists erratically before setting into his grandfather's hold.

Bill looks up from the baby. "I wanted more kids when you were little, but your mother refused. She said I wasn't a good enough a father to the two we already had."

"Dad-"

"She was right," Bill says with a deep sigh. "Long before Samantha disappeared, I knew I wasn't a good Dad. What happened to your sister only drove the point home."

Mulder doesn't know the right thing to say, so he keeps quiet. Listens.

"But in spite of me, you're turned out to be a better man than I ever could have hoped. A better man than I am. And a better father." Bill looks down at his newborn grandson again. "As much as you believe in your work, you'd never put it above any of your children."

Mulder's first impulse is to say 'of course not!' but his brain clamps down on his tongue. "You did the best you could, Dad."

"And that's the worst of it."

"Bumpa?" a stage whisper behind them asks. They turn to see the twins and April in the doorway.

"Come play with us, Bumpa!" April invites, and the twins nod vigorously.

"Sure," Bill says cheerfully before giving William back to his son. "I'll meet you guys down in the playroom."

Giggling, the kids scramble down the stairs. Bill moves to join them, but Mulder stops him. "Dad? You're a good grandfather."

Bill smiles. "Thanks, Fox."

* * *

Hoover Building  
Two Weeks Later

When Reyes comes in to the office one morning, she looks flustered.

"Rough morning?" Doggett asks casually.

"Yeah. My stupid car broke down. The tow-truck guy gave me a ride here, but I'm going to have to get a cab home because all the rental places are out of cars. I guess there's a huge convention going on around here."

"Don't get a cab."

"I'm not up to walking home, John."

He grins at her. "I was going to offer to give you a ride home, but you interrupted."

"Whoops. I'd love a ride if the offer still stands."

"Yeah, sure," Doggett agrees. "Why don't we look through the mail and see if there's a making for a case somewhere out there?"

"Right. It kind of makes me wish Mulder was around. He's good a sniffing out interesting things to investigate."

"We'll have to practice at it while he's gone," Doggett says. "I think we better ditch the post-it notes before our self-restrain wears thin."

"I trust us," Reyes replies with her eyes wide and innocent. "Don't you?"

"Only as far as I could throw us," he says as he gathers post-it pads to toss in the trash.

"You're no fun." She pouts.

"Is that a challenge?" Doggett asks, thinking of a few things they could do to fill their time. Some of them might not even get them fired.

Over the course of the day they discover two things: it's apparently the off-season for weirdness so they'll have to settle for writing up case files, and what's wrong with Reyes' car will take several days to fix.

* * *

Mid-June 2001

Even after Reyes' car was fixed, Doggett continues to bring her to and from work. If asked about it they'd probably tell people they thought carpooling was good for the environment. The truth, however, is that they enjoy the excuse to be alone that it provides.

Like right now, when they're parked in front of her building.

Doggett kisses her, but he pulls away with a frown. "I'm getting tired of this cloak and dagger crap, Monica. Aren't you?"

"I don't know..." she hedges. "Having a secret is sort of exciting."

"We're going to have to tell my kids sooner or later," Doggett warns her. For him, sneaking around like hormonal teenagers is beginning to wear thin.

"I know, but..." Though he's never fancied himself any sort of mind-reader, he's filled with a sudden certainty that he knows what she's about to say. She's hesitant to involve the kids if it's only a casual affair.

He just wishes that he was ready to make up his mind about how serious he wants to get. Every time he starts to feel optimistic about their chances, memories of Barbara packing up and leaving them without a backwards glance return to haunt him.

He decides to kiss her again to keep her from bringing up anything uncomfortable. But to Doggett's disappointment just as he leans in to do so, Reyes jumps away from him. "What?" he asks, trying not to sound petulant.

She motions towards the window with her chin. "The boys are right there."

"Where?" Doggett squints into the twilight. Eventually he catches sight of two boys approaching the car. "I guess they saw the car," he says even as he wonders why they would be hanging around her apartment. "Maybe they assumed I'd be here," he suggests doubtfully.

But as the pair draws nearer, he realizes that it isn't Gibson and Luke. These boys are younger, perhaps twelve. Both are wearing baseball caps and t-shirts with logos on them. The dark-haired boy's is the Yankee's, the fair-haired sports the Mets.

"Oops, false alarm," Reyes says next to him.

"Yeah, I guess-" He trails off when the kids walk directly to the car.

One of the boys taps on the window. And Doggett rolls it down a couple of inches. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please," the boy wearing the Yankee gear says. "My brother and I are on our way to the baseball game, but we've forgot our tickets."

"Sorry to hear that," Doggett tells him. His eyes flick towards Reyes when he notices that she's shivering. "I'm not sure what we could do to help, though."

"We'd like a ride," the other boy says. "We don't have time to walk home and back before the game starts."

"I don't think so," Doggett starts to say, but he's surprised to realize that his hand is going for the door handle. He's even more surprised when Reyes reaches over and grabs his wrist.

"John. Don't!" she hisses between clenched teeth.

"Please, Mister?" the boy whines. "It won't take that long, I promise."

Reyes' fingers are still wrapped around his wrist. If anything, her grip has tightened. She whispers urgently into his ear. "Dammit, look at their eyes."

When he finally sees, he can't believe he didn't notice earlier. Where their eyes should be colored all he can see is pupil-black darkness. A sense of terrible wrongness fills him and he pulls his wrist out of Reyes' fingers. Quicker than thought, he throws the car into drive and takes off.

The boys shrink into the distance, but he thinks he can see a hateful look on the face of the boy who did most of the talking.

"Where are we going?" Reyes asks, sounding a bit shaken herself.

"Back to my place," Doggett says, realizing just then where he plans to go. "There's something wrong with those kids. I don't think you should go home tonight."

"What are Luke and Gibson going to think?" Reyes asks.

"Like I said. We were going to have to tell them sooner or later."

* * *

Doggett's House

Reyes follows Doggett into the house, feeling uncharacteristically shy. They'd stopped off for food on the way there, and the bags are in Doggett's arms.

Two hungry teenagers soon appear in the room, apparently drawn by the smell. "Hi Monica." Luke greets her offhand. "Dad, is that Chinese?"

"Yeah. Grab some plates, would you?"

"Hi," Gibson says to Reyes. "Are you having dinner with us?"

"Sure am."

The next few minutes pass in a blur as the boys help to get the food dished out and Hannah demands her father's attention. They've just settled around the table - and the boys have finished negotiating over the chicken fingers and fried rice - when Doggett clears his throat.

"I have something to tell you guys," he announces, and the kids actually look up from their food. "Monica and I are seeing each other."

To his surprise, this doesn't elicit much of a response from the boys. They nod agreeably and go back to eating. Hannah, on the other hand, looks confused.

She turns to Reyes. "Were you blind?"

"What?" Reyes asks blankly.

"I know Daddy isn't blind, but if he's saying you're seeing each other, was you blind before?"

Luke snorts. "Hannah, he meant they're dating."

"Oh..." Hannah gives Reyes a studious look. "So you're Daddy's girlfriend, then."

"Well... Yes."

"Okay," Hannah says before reaching for the duck sauce.

"What do you guys think?" Doggett asks a bit anxiously.

"Took you long enough," Gibson tells him.

"Yeah," Luke agrees. "We thought you'd hook up ages ago."

"It's different with adults," Doggett mutters before going back to eating.

Once they're finished eating, the kids go outside to play with the basketball hoop, and Reyes helps Doggett put away the leftovers. "I think that went well." She offers.

"Sure. I expected it would."

"About earlier, what made you drive off like that?" she asks, making him think of their strange encounter for the first time since they got home.

"There was something wrong with those kids," he says after a moment.

"Like they were evil?" she suggests.

"Something like that," he reluctantly agrees.

"I think we might have found a case."

"Great, that's what I always wanted. My name in another X-File case write-up," Doggett says sourly.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," she tells him.

* * *

The Next Day

Since they've told the kids and no longer need to sneak around, Reyes takes her own car to work the next morning. He's not very surprised when she is still on the subject of their encounter when he arrives.

"I found something on the internet," Reyes announces.

Doggett gives the back of her computer a skeptical look as he walks towards her. "The internet? There's stuff on there that isn't porn?"

She gives him a slow smile. "That may be all you've ever discovered but there's a lot of other stuff on there."

"Um..." Doggett stammers. "That's not funny. What did you find?"

Still smirking, Reyes hands him a sheaf of paper. He looks up at her with a smirk of his own. "Black Eyed Kids?"

"That's what the website calls them," Reyes acknowledges. "Read it."

It takes Doggett a few minutes to read through the print-out. "You don't think they're demons or vampires like this guy does, do you?"

"Probably not. But you've got to admit that there are similarities between what we saw and what all those other people did."

"How do you plan to go about investigating this? It's not like they'll come back."

"I thought we could get an expert opinion on whether this is something we should waste our time on or not," Reyes tells him.

"So you want to go bother Mulder with this," Doggett guesses.

"He said it's not a bother and we should stop by around ten," Reyes tells him, trying to look innocent and failing.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

It doesn't take very long to explain the situation to Mulder, and he listens very carefully.

"... so the guy who wrote the article said he thought they might be vampires," Reyes concludes.

"I think you're overlooking an obvious explanation for this," Mulder tells them, barely glancing up from the baby on his lap. This doesn't surprise Doggett because Scully's mentioned a couple of times that Mulder has spent a lot of time lately with both William and Christopher.

"Which is what?" Doggett asks.

"You said that their eyes are completely black, didn't you?" Mulder waits for them to nod. "Clearly they've been infected by the black oil."

"Muldah, that's sort of a stretch-" Doggett begins, but the other man cuts him off.

"It's only a stretch if you insist on not believing your own eyes about the presence of alien life on this planet."

"Not believing my own eyes?" Doggett snorts. "When did I do that?"

"When the shape shifter you killed took on Skinner's form," Reyes says before Mulder can. This doesn't please Doggett, because he apparently expected her to take his side.

"I still don't think-" Doggett starts to say, but the others look at him so he trails off in mid-sentence. "If this is that black oil stuff, what do you suggest we do about it?"

"If those kids come back, don't get close to them. It can jump from one person to another. You don't want that," Mulder tells him with a slight shudder.

"You say that like you know that from personal experience," Doggett says nervously.

Mulder gives him a hard stare. "I went into a bathroom in Hong Kong, saw a woman with the black oil swarming in her eyes, blacked out and found myself waking up in the hospital here in the US. Being used as a mode of transportation wasn't my idea of fun."

"But it didn't kill you, though," Reyes is quick to point out.

"No, not me." Mulder wouldn't elaborate on what he meant by that, which made both of the agents even more nervous.

"So what if it is this stuff, what do you suggest we do if they come back?" Doggett asks.

"Stay away from them and call in a CDC team. It fits the definition of an infectious disease and hazmat suits keep people more or less safe."

They waited for him to expound upon what he meant by "more or less" but he didn't.

* * *

Mulder closes the door firmly behind them a few minutes later and leans against the wall with a sigh. It doesn't really have much of anything to do with the case his friends are investigating, but he'd thought of something mid-conversation. It had happened when he'd looked up to stare at Doggett.

Before he looked away his eyes had caught sight of a framed picture of his niece hanging behind the other man. It 's a picture he's seen hundreds of times, but he'd seen it in a new light just then. What had the syndication been planning, not only for Emily, but for Gibson Praise? They've been thwarted in both realities, but what if they hadn't been? Would they have used the kids up, perhaps as vectors to move the black oil?

Or worse?

It had been all he could do not to show his reaction to the cold finger he felt being dragged across his spine. As much as he likes both agents, it wasn't as though he could tell them that horrible things had been done to both children in an all together different once upon a time.

They are both safe now, but the thoughts serve as a grim reminder that though he has succeeded this time around, once he had failed.

And that meant it was possible that he could fail again.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
A Few Days Later

Since his conversation with his father right after William's birth, Mulder has made more of an effort to keep in touch with Bill Mulder. Despite all his faults, Bill is a wonderful grandfather, and Mulder has observed that being around the kids means his father isn't drinking. After talking it over with Scully, he resolved to invite his dad over for dinner a couple of time a month.

Which is why they're sitting in the living room watching a baseball game after the kids have gone to bed. It's the bottom of the ninth when Bill tears his gaze away from the TV and asks, "When is Dana going back to work?"

"The first week of August," Mulder tells his father, idly wondering why he cares. Teena hadn't been working when he and Samantha were born, so it's not as though he has a lot of first hand experience with maternity leave. "All things considered this year, she decided to extend her leave this time."

"It's been a rough year," Bill agrees. "Which is why I asked."

"Oh?"

"Fox, have you ever wanted to go on a vacation?"

"I've gone on vacation." Mulder begins to feel a little defensive. "We went to New Orleans a few years ago."

"I mean a real vacation," his father insists. "To get off the continental US and go somewhere tropical."

"Well, I suppose. It seems like a frivolous expense, though, considering we'd want to take the kids with us."

"For you, maybe. But I want to go to Hawaii."

"That sounds nice, Dad. You really should."

"I'm going to. And I'm taking you and the kids with me," Bill declares with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Dad, that's a lot of money-"

"What else am I going to spend my money on? I can't think of anything better than seeing my little grandkids having fun some place exotic. You're not going to disappoint an old man, are you, Fox?"

"I think we should discuss it with Scully-"

"Discuss what?" When Mulder looks over his shoulder, he sees Scully coming into the room with William.

"I'm taking the family on vacation," Bill tells her, and quickly outlines his plans. Scully looks dubious, but agrees to go.

They schedule the trip for the last week of July.

* * *

Reyes' Apartment  
June 20th, 2001

Though they have yet to take their relationship to what an embarrassed Doggett overheard Luke refer to as "the next level," things between him and Reyes are very comfortable. They try to include the kids in their plans when they can, which is why one night finds them having dinner at Reyes' place before going to see a comedy called Evolution, which they all think might be amusing.

"The guy in the trailer looks like Mulder," Doggett mutters when the kids are out of earshot.

Reyes glances over from the stove. "I guess. A little. But it's easy to imagine that actors look like people we know."

"Yeah..." He's cut off by a knock on her front door. "I'll go see who that is."

"Thanks."

Remembering for once that her door has one, Doggett looks out the peephole, then steps back abruptly. "Shit!"

"What?" Reyes asks sounding a little alarmed.

"It's those creepy kids. I knew you weren't safe here that night."

"What's going on, Dad? Why do you sound so upset?" Luke asks from the couch.

He looks at his son's nervous face, and realizes that he's too old to lie to in order to protect. "Those kids are from one of our cases. They're bad news."

"Do you think they're dangerous?" Gibson asks quietly.

"They might-"

He dives backwards when the door shakes with the force of pounding. It hardly seems possible that the door can shake that way without splintering.

"Are they using a battering ram?" Luke asks, his voice shaking.

"No."

"Then how could they-"

The pounding abruptly stops.

"Please let us in," a polite voice says from the other side of the door.

"Like hell," Doggett mutters.

Hannah looks panicky, and when the pounding starts again flies into Reyes' arms. She's startled by the child's action but has the presence of mind to lean down and speak to her. "Shhh, it's okay."

"No, it's not! They're going to get us!"

"Hannah-" Doggett begins, but the continuing onslaught upon the door distracts him.

"John," Reyes says sharply, making him look at her. "Is there black swimming in their eyes like Mulder was talking about?"

Edging as close as he can to the door, he tries to look out. "No. It looks like they're supposed to be black, nothing's in them."

Reyes stands up abruptly, and deposits Hannah on Luke's lap. "Where are you going?" The little girl whines, but she's gone to the bookcase and doesn't reply. In a moment or two she's found a book and pulled it out of the bookcase. She flips through it quickly and begins to read the page.

"What are you doing?" Luke wants to know, wondering what she's doing with her hands.

To Doggett's surprise, it's Gibson who answers. "Be quiet."

Stepping back from the door, Doggett turns to see what she's doing. Unlike the children, he recognizes sign language when he sees it because he'd seen Scully use it with the twins when they were tiny, but has no idea what it is that Reyes thinks she's doing. The pounding continues unabated, and he begins to wonder if the door will withstand much more.

The pounding stops all at once, and there's a inhuman wail from the hallway. Hannah covers her ears, but the boys stare at the door in wary trepidation, as if they believe they'll be able to see what's happening on the other side if only they look hard enough. The noise rises in a crescendo, then stops all together.

Reyes snaps the book closed. "There." She goes to the door, and Doggett nearly tackles her when she moves to open it. But when she does the hallway is deserted. Curiously, the scent of sulfur hangs in the air.

"Monica, what the hell just happened?" Doggett asks, ignoring the surprised looks he gets from the kids.

She shakes her head before pulling him into the adjacent bathroom and closing the door. There's a portable CD player on the vanity, and she puts it on the floor against the door before turning it on.

"Sorry to be melodramatic, but I'm not sure you'd want them to overhear," she says after motioning him away from the music.

"Okay..." Doggett gives her a confused look. "I know you did something to get rid of 'em, but I don't know what you did."

"An exorcism," she says calmly.

"A what? Don't you have to chant in Latin or something to do that?" Doggett asks nervously.

Reyes shakes her head. "When I lived in New Orleans I met a lot of interesting people. One of them was a deaf man who preformed exorcisms. He claimed it gave him the edge, since the demons couldn't hear what he was doing."

"So this guy taught you how to do them?"

"Sure. He said that it might come in handy if I ever met any real demons. Guess he was right," she replies.

"You really think those kids were demons?" Doggett's voice is shaken.

"Well, they're not here, so what else could they be?" she asks, sounding entirely too reasonable to suit him.

"I...Muldah's going to be disappointed when he hears that his black oil theory was a dud."

"Ha." She reaches down to turn off the music, only to hear Luke's voice coming from the next room.

"Whatever you're doing _in there_, remember that there are impressionable minors _out here_."

"Ones who are easily grossed out," Gibson adds.

"It's disturbing that they jumped to that conclusion rather than that we're having a clandestine conversation," Reyes whispers.

Smirking at her, Doggett reaches for her to give her a passionate kiss, only to be rewarded by an exclamation from Gibson followed by a collective "eww!" from the peanut gallery.

"I think we've tormented them enough," Reyes whispers into his ear.

Nodding, he pulls open the bathroom door. "So we better eat quickly if we're going to make it to the movie on time."

"Are the bad guys really gone?" Hannah asks, her eyes wide.

"They're really gone," Doggett tells her. "We checked, remember? They must have decided to go home before they got into trouble." And a few seconds later he realizes that he actually believes that his girlfriend has managed to banish the things that were plaguing them.

He gives Reyes an admiring look that she can't interpret. There are perks to dating a resourceful woman like this one.


	105. Aloha

Mulder-Scully Home  
Last week of July 2001

"Bumpa, are we gonna go surfin' in Hawaii?" Sammy asks, crowding his grandfather's knee.

"That's so boring," Page sniffs, grabbing her grandfather's other leg. "We're gonna go exploring, right, Bumpa?"

"I wanna see all the colorful fishies," April comments, taking out another crayon to use on her coloring book.

"Fishies! Fishies!" David and Jared are racing around the room, their lips pooched out to resemble what they think fish look like.

"Hungry now!" Christopher whines to his mother.

Their Bumpa chuckles as he ruffles Sammy's hair. "I think surfing is a younger man's game," and he smiles at his son, "but exploring sounds like a good idea. Maybe I could find me a pretty hula girl to take home."

"Da-ad," Mulder groans as he steers Jared, then David, away from the table edge. "I'd like to be able to return here without a sexual harassment case."

"He's just kidding," Scully rolls her eyes before finding something yummy for Christopher and herself. "Right?"

Bill Mulder's about to launch into a snarky remark, but, like his son so many years before him, chooses discretion to be the better part of valor when dealing with a Scully woman. "Of course, my dear," he says placatingly, "I've a feeling your children will tire me out before I could get into any sort of dalliances with the locals."

"I certainly hope so," Scully remarks, then sits Christopher in his high chair before picking William up. "I'd like to say I'm looking forward to sunny weather," she sighs, "but it's so hot here, I'm not sure I want to go somewhere with even more sun." Then she looks down at her pale arms, "Besides, I burn easily."

"And that's why God created sunscreen," Mulder rejoins, sidling up next to his wife. "Besides," he says in a lower voice, "if you want, I could rub it all over you while you sip cool drinks, sitting on the beach under the shade without a care in the world."

"Mm, that sounds nice." Scully smiles, closing her eyes. Then she opens them to give Mulder a look. "Are you up to something? Is there some casefile you're hiding?"

He blinks. "Hiding? Hey, I'm just surprised you're not rushing to pack suitcases like any normal American would if they were going on an all-expense paid vacation to Hawaii," he ends by sounding like a game show host.

She rolls her eyes. "It's not that. It's just that... I don't know. I guess it's been a while since we've had anything like a vacation longer than three days, and to someplace that isn't work-related, I just hope that the kids won't go too crazy."

"They're kids," Bill Mulder interjects, "they're supposed to go wild every once in a while. Besides," and now he sends a rare smile at his son, "I'd love to see the look on Fox's face when he tries to go surfing."

Mulder tries to look indignant, but laughs. "Thanks, Dad, I'll make sure none of you guys will have any recording devices if that ever happens."

The next hour or so goes by as the kids bounce around the room as if riding waves, and Scully and Bill Mulder tease Mulder for not having "sea legs" and then having to explain what that is to the kids.

* * *

Honolulu International Airport

Holding a large poster board with the words "MULDER AND SCULLY FAMILY" in big bold letters, Mrs. Kahaiali`i starts shaking it when she sees the multi-generational brood come down the escalator. "Oh my goodness!" she shouts, and jogs over to throw her arms open. "E komo mai, Dana! Welcome, welcome!"

"Oof!" Scully is practically enveloped by the large, smiling elder woman. "Mrs. K.!"

Mrs. K. lets go, then looks at them with a smile is so full of joy even the younger kids smile back. "How you've all grown," the Hawaiian woman beams, then opens the plastic bags on her arms. "Page, this is for you," and she drapes a rich red lehua lei over the girl's head, "this is for you, Sammy," and he's crowned with a ti leaf-and-kukui nut lei, "April," and she is adorned with an orange pikake lei, "Christopher," crown flower lei, "David, Jared," and they both get candy lei, although she somehow identified each twin correctly, "and little William," who gets a soft yarn lei.

Then she grins at the grownups. "And these are for you guys," Mrs. K. chortles, then drapes a lovely plumeria lei over Scully's shoulders, along with a kiss, "Dana honey," and for Mulder, a lei similar to Sammy's, but with Job's tears entwined, "Fox boy," and for Bill Mulder, a lei of ti leaf and puakenikeni flowers, "I know it's old-fashioned, but I thought you would appreciate," and to Mulder's surprise, his father smiles at the dark woman, hugging her right back.

"Okay, let's go get your suitcases!" she says, and leads them to the luggage carousel. A tall, elderly, heavyset man waves at her, and Mrs. K. says, "This is my husband Abe. Abe, dis da family I used to watch for," she says, easily falling into her natural pidgin accent. And like a conductor, she waves her hand at each person mentioned, "Dana, Fox, Page, Sammy, April, Jared, David, Christopher, William, and Bill Mulder. Well, back den, Page and Sammy them was just little, and the rest I neva met 'til today." Then she turns to Mulder and Scully. "If you want, we can bring you to our place after we drop you off at the hotel, or if you're tired, we could pick you folks up for supper."

Scully, with a bemused smile, answers, "We'd love to see your place. I think the main thing is making sure we get all of your luggage." She thinks it's cute how Mrs. K. switches from regular English for them and, what she assumes to be, pidgin English for her husband.

It doesn't take long before everyone is reunited with their luggage, and Mr. K. indicated the exit by jutting his jaw, reminding Scully of Albert Hosteen in some way she can't quite put a finger on. Soon, they're walking towards the old couple's van, and while the strong humidity, like that of DC's, hits them, it's alleviated by the cool tradewinds. "Mm, I could get used to this." Scully smiles.

"Wow, if all it took was a little breeze to make you happy, I'd have the A/C on all summer," Mulder quips before closing the van door.

"Shut up, Mulder," Scully murmurs as Mr. K. gets the van into gear.

* * *

Once they've deposited their luggage in the assigned rooms, Scully folds her arms and faces everyone. "Remember, no ghosts, mutants, monsters, aliens, or anything to wreck this vacation, all right? And anyone who starts a fight will have to finish with me, got it?"

"Scully, why are you looking at me when you're saying this?" Mulder asks plaintively.

"Because you're the one who usually gets us in a mess," Scully retorts, "and our children are usually more well-behaved than you are."

"Hey, I resent that!" Mulder starts, but his dad puts a hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"Fox, just do what she says." Bill Mulder smiles a little, "this is Hawaii, remember? Vacation? I'm sure your brilliant and beautiful wife has a few plans that don't involve chasing monsters here."

"Oh," Mulder comments when he sees Scully blushing. Inside, he's thinking, Aw yeah, baby! On the outside, however, he plays the aggrieved husband-slash-X-Files-nut and sighs dramatically. "Fine, have it your way," he says in his usual deadpan voice, shrugging, but his eyes are dancing.

"Yay!" David and Jared glomp onto his legs.

"That's better," Scully says, and leads them out of the room to where Mr. and Mrs. K. are waiting. "If only you were this cooperative at work."

"But you're not the boss of me there," Mulder murmurs in her ear, then grins as she glares up at him.

"'kay den, we go windward side," Mr. K. smiles, as the Mulder family heads down the hallway towards the elevator. "Eh, you guys no get pork, ya?"

"Huh? Uh, no." Mulder blinks.

"Eh, that's only for the Pali," Mrs. K. scolds her husband, "we stay taking da H-3."

"Oh yeah," Mr. K. smiles, and while the mainlanders stare in confusion, the elevator bell dings. "Okay, we go."

* * *

"Um, what was that thing with the pork all about?" Mulder asks when they're driving through Waikiki.

"Oh," Mrs. K. laughs, and switches back to standardized English, "it's kind of a, what you would say, superstition. Yeah."

"Oh really? What about?"

"It's fo' real," Mr. K. counters, "just las' week, dat idiot Puka Chang wen drive down da Pali wi' da kine imu pork, his car wen broke down nearby da lookout."

"Das because he get one junk car," Mrs. K. retorts, "ai you!"

"No, as soon as he wen eat 'um, the car stay okay again," Mr. K. responds. "See?"

"What, see what?" Mrs. K. rolls her eyes. "Jus' 'cause you no like get food to your auntie's place don't mean you can't take adda roads, but." Then she smiles sweetly at the backseat passengers. "Sorry, he's kinda old-fashioned."

"That's okay, it's just like Mommy and Daddy," Page responds, "Daddy believes in all kinds of stuff and Mommy argues with him."

"Oh yeah, that's right." Mrs. K. nods. "So, have you seen anything interesting lately?"

"Well," Mulder starts, but Scully puts a restraining hand on his shoulder. "We're just here for a vacation," he says sheepishly.

Mr. K., without looking at the rear view mirror, chuckles.

Mrs. K., for her part, nods complacently. "I was surprised when you actually decided to come after all these years, but I'm so glad you did," she says.

"Look, Mommy, isn't it pretty?" Page points at the lush mountainside.

Mrs. K. nods. "Waikiki may be well-known to mainlanders, but here, we know this is the best part of the island." Then she winks at Page. "Just don't tell my son that, 'cause he lives townside, poor thing."

"Okay," the blonde girl nods.

"You know," Mr. K. says conversationally, "this freeway get planny problems, too, not just da Pali."

"What do you mean?" Scully wonders, thinking maybe potholes or something similar.

"Oh, Abe!" Mrs. K. sighs. "Dat wasn't problems, da state cannot help if get heiau all ova da place!"

"Hey-ow?" Mulder tries.

"Heh heh," Mr. K. chuckles. "Yeah, heiau. Old Hawaiian temples. Had 'em all ova whea dis freeway stay, so wen dey wen build 'um, had to stop, pray, bless 'um wi' da kahuna, start again, find one graveyard, stop, do some moa blessings wi' da kahuna, argue wi' da sovereignty people an' da lawyahz, stop again... ho, was good fun."

"I take it kahuna are the Hawaiian priests," Mulder says, "or something like that. But why would this area have so many hey - um, temples, and graveyards? And what are sovereignty people?"

Mrs. K. sighs again, this time more deeply. As if regretting having her husband drive, she launches into a more detailed explanation. "This is a small island, and sooner or later, you'll run across sacred sites," she says, shooting a look at her husband, who stays quiet. "There are procedures you do when you come across sacred sites and artifacts, and they deal with both the state and Hawaiian groups.

"As for the sovereignty folks, well, that's more complicated than I can give on a drive. Let's just say that there are various Native Hawaiian groups who want various measures of recognition, restitution, and/or independence from the United States, since historically, the Hawaiian Islands were stolen from the reigning queen at the time, Queen Liliuokalani, in 1894 by the American military and the pro-US groups, who were a minority of missionary descendants. Being Hawaiian, I understand the righteous anger, but after being a part of the US for so long, and so many of our people so dependent on the current government, I don't think some of their ideas, like for complete withdrawal and independence, are very realistic."

The elder woman looks out the window as the windward side unfolds after going through the tunnel. "There are ugly parts of history, especially when it deals with native peoples, but I figure we should learn from the past so we don't repeat their mistakes, right?" She shakes her head. "Anyways, we're heading towards Kailua side, but try look back."

The children, whose heads the brief history and social studies lecture went over, obediently look back through their large windows. "Wow, it looks like God took a fork to the mountain, Mommy," Page exclaims.

"Or something like that," Scully agrees, but there's no mistaking how the sharp edges of the mountain and the unbelievable greenness against the blue sky makes for a striking picture.

"I can't say I blame you for wanting to move back as quickly as you did after winning the lottery," Mulder remarks, smiling as his father takes pictures and his other children strain against their child seats for a better view. "It's not hard to see why they call this place paradise."

"Heh heh," Mr. K. chuckles. "Lucky we live Hawaii, yeah?"

"Yeah," Mrs. K. smiles, and they drive through a large intersection. "Welcome to Kailua."

* * *

It takes them going from a paved road to a sharp turn down a hill and then ending on to a grassy area. "Nice place you got here," Bill Mulder comments when they pile out of the van. The grassy parking lot has a small house on one side, a boat dock on the other, and the hill on the side.

"It's no Waikiki, dat's fo' damn sure," Mr. K. agrees, until his wife socks him in the arm.

"Abe! Watch yo' mout'!" Mrs. K. scolds him.

"Ah, sorry," the old Hawaiian man ducks his head, remembering there are children there. "Well, dat's my son's house," he points at the smaller house near the van, "dat's me an' Millie's house," he points at the house at the top of the hill.

"The one with the swimming pool? Nice," Mulder comments. "But you've got a boat down here, plus access to what looks like the shore. Isn't that a bit of an overkill?"

Mr. K. laughs. "Ah, das not da beach," he points out, and they all look. "Ova dea, get coral reef, good fo' fishing but not fo' swimming." He looks at the small children. "Eh, make shua da keeds stay away from dea, da wata's kinda shallow at firs', but get strong tides, eh? Even strong swimmaz get ha'd time come back, an' dose reefs cut 'um up bad."

"Gotcha." Mulder nods. "Okay, gang, no heading over there, okay? It's dangerous."

"Okay," the small multitude chorus.

Scully raises a finger. "Pinky promise?"

"Aw, Mom," Sammy groans, but obediently raises his pinkie with the rest of his siblings who are able. "Pinky promise."

"Pinky promise," his brothers and sisters chime in.

"I wish all promises could be made that easily," Mrs. K. smiles, then jerks her head towards her house. "Come on, I got some goodies for the kids." As the kids race each other up the hill, she laughs. "And some for the grownups, too, if we can get there before the little ones don't eat them all first."

"Race you, Scully." Mulder grins, picking up Christopher and hauling ass.

"Mulderrrrrr!" she wails, likewise picking up William and running after him in, thankfully, sensible sneakers rather than her usual arch-defying business heels.

"My son is usually more mature than that," Bill Mulder apologizes to the elderly couple. Mr. K. raises his white eyebrows, while Mrs. K. gives him a skeptical look worthy of Scully, and the old man sighs. "Okay, he's got his moments, but this isn't one of them." Then they all share a look and start laughing.

"They never do grow up, do they?" Mrs. K. smiles.

"I wish." Mr. K. snorts.

Bill Mulder shakes his head. "I can't believe we're leaving the future of the world to them," he mutters, then grins weakly as the old couple, misinterpreting his meaning, chuckle some more before they all make their slow way up the hill.

* * *

It doesn't take long for the Kahaiali`is to share with the Mulders the other thing Hawaii is famous for, their aloha spirit. Which, in this case, means plenty of good food and lots of catching up. "Um, what is that?" Bill Mulder points at a bowl full of what looks to be lavender-colored pudding.

"Oh, that's poi." Mrs. K. smiles, dipping her poke fish inside before putting it into her mouth. "It's ground-up taro and it's so ono, I mean, delicious. Try some."

Gingerly, the elder Mulder imitates what she's done, but a peculiar expression comes over his face. "I think I'll try something else," he says after taking a while to swallow.

Mulder laughs. "Try the laulau, Dad. The mix of meats and ti leaves is awesome." Then he turns his puppy dog eyes on to his kids' former nanny. "Would you mind sharing the recipe with my wife?"

"Mulder," Scully groans, "I can't even think of cooking, I'm so full." Then she smiles at Mrs. K. "This was wonderful. Your idea of rice is different from ours," and Mr. K. chuckles, "but oh my goodness, that chicken katsu was heavenly." She sighs contentedly, "If they ever serve food like this in DC, I would be as round as a ball."

"That just means more of you to love, Scully." Mulder grins and wraps his arms around her, and she socks him. "Hey! Isn't this the land of aloha? Show your husband some love," he pouts.

The Kahaiali`is laugh as Scully snorts, shakes her head, and goes over to feed Christopher, who has taken poi to be a new paint medium for his surrounding area. "I'm surprised you have as many children as you do," Mrs. K. notes, "if you keep teasing her like that."

"Surprises me, too," Bill Mulder chuckles, and his son scowls. "Hey, I know I'm not the only who thinks it's a miracle she doesn't strangle you half the time."

"Hey," Mulder puts his hands up, "I kid, because I love." When he sees his elders aren't buying it, he sighs. "I dunno, it's a habit." He smiles fondly at the kids gazing upwards at the various handcrafted wooden objects hanging from the ceiling, and then at the mother of his progeny. "She's definitely my one in five billion."

"Ooh, you're so cute!" Mrs. K. exclaims, hugging him as if he were as old as his kids.

"Urk." Mulder feels as embarrassed as if he were Sammy hugged by a distant relation, "thanks?"

"Okay, okay, Hope, da boy no can breed!" Mr. K. chides his wife, who makes a face but pats Mulder's arm as she lets go. "He's not one of yo' babysitting keeds!"

"I know, I know," Mrs. K. smiles, "but he stay so cute!"

"I'm, um, gonna play with the kids now," Mulder says before he can get any more embarrassed.

"Wow," Bill Mulder comments, watching his lanky son hustle over and get knocked in the head by a dangling wooden turtle, "I should bring him here more often. A little embarrassment does the boy good."

"Man, you stay one mean buggah, eh?" Mr. K. grins, and the men chuckle while Mrs. K. clucks her tongue. "Eh, you like go fish?"

The elder Mulder interprets that as an invitation to go fishing rather than play the card game, and nods. The two old men soon head out to the dock with bait and rods, as well as canned soda provided by Mrs. K. and the blessings of the younger Mulders and Scully.

* * *

Kailua Beach Park

The Kahaiali`is had invited the Mulder-Scully family over to their side of the island for a trip to the beach. "Trust me, Waikiki's gonna be crowded," Mrs. K. warned when Mulder told her of their plans. "Especially this time of year."

"Eh, jus' tell 'um you get chicken katsu!" Mulder heard Mr. K. holler, and he chuckled.

"But if you don't want to, you don't have to," Mrs. K. tried to be gracious about it, but the excellent cell phone reception also picked up her hissed, "Gunfunnit, Abe!"

Usually, Mulder would've classified this as a passive-aggressive type of request, but he knew Scully would kill him if she knew he'd turned down the chicken katsu. So, being the wise husband that he was, he'd accepted their invitation. "Not because I fear for my life," he'd said, "but because I don't think the kids would have a good time at a crowded beach." And after they'd hammered out time and directions, Mulder hung up, figuring that even if Scully put up a fuss, she wouldn't be too mad.

And right now, as they sat on the beach with their friends, food at hand and kids frolicking around them, with the beautiful waters beckoning and the aptly-nicknamed Chinaman's Hat in view, Mulder figures this is pretty much why they call it paradise. Next to him, the love of his life yawns and stretches, then props her head on her hands. "Maybe we can stay here on a permanent vacation." Scully smiles, closing her eyes behind her dark sunglasses.

"I wish." Mulder grins, reaching for more of hurricane popcorn, or popcorn mixed with furikake and arare.

"Ooh, I'm stuffed," Bill Mulder sighs contentedly, rubbing his stomach, and Mr. K. chuckles, raising his can of guava Hawaiian Sun juice.

"I'm gonna tell Mommy on you!" a high-pitched voice shouts.

"Here we go," Scully groans, opening her eyes. It isn't long before Page runs up, her face red from exertion and righteous indignation. "Yes?"

"Mommy, Sammy's making Mr. K.'s boat into a coffin for Christopher and when I told him to stop, he wouldn't!" her eldest daughter declares.

The petite redhead gets to her feet, shielding her eyes as she assesses the situation from afar, and smothers a giggle when she sees her little boy solemnly making the sign of the cross just like their local priest. "I'll take care of it," Scully says severely to her husband, whose mouth is already turning up.

"I'll go, too," Page announces, trotting after her mother like a Mini-Scully.

The older people chuckle as they watch Scully trying her best to scold her little boy without cracking up herself. "I remember my mom scolding me for using her wedding veil as a nun's wimple when I was little," Mrs. K. smiles fondly. "It didn't help that I used her lipstick, too."

Mr. K. cackles, "Yeah, well, my braddahs and me wen use up all da juice an' cookies tryin' fo' make 'um like holy communion."

"Are you both Catholic?" Bill Mulder wonders.

"Nah," Mr. K. shakes his head, "I stay goin' my wife's New Hope church sometimes. But everybody's Catholic at least once in deah life, eh?"

Bill Mulder chuckles, squinting against the sun. "I guess so, yeah."

Mulder looks at his father, curious. "When were you ever Catholic, Dad?"

The elder Mulder looks at his son, and a sheepish smile takes over. "Back before I met your mother, there was a blonde in college who wouldn't go out with me unless I went to Mass with her. So I went."

Mulder shakes his head, looking at his lovely wife, who is now trying to separate Sammy from Page while carrying Christopher. "That kinda sounds familiar," he deadpans.

* * *

It takes a little time, but things are finally smoothed over between the two eldest siblings, and now Mr. K. and Bill Mulder are having a burping contest with Sammy and Mrs. K. is teaching Scully about the Hawaiian language, in between chortling over Christopher's efforts to be a big brother to William.

Mulder, for his part, has a happier version of déjà vu with Page and the twins as they build sand castles. Well, David and Jared are, while Page is constructing her version of a cat. Much as he is proud of his children, Mulder doesn't have the heart to tell her that the "cat" looks more like a mutant cow-wolf.

Suddenly, there is a cry for help, and everyone looks towards the sound. It is distant, and as the lifeguard on duty rushes and dives into the waters, people start congregating at the shoreline. Then Scully cries out, "Mulder, where's April?"

Mulder looks around, but their little girl is nowhere to be found. And now he, like Scully, feels the dread at the pit of his stomach, and all the food he's eaten is threatening to come up. "Mr. K., could I borrow your boat?" he asks, running to the vessel.

"Sure." Mr. K. waves, "but I think your wife get 'um first."

"I'm driving," Scully says, hauling the damn thing with inhuman strength born of a mother's desperation.

"Fine," Mulder says, helping to push it, "who's gonna look after the kids?"

"We can," Mr. K. says, as he and Bill Mulder pick up the sides, "get your girl."

The couple nod briefly, then Scully jumps in while the men push it off, and Mulder awkwardly clambers in after her. She yanks the engine's cord, grabs the steering and heads out towards the small orange dot of the lifeguard's vest. He squints at the dot, hoping and praying that April is okay, that both she and the lifeguard are above water.

It seems like forever, but they can finally see the lifeguard clearly. To their dismay, however, the man is unconscious as they draw near, but he's holding on to what looks like a redheaded rag doll. Scully gasps and pulls her little girl into the boat, while Mulder hauls the limp man in. They perform CPR on their respective "partners" with a ferocity that might be misinterpreted as an assault, but it gets the job done while they're out there on the water. "April, baby," Scully cries when her daughter coughs up water, "oh, baby, it's okay, it's okay..."

Mulder waits a bit while the lifeguard coughs up water, gives the guy's back a whack for good measure, then asks, "What the hell happened out there?"

Scully's eyes are on the man, even as she sits up April up and pats her back. The lifeguard coughs again and shakes his head. "Got a damn leg cramp on the way back," he rasps, wiping his mouth as he sits up slowly. "Your girl was unconscious when I got there, halfway to Chinaman's Hat ... thanks."

"Where's the turtle?" April asks when there's more color to her cheeks.

"What turtle?" Scully asks gently, now that they're back at the beach, surrounded by family and friends.

"When I got caughted by the water, I was so scared," the little redhead says, "and then there was this big turtle." She smiles. "It was big like an island!"

"Cool!" Sammy bounces up to her. "Was it old and crusty, or green like that?" And he points to Chinaman's Hat.

"It was kinda old-looking, but kinda green," April says. "Well, kinda yellowy, too. But it was nice."

"Turtles aren't nice." Page makes a face. "They're smelly and icky."

"Well, you're stupid," Sammy says.

"No, you are," Page retorts.

"No, you are," Sammy replies wittily.

They keep going until Scully pulls their ears. "Enough," she scolds them. "If April said it was nice, then it was."

"What she said," Mulder says, half-smiling. He's still amazed at the events that happened earlier, but he's relieved that everyone's all right, even if the lifeguard was embarrassed to have needed rescuing himself.

* * *

Parking hell - um, the tourist gem that is Waikiki

A couple of days later, everyone is in Waikiki, taking care of the usual tourist things, that is, shopping, taking pictures and gawking. The Kahaiali`is, feeling bad about April's near-drowning, promised to foot the bill for whatever tacky madness they decided to buy. "You sure about that?" Scully asks, as Mulder pulls one brightly-colored aloha shirt out after another at one ABC store. "Mulder's got pretty bad taste."

"Hey, I heard that," Mulder says behind a neon orange shirt with big red and blue flowers.

"Good," Bill Mulder chuckles, "because you do. That shirt could make a blind man have seizures."

"It's not that bad." Mulder pouts at his dad. "Oh look, it's just your size."

"God forbid." The elder Mulder puts a hand to his heart, "you'd have to kill me first to put that on me."

Scully shakes her head. "Between you and his mother, where on earth did Mulder get his fondness for ridiculously cheesy things?"

Bill Mulder shrugs, "I chalked it up to rebellion against his mother making him wear those junior senator-type clothes in his teens. Frankly, I was surprised when he joined the FBI, since he'd have to wear suits as part of the job."

Mrs. K. shakes her head. "Nothing bad about looking your best. But I guess on the mainland, they have to wear suits, while over here, men can just go in aloha shirts and slacks."

"Scully, do you think it's too late to request for a transfer here?" Mulder looks at his wife hopefully.

She gives him a look. "Mulder, our house is paid in full, our children are happy in their school, and I will never let you within fifty feet of an aloha shirt if you continue to pick those disgusting color combinations."

He squints at her, then at the shirt. "Page, is there anything wrong with this shirt?"

The little blonde girl puts down the shaking wooden pineapple tchotchke to look at her father, then shrieks. "Daddy, put that away! My eyes are hurting!"

Hurt, Mulder holds the shirt behind his back. "You didn't have to scream like that," he complains.

His little girl looks up at him with concern. "Are you going blind, Daddy? My classmate Jory's mom is going blind, and she wears bright colors so she can see her clothes."

As the grownups do a bad job of hiding their laughs, Mulder sighs as he puts the shirt back. "No, I'm not going blind," he replies, glaring at his wife, father and hosts, but can't quell their smothered mirth. "I just like interesting stuff."

"Oh," Page says, then goes back to her perusal of various objects that dance on the shelf.

Her siblings, likewise, are playing with various doodads that make no sense whatsoever, even within a tourist context. "Daddy, look at me." Sammy bowls into his father's legs. "I'm a lion. Roar!"

Chuckling, Mulder plucks the green cellophane hula skirt off his son's head. "Um, I think lion's have a different color," he says, then squats down to his son's level. "Why is that on your face?" he asks about the coconut bra currently residing on Sammy's face.

"Lion cheeks," Sammy says, "cool, huh?"

"Sammy, take that off!" Scully rushes over to divest her son of the inappropriate item, glaring at Mulder as if he was the one dressing Sammy up like this.

"Mo-om," Sammy wails, unaware of what the costume was really for, then catches sight of the shirt Mulder had put back on the rack. "Cool."

"See?" Mulder gestures at his son.

Scully rolls her eyes. "No more shopping for you two," she says, then sighs when she sees the twins and April piling fake leis on each other. "Oh, brother."

"Ho, looks like graduation," Mr. K. chuckles.

"Graduation?" Mulder asks, curious.

Mrs. K. nods. "Over here, when students graduate, they put lei on the graduate, and those with lots of family and friends get lei piled so high, you can't see their face."

"Aw man, wish we'd known that when John graduated from the FBI academy." Mulder sighs while watching his beloved wife try unsuccessfully to de-lei her children. "That would've been funny to see John buried under a bunch of flowers."

Mrs. K. shakes her head. "Lei is given out of love," she gently chides him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, contrite.

"Heh heh heh," Mr. K. grins, "I t'ink yo' wife needs help."

In the end, even Mulder couldn't get the cloth-flower leis off his children's necks, and the Kahaiali`is end up paying for about ten fake leis, a conch shell horn, a perfume pack of various Hawaiian floral scents, a couple bags of Kona coffee, some fruit, keychains with plastic surfers and slippers, and a bright red t-shirt reading "I went to Hawaii and you didn't!"

* * *

As they walk down the sidewalks of Waikiki, not only because of the sights, but also because affordable parking was pretty far from the shopping district, the grownups are having themselves quite the task of keeping an eye on all the kids. The littler ones, including William, have already gotten the point that the grownups want to relax, so they try to make life as stressful as possible by crying at every opportunity, or, as in the case of the older kids, running into every store and hotel they come across.

"Are they trying to make me want to kill them?" Scully asks, exasperated after what seems like the fiftieth time they're running after the kids with baby in arms. "Because if that's their goal, it's working."

"They're just excited," Mrs. K. huffs after her.

"Gotcha!" Mulder crows, holding the twins in his arms as the women hustle over. "Scully, the girls are in the bathroom, Dad, the other boys are up the escalator," he says, wondering why he let Sammy take Christopher with him.

Mr. K. takes the twins from their father. "You go get yo' boys," he tells the younger man, "me an' yo' dad gone take care dese guys."

Mulder nods, then takes off at a run towards the escalator. His father watches, bemused, then stiffly crouches down to look at the twins, a half-smile on his face. "What are you guys up to?" he asks.

David and Jared look at each other for a brief moment, but it seems they've spoken a good deal before looking at their grandfather. "Nothing," they chorus.

Bill Mulder gives one boy a look, then the other. "Yeah, right," he says, his tone and mannerism exactly the same as his son when he's not buying it.

His grandsons give him the same puppy dog look Mulder gives Scully. "Really," they say, the picture of innocence and cuteness.

Bill Mulder sighs, and Mr. K. cracks up. "You got some kolohe kids, eh?" he chortles.

"Coe what?" Bill Mulder's expression is blank.

"Kolohe," Mr. K. says more slowly, "rascal, yeah?" He bends over and tousles Jared's dark hair, then David's. As he's doing so, a man in a dark jacket and faded jeans bumps into him, then runs off. "Eh!" Mr. K. shouts, mad at the young man's rudeness, then gets suspicious and checks his pocket. His wallet is gone. "Son of a-!"

Before he can finish the epithet, a large dark man in a tightly-fitting green t-shirt, blue board shorts and slippers barrels after the thief. The fact that he can move so fast despite his size bowls over not only the old men, but also the thief, who ends up smooshed on the sidewalk outside. "Eh, uncle, dis yours?" the big Samoan asks, holding up the wallet when the old men and little boys catch up outside.

Mr. K. nods, nodding again when he checks the contents. "Wow, t'anks," he says, clearly touched. "Eh, I can buy you suppah or what?"

"Nah, das okay," the big guy grins, patting his expansive stomach, "I gotta wait fo' da cops."

"Oh yeah, yeah," Mr. K. nods again. "Guess I gotta wait witchu, den."

So the old men and the twins wait outside on the sidewalk, the thief still pinned underneath the Samoan with the faded green TMNT t-shirt, while Mulder and Scully continue to round up their children.

* * *

Haunama Bay

"Wow, I can't believe the time has gone by so fast." Scully sighs, her cheeks pinkish with a touch of sunburn. "This place is amazing."

"This beach, or this island in general?" Mulder asks lazily. Now that the kids are all pooped out, sprawled under the makeshift tent, he's not too worried about them wandering off or getting into trouble.

"Yes," Scully replies, smiling. "I'm almost tempted to stay here, but I know we can't be on vacation forever." Already her mind is filled with recent memories of the places they've shopped at, hiked up, snorkeled in, surfed at, and, just last night, attempted the hula in. Not to mention all that good food she's going to have to work off...

"Why not?" Mulder pouts. "We could have a second honeymoon here, then a third, maybe even a fourth..." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

She snorts, then giggles. "Any more honeymoons would only result in more kids, and if we have any more vacations like this with more kids, we'd have to hire boot camp sergeants to keep them in line."

"That's a scary thought." Mulder shudders. Then he puts his puppy dog eyes on her. "Maybe one more honeymoon, without the kids?"

Scully looks at him, then at their sleeping children, then laughs loudly, causing April to mutter and William to roll over, but none of them wake up. She breathes a sigh of relief, then glares at her husband. "Dork."

"I'm not a -," Mulder starts to protest when his father and the Kahaiali`is come into view. His father is wearing an ear-to-ear grin as well as flippers, a snorkel, goggles, and the dorkiest old man-type of board shorts out there, holding up his waterproof camera in triumph. Mulder grins back and waves, "I'm guessing there's gonna be a lot of fish on film," he comments.

"There are a lot of colorful fish in these waters," Scully notes. "I'm glad he's taking pictures, rather than taking home ungodly-colored aloha shirts."

"Hey," Mulder pouts, and his pout gets deeper when his father tousles his hair with his wet hand, looking not unlike Sammy. "Da-ad."

Bill Mulder chuckles, unrepentant. "I got some pretty good shots out there." He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I think I even got one of a turtle, although that swam by pretty fast."

"A turtle?" Mrs. K. asks, turning to look out at the ocean. "There?"

Bill Mulder nods. "Yep. It was pretty big, so I guessed him to be pretty old, but he moved faster than David and Jared," he chuckles. "Amazing, a guy that old could move that fast."

Mulder smiles in spite of himself. "You're not too shabby yourself, Dad."

"I t'ink our aumakua was lookin' after you guys, too," Mr. K. notes.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asks. Not that he was unfamiliar with the word, but wasn't quite sure what the old man was referring to specifically.

"Honu, das da turtle, das our aumakua, our ancestor dat watches ovah us," Mr. K. explains. "Sometimes he come fo' protect us, to warn us, to bless us, and sometimes, to scold us." He, like his wife, looks back towards the ocean. "I t'ink he was helping yo' daughtah da oddah day, and he like say goodbye to yo' dad today."

Mulder's father shakes his head. "I don't believe the same stuff my son does," he starts off.

"Das awright." the old Hawaiian man shrugs. "You guys had fun mostly, yeah?" When the Mulders and Scully nod, he laughs. "See? Our honu like take care you guys, too. And soon you guys going home, so he like say bye, das all."

"If you say so," Bill Mulder says, trying to be diplomatic.

"That sounds nice," Scully says, surprising both her husband and father-in-law. "I'm glad I came here."

"Me, too," Mulder says, his voice betraying the wonder he still feels after his wife's statement.

"Good," Mrs. K. turns around, then gives them each a nearly bone-crushing hug. "Oh, I'm so happy you guys came, too. And I'm happy I got to see all your kids, and your father, too."

"Next time, we'll bring leashes so they won't go running off in all directions," Mulder half-jokes.

"Mulder!" Scully shoots him a look.

He shrugs. "Just kidding."


	106. Conscience

Mulder-Scully Home  
August 2nd, 2001  
9 p.m.

Despite the fact that their flight got in quite late, all the kids except for William and Christopher are still wide awake when Mulder pulls the van into their driveway.

"Oh wow, look!" Sammy says excitedly, pointing out the passenger side window.

At first Mulder can't figure out what his oldest son is looking at, but then he notices a green spark flying past the windshield of the van.

"Fireflies!" David exclaims, which surprises Mulder. Maybe Scully or Michelle has read the twins a book that features them, because he's pretty sure there haven't been fireflies around the house in their lifetime.

"Oh, there's lots of them," April says softly. "They're so pretty."

"You know," Scully tells them. "When I was a little girl we used to catch them and keep them in jars. Just over night for a sleepover."

"Can we, Mommy?" Jared asks excitedly. "We catch 'em?"

"Wouldn't it hurt them?" Page asks, looking concerned.

"Nope. They do fine overnight, as long as we let them go in the morning," Mulder promises. "Scully, I think there were some empty mason jars up in the attic, with Saul's stuff. Do mind if we use them?" Even as he asks, Mulder wonders what his great-uncle used the jars for. He couldn't picture the old man canning preserves.

"I didn't have any plans for them. Why not?"

Mulder feels a sense of wonder when he and the kids spend the next hour out in the yard, trying to catch the glowing insects. Like Scully and her siblings, he and Samantha spent many summer nights catching fireflies too. But it was a different sort of special than it is to do the same with his own children.

When the kids are finally convinced to come inside, they try to interest William in the jars they're clutching, but the infant can't be coaxed awake long enough to care. Christopher, on the other hand, claps when he sees the bugs glow.

That night, each of the kids' nightstands holds a living nightlight, and a soft green glow puts green spotlights on their faces as they sleep. Mulder is tempted to pull out his camera, but he knows that the flash would wake them, so instead he contents himself with committing the sight to memory.

* * *

Hoover Building  
August 6th, 2001

"Hey, welcome back," Doggett greets Scully as soon she steps foot through the door.

"Thanks."

"You look like your vacation agreed with you," Reyes remarks. "You're still a little pink."

"I put sunscreen on everyone religiously but there's a lot of sun in Hawaii. It was a great vacation, though, thanks to old friends of the family who showed us around. Mulder and his dad had a wonderful time. The kids had fun too. Except for William - he slept through most of it."

"I'll bet." Doggett smirks. "I took Luke camping at that age, and he kept his eyes shut ninety percent of the time."

"So... Have I missed anything interesting while I was gone?" Unlike Mulder, she doesn't feel the need to keep close tabs on the office while out on leaves, so she hasn't spoken to them about cases in weeks.

"Here? Nothing important," Doggett tells her. "But I have some news of my own."

"What?" Scully asks curiously.

"I've just officially started adoption proceedings." He grins broadly.

"You're adopting Gibson? That's great!" She cocks her head. "What made you decide to legally add him to the family?"

"After all this time he's all but ours anyway - Hannah tells people that she has two brothers, for cryin' out loud - and it'll make things easier legally if we do the paperwork. This was prompted by social services wanting to know if he still needed to be in protective custody. They showed me how easy it'd be to keep him, so I had to jump at the chance." Doggett explains.

"Wow," Scully says before digging through Mulder's top drawer. She hands Doggett a cylinder. "Maybe you can ask Mulder where he gets these."

Doggett reads the It's A Boy label on the cigar and starts laughing. "It's too bad no one throws you a shower when your new addition is a teenager."

"Hey-" Reyes starts to say, but Doggett cuts her off.

"Don't even think about it."

"You're no fun." Reyes pouts.

"Oh, I'm plenty fun, but I don't want Gibson dying of embarrassment before he's rightfully mine."

"That's reasonable," Scully tells them. "There's plenty of time to mortify your newest child later."

"My newest child. I like that," Doggett remarks.

Before they can get any farther a field, Skinner calls them up to discuss a case.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Late August 2001  
11 p.m.

"No! Don't!"

The frightened voice rings loudly in the quiet house and Scully jumps to feet, forgetting to pause the movie she's been watching since Mulder went to bed. She takes the stairs two at a time, hoping to reach her daughter before she shouts again and wakes everyone.

The door to April's room is open a few inches, just as it always is because April refuses to sleep with it shut. Through the crack Scully can see April flailing at an imaginary foe, with her eyes screwed shut.

Scully avoids the kicking feet as she gathers her small daughter in her arms. "Shhh. It's okay. You're okay now."

Waking up, April slowly stops struggling. But when she opens her eyes she bursts into tears.

"What's the matter?" Scully asks in confusion. Usually the kids are comforted after a nightmare when they discover it's Mom or Dad holding them instead of a monster.

"Oh Mommy, he was hurting the girl!" April wails.

For a second Scully worries that discussing a case in front of the kids has given her nightmares, but she can't think of any recent cases that involved children.

"What girl, April?"

April makes a helpless gesture with her hands. "The little girl!"

A more sinister possibly occurs to Scully. "Has one of the girls at school told you that someone is hurting her?"

April shakes her head vehemently. "She's too little to go to school."

"You were dreaming about someone who isn't real, then?" Scully feels some measure of relief that there's no child abuse to worry about.

"She is real! I just don't know her," April insists.

"It's okay. Sometimes we all dream of made believe people, like characters in a book. It's scary when bad things happen to them, but it's okay because they don't really get hurt."

Instead of being soothed like Scully expects, April looks at her with a hurt expression. One that suggests she feels lied to or betrayed. "He doesn't hit her, but he's so mean. He won't even talk to her."

Trying to erase the look on her daughter's face, Scully decides to humor her. "Which man, April?"

"I don't know," April says sulkily as she pushes herself off her mother's lap. "I don't know him either."

"Okay." As soon as Scully tucks her back in, April rolls onto her side, effectively turning her back on Scully.

She decides to send Mulder next time if the nightmare reoccurs.

* * *

"What happened?" Mulder asks sleepily when she crawls into bed a few minutes later.

"April had a nightmare."

"Oh. Me too just now."

"What was yours about?" she asks uneasily. For a moment she's sure he'll also describe a small girl being neglected.

"Rachel and Pendrell came by to visit," he says with a yawn.

"What was so scary about that?" she asks, wondering what danger their former nanny and former co-worker could present. "Did they bring monsters with them?"

"The jury was still out on that. Rachel was pregnant. With septuplets."

"Septuplets? She quit because she didn't want to deal with our twins."

"I know. She'd die of the horror, she even said so. It was a nightmare because she and Sean did want to die, and leave the babies to us. Seven babies at once is a hell of a lot harder than seven spread out over seven years." he says, shivering.

"So you're saying you don't want septuplets next time?" she asks with a wicked smile.

"No! Two at once was hard enough. I can't imagine another five!" Mulder half shouts, reining himself in only when Scully elbows him in the side to remind him of their sleeping children.

"I was kidding, Mulder."

He gives her a suspicious look. "We're not having another baby any time soon, are we?"

"To quote the magic 8 ball 'signs point to no.'"

"Ah. I thought it just said that signs point to yes."

"Whatever, Mulder. Not all of us have photographic memories."

He yawns. "Have you heard from Rachel lately, anyway?"

"Not since Christmas."

"Maybe I'll e-mail them. Just to see how they are."

"Good idea." She mumbles, but she's already rolled over to go back to sleep.

::Seven kids for Rachel:: he thinks. ::If God is merciful, he'll never let that happen. There couldn't be therapy enough for that family.::

* * *

September 4th, 2001  
7 a.m.

Before they head out the door, Scully makes sure that Sammy and Page have their backpacks. Sammy's has a large open-mouthed dinosaur on it, and Page's has kittens on it, ones that look really different from Telico and Piper she keeps telling her mother, as if Scully isn't supposed to realize this is part of her campaign to add a new kitten to the household. She's thoroughly unconvinced that seven kids need another pet.

"Mommy, your car or the van?" Sammy asks, clutching his backpack like he's afraid it will get away.

"My car," she tells him. They don't take her car out very often, since there's usually too many people going on an outing to make it practical, but this morning it's just the three of them.

The two kids climb onto the backseat, and it throws her for a second when they both work the buckles to their seatbelts without needing help. She's too used to it taking several minutes before being able to drive off.

"Sammy, are you nervous?" she asks quietly as she reverses out of the driveway.

"Nope," he says, but Scully wonders if he's being entirely truthful. Her two oldest kids are the most out-going, but she figures they must feel shy or anxious sometimes. Mustn't they?

She seems not to be the only one with that in mind, because she hears Page say, "It's okay, Sammy, all the first grade teachers are real nice. And first and second grade kids have recess together, so you can play with Emily and me and our friends if you don't make friends right away."

"Okay," he says, sounding relieved.

The corner of Scully's mouth quirks up, but she tries not to smile openly. Once upon a time, she can remember having a similar conversation with Charlie when he started school. If Sammy is anything like her brother, he'll probably have new friends by the end of the day, and will be just waving to Page and his cousin at recess tomorrow.

"Daddy will pick you both up when school is over," Scully tells them.

"We'll wait for him out front," Page says with a short nod of her head.

As Scully drives, she glances back at the kids at stoplights. Mulder will be leaving the house soon to bring April, David, and Jared to preschool. Today is what she wanted a year ago, not to have Mulder be missing and possibly dead. Not to have sent Page to off her first full day of school with Missy.

"Mommy, what are you thinking about?" Sammy asks, and in the rear view mirror she sees that his bright eyes are staring at her. "You're smiling."

"I was just thinking about how life has a way of working out sometimes."

"That's good, right?" Page asks with an uncertain smile.

"It's great," Scully reassures her.

* * *

Preschool  
Thirty Minutes Later

For once, April is the one who fearlessly forges ahead. Small girls call her name, and she races toward them with a broad smile. David, on the other hand, shrinks against Mulder's leg and has a death grip on his pants. And Jared took one fearful look at the preschool building before begging to be picked up.

Mulder glances down at the boys with a bit of trepidation. They'll spend the next three school years here, but he and Scully already know that the school their older siblings now attend has a policy of splitting up twins into different classrooms. ::I don't think they'd understand if I told them to enjoy it while it lasts.:: He muses to himself.

"Mister Mulder!" a familiar voice calls. He's not surprised to see one of the teachers walking towards him. "They've gotten so big, haven't they? I remember you bringing them with you Sammy's first day of school, and they were just tiny newborns."

"We've got a new brother," David offers shyly. "He's little."

"I bet his is," the teacher agrees. "Does he look like your mommy or daddy more?"

"Like Mommy," Jared says immediately from his perch in Mulder's arms. "He got red hair."

"I see. You two look just like Daddy, though, don't you?"

"Yup," they both agree. It's a remark they've heard often in their short lives.

"Identical?" the teacher mouths to Mulder and he nods slightly.

"David's favorite color is red and Jared's is blue. They insisted on getting sneakers in those colors," Mulder tells her, knowing that she'll read between the lines. He and Scully aren't willing to restrict the clothing colors the boys can choose from, but color-coded footwear should help the teachers tell them apart at a glance.

"Got you," the teacher says before taking David by the hand. Mulder puts Jared down and she takes his hand too. "We're going to have a lot of fun today. And there are two boys who have been waiting to meet you."

"There is?" David looks surprised.

"Yup, their names are Taylor and Tyler, and they're twins just like you."

Perhaps recalling that Mulder had once brought those particular classmates up, the boys look intrigued. He heads out while they're distracted, hoping that there won't be any tears when they realize he's gone.

* * *

Hoover Building  
8:10 a.m.

The phone on Scully's desk rings. "Scully."

"Hey. David and Jared were nervous, but there weren't any tears by the time I left. How did the first day of school go on your end?"

"Good. When Sammy comes home some time soon and complains that the girls won't leave him alone, pretend to be surprised," Scully says with a slight chuckle. "From the looks he got when we walked in, I think he's going to end up leaving a trail of broken six-year-old hearts behind him this year."

"No doubt. I seem to recall your mother telling me once that Charlie was quite the heartbreaker too."

"He was. Bill might have been if he hadn't been such a stick in the mud, even as a little boy. So much for the theory that girls don't like redhead boys."

It's on the tip of his tongue to mention Rupert Grint as a counterpoint to that tired old idea, but the first Harry Potter movie is still a couple of months away from theaters and it'll be a handful of years yet before the young actor is a teen heartthrob.

"I guess I better let you go," Mulder says and she can hear Christopher babbling in the background. "Love you."

"Love you too, Mulder." When Scully hangs up she notices that both Doggett and Reyes are looking at her. "What?"

"I just got a call," Doggett tells her. "They want us at a crime scene."

"What kind of crime scene?" Scully asks when she notices that he's trying not to roll his eyes.

"Oh, they seem to think it has something to do with demons."

"Right," Scully says, reaching for her purse.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
September 11th, 2001  
9:02 a.m.

"Will, come on, put your legs down for Daddy," Mulder coaxes his youngest son. Not terribly interested in having his diaper changed, William kicks, making it as difficult as possible for Mulder to put on the fresh diaper.

"He don't wanna," Christopher says, looking up from playing with a truck on the floor.

"Sure, but he can't like to be wet either," Mulder finds himself pointing out. "You don't like to be wet do you, Christopher?"

"Big boys use potty," Christopher says proudly, even though his success rate is only about one time in three yet, he's gotten the idea that being potty trained is a big deal.

"Yes they do."

"Oh God, No!" Mulder hears the nanny shout. Then she screams his name. "Mister Mulder!"

Wide-eyed, Mulder grabs both of his sons, and runs down the hall. Having never heard the younger woman scream like that, he's terrified that she's managed to badly injure herself.

"What is it?" he asks as soon as he enters her room and doesn't see her missing a limb.

Tears streaming down her face, Michelle just points at the TV on her dresser. It only takes Mulder a few seconds to understand that there's been some sort of terrorist attack in New York, and that a plane has just been flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. ::What's the date?:: He finds himself wondering quickly. ::Must be the 11th. I should have guessed this still happens.::

They both watch in stunned horror as a second plane smashes into the side of the building. The reporter on screen expresses fear that something might happen in the capital too, which snaps them from their daze. Mulder shakes his head, rubs tears out of his own eyes, and springs into action with a plan. "Michelle, are you okay?"

"This is just so terrible..." she says miserably, but she looks more together. "I'm okay."

"Okay. I need you to call Dana's sister. Have her call the elementary school and tell the office that I'm picking Emily up as well as Sammy and Page, okay? She needs to give them permission."

"You're going to pick them up?"

"Yeah. I'll bring Emily to her after I get the younger kids from preschool. There's no sense in her making the trip if I'm already going there."

"I'll let her know," Michelle says before reaching for a tissue to blow her nose. "Do you think this is the beginning of a war?"

"I don't know," Mulder admits. "You'll be okay here with William and Christopher?"

"Of course."

Mulder hugs the little ones before he rushes out the door.

* * *

A lot of parents must have the same worries that he does, because the elementary school parking lot is full by the time he pulls in. There are staff members with clipboards at the doorways, and he explains that he's there to pick up two of his children and his niece. The woman nods and sends a teacher's aide to their classrooms.

"We don't want people wandering the halls. I'm sure you understand," she says apologetically.

"Better safe than sorry," Mulder tells her, knowing that it's probably not been an easy morning for her.

Like other children being led to waiting parents, all three of the kids are in tears when they're handed over to Mulder. He gives the woman with a clipboard a surprised look. "They already know?"

"The 4th graders were watching an educational show when the news interrupted," she explains. "News spread quickly."

"Right." Mulder picks up Sammy because he's crying the hardest, and has the girls hold hands as they walk through the parking lot. They crowd his legs. He's marginally thankful that the parking lot is small, so they don't have far to go.

Once the three of them are settled into booster seats in the back of the van, he gives them a sad smile. "Today's kind of scary, huh?"

They all nod.

"Uncle Fox, what happened?" Emily asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

::How do you explain terrorism to first and second graders?:: "Do you guys understand what war is?"

"Two countries fighting," Sammy answers wetly.

"That's right. Sometimes when one country wants to start a war, they do bad things to innocent people. This is called terrorism. That's what happened today. Two planes with people on them got smashed into a building in New York, which is pretty far away," he adds before he scares them.

"The people on those planes, they died. Didn't they, Daddy?" Page asks.

It breaks his heart to tell her the truth, but he has to. "Yes, Sweetie, they did."

"Were there kids on the planes?" Emily wants to know. "And Mommies and Daddies?"

::Oh God.:: "There were mothers and fathers, Emily. I don't know yet if there were any kids." ::But there probably were. They were passenger planes, after all.::

"What about the people in the building? Did they get hurt too?" Sammy asks.

"I don't know how many got hurt yet, Kiddo. I hope they all get out okay." Impulsively, Mulder leans over and kisses all three of them on their foreheads. "We need to go get April and the twins now. We'll just have to hope that no one else gets hurt, okay?"

"Okay," they agree.

* * *

Of course, it doesn't turn out that way, and the news soon reports that a plane has been flown into the pentagon and another crashes into a field as well. Mommies, Daddies, and even eight cute little kids are listed among the dead before everything is all over.

Later that night Mulder finds himself sobbing when the lists of victims scroll through and he sees that some of the victims are only two, three, and four years old; the very same ages as April, David, Jared and Christopher. With all of the flights they've taken their children on, it's only by the grace of God that it isn't him and Scully burying their children like those poor families will soon be doing.

Nobody ever thought that something like this could happen. The world becomes a more dangerous place in just one day.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
October 5th, 2001

The weeks that follow the terrorist attack on September 11th find Mulder more distraught than he ever anticipated. When the event happened in his old life, it wasn't something he felt a part of. He and Gibson had been in hiding, and it had taken until the ten o'clock news for them to even hear of what had transpired in New York and the capital. That night he'd put Gibson in the pickup truck they'd managed to find somewhere, and they then had rushed to an all night internet café fifty miles away just so Mulder could check his e-mail. As he'd hoped, Scully had e-mailed him earlier in the day to reassure them both that no one they knew had come to any harm.

After that he'd stopped thinking about the event that happened far far away to people he hadn't known. It had been on his to-do list to read more about the particulars, but he'd spent several more months in hiding with Gibson, and resurfaced only to find himself in the same situation with Scully later on, and there had been no time to think of the dead then, just of keeping themselves from joining their ranks. Somehow, even past the second anniversary of the tragedy, it had still escaped his attention that there had been several children among the victims. The fresh knowledge wounds him.

This time, he feels the tragedy as keenly as everyone else, and it makes him hold onto his own children tighter, perhaps too tightly. At least until he has something else to occupy his immediate attention...

All at once, or so he feels, it's finally the mythical six months he's been waiting for; it has been six months since the day Fox Mulder was dug up and rejoined the land of the living. And six months of waiting to see if he'll be reinstated to the X-Files. But today is the day they're supposed to make a decision and he's relieved, even if Kersh did decide to yank his chain by making him wait until Friday to meet.

He's been on tenterhooks since he woke up, which is why he practically dives on the phone when it rings. "Hello?"

"Is this Fox Mulder?" an unfamiliar male voice asks hesitatingly, making him wonder if Kersh got a male temp to cover for his sectary.

"Yes."

"Mister Mulder, this is your father's landlord...I think you had better come over here."

"What's wrong?"

When the landlord hesitates to reply, Mulder instantly begins to fear the worst. "I'm not sure. The door to his apartment was open, so I went in to check on him. I found some blood. Not a lot, but enough to be alarming. He's not here. And there was a note, to you."

"What does it say?"

"I didn't read it. It didn't feel right."

"I'll be right there."

Mulder glances at the clock. It'll be another half an hour before Michelle returns from picking the kids up from preschool. Sighing, he writes a note of his own before grabbing a diaper bag.

* * *

The landlord is pacing nervously in front of Bill Mulder's door when Mulder arrives with Christopher and William in tow. Mulder offers him an apologetic smile. "The blood you found, which room did you find it in?"

"The kitchen."

"Right."

Mulder sets William's baby seat on the living room floor before sitting Christopher on the couch. "Christopher, I want you to stay here, on the couch. Understand?"

The blond toddler nods seriously. "Stay on the couch."

"Good boy."

"Will he stay there?" the landlord asks dubiously.

"Probably not for long." Mulder walks to the door and locks it. "But he'll remember to for a little while."

"Okay." The man leads him into the kitchen and points to the floor. "I don't think your father got cut that badly from dropping a glass."

The blood is in fact mixed with broken glass. But it looks to him as though the glass was there before it was bled on, as though something other than a shattered glass had wounded his father.

* * *

There's a shrill burst of sound from the phone in Mulder's pocket, making both Mulder and the landlord jump.

"Phone, Daddy," a small voice from the living room helpfully informs them.

Mulder looks around the corner and is somewhat surprised to see his son is still on the couch. "Thanks, Sport."

Eventually he manages to fish the phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Mulder, where are you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!" Scully's slightly tinny voice scolds.

"I'm at my dad's. His landlord called me."

"Is your dad okay?" she asks quickly.

Mulder represses a sigh. "I don't know. We found blood, but Dad is missing."

"Oh God. How much blood?"

He understands what she's getting at. "Not enough to automatically assume that he's dead."

"I'll tell people that you're going to need the meeting rescheduled and come home myself."

"Thanks." Mulder snaps the phone shut, then glances over at the landlord. "You said there was a note?"

"Oh yeah," he says quickly. Then he pulls a folded piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and gives it to Mulder.

Mulder pales as he reads it. Before he leaves his father's home, he calls Scully back and asks her to have two more people meet him at the house.

* * *

Later

_Fox,  
__I'm running out of time. The syndicate isn't wiped out like we were led to believe, but madder men are now at the helm, sure that they can negotiate directly with the visitors. They said I've got to work with them or they'll hurt my loved ones. You said I'm a good grandfather and I'm trying to be. The kids are in danger, Fox, yours and your wife's sister's. I wish... Sh*t, I heard something _

There's part of the first letter of another word, but it stops after that. Mulder puts it down, and realizes a shocked silence has followed his reading aloud of the note. Of the three of them, he's not sure who looks the most upset.

"What is he talking about, Fox?" Missy asks, voice trembling.

"I don't know," Mulder admits, frustrated.

"Does this have to do with the pictures someone was taking last year?" Scully asks.

"I don't know," Mulder repeats.

"We need to find him," Krycek declares. "Immediately."

"I'm touched by your concern for my father," Mulder says dryly.

Krycek shoots him a sour look. "Screw you. We need to find him so we can find out what the hell he's talking about."

"In case you haven't noticed, we've got a pair of infants and several kids between us," Scully snaps. "We have other responsibilities. We can't just run off and look for Bill at the drop of a hat."

"I didn't mean the four of us," Krycek retorts. "Obviously we can't take the kids with us, it might be dangerous. I meant just Mulder and me."

::Crap. So much for returning to the X-Files in the near future.:: Mulder thinks, but then he realizes that he knew that he wasn't going to be going back any time soon from the moment he stared down at the bloody glass on his father's kitchen floor.

"But-" Scully starts to object, but trails off. Mulder can barely stand to look in her eyes, because they say just one thing: I don't want you to leave.

"Do you even know where to begin looking?" Missy demands to know.

This gives Mulder a pause. He's been mentally preparing to go look for his father, however reluctantly, but the thought of where they'd go hadn't really occurred to him yet.

"While we were on vacation, didn't your dad say something about there being a few break-ins in his building's parking lot?"

Mulder thinks for a few seconds, and recalls the conversation Scully meant. While they were on the plane home, Bill had said the only drawback to the apartment he'd been living in since selling his house was a rash of petty thefts in the lot. "Yeah, why?"

"He said they stopped when management installed cameras in the lot, right?" Scully asks. "Maybe the cameras caught something."

* * *

An Hour Later

When they drive back to Bill's apartment, Scully waits in the car. Missy and Krycek are waiting at home with the kids. Krycek had wanted to come, but he was so mad that Missy wouldn't let him, telling him that scaring the crap out of the landlord was no way to begin a search Bill.

It doesn't take long for the landlord to agree to get Mulder the footage from the cameras in the parking lot.

Mulder shakes his father's landlord's hand. "Thank you so much for this." He nods to indicate the VHS tape he's holding in the other hand.

"Not a problem. I just hope that it helps you find your father. He's a good tenant. Everyone likes him."

"That sounds like Dad," Mulder says with a ghost of a smile.

"Good luck, Mister Mulder," the landlord says, not quite meeting his eyes. All at once Mulder realizes that the landlord doesn't ever expect to see Bill again. He pretends not to notice.

* * *

A Short Time Later

The four of them watch the video five times, but there's nothing but frustration to be found in it.

"No one noticed the ski masks?" Missy asks, her voice incredulous. "In broad daylight?"

"I think most of Dad's neighbors are working people," Mulder says. "There probably was no one home to notice how conspicuous they looked."

"At least he's alive," Krycek points out.

The video shows Bill Mulder being pulled out of his home by two masked men and forced into the back of a non-descript black car. Bill is stumbling, but moving under his own power, which makes them all think that he wasn't badly hurt despite the blood in his kitchen.

"This wasn't a spur of the moment thing," Scully remarks irritably. "They planned this. That's why there's no license plate on the back of the car. They must have known that there was a possibility they were going to be on tape, with that and the masks."

"We'll figure this out," Missy says encouragingly. "We'll bring him home soon, and he can explain to us what it is he meant in his letter. You can tell that he wants us to know. He'll hang on if he can just so he can tell us."

Mulder finds himself nodding. His father is a good grandfather. Missy is right, he'll endure until he can be found for the kids' sake. It just worries Mulder about how much he'll have to endure while they spin their wheels.

* * *

Kersh's Home  
3 a.m.

The sound of breaking glass should wake the Deputy Director, but he sleeps through it, only snorting once before his breathing falls back to its normal pattern. It's not until there's a pressure on his mattress that he leaves REM and opens his eyes sleepily.

Only to find himself staring up at a strange man holding a gun.

"Who are you?" he growls, but both men can tell that it's false bravo. Kersh's weapon is not within reach, and he senses that the gunmen knows that too.

"It doesn't matter," the other man says, his voice angry but quiet. "I just need you to answer a question."

"Why should I?" Kersh asks, letting his indignation take control of his tongue.

As an answer, the other man cocks the gun.

Sweat breaks out on Kersh's forehead, but he's too scared to lift a hand to wipe it away. Obviously his intruder is some sort of crazy, and sudden movement might set him off. "What do you want to know?" he asks, his voice half-strangled.

"Where's Bill Mulder?"

Surprised by the question, Kersh blinks. He had figured that the man was a thief, and that the question would be about his safe or his valuables. "Who?" he asks, bluffing.

"Fox Mulder's father," the stranger says, leveling the gun at his forehead. "Don't try to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. The old bastard claimed to have an in at the FBI, and I know you're it." After a pause, he adds, "As the only black man in the syndicate, you should have worn gloves when you took Bill."

Kersh finds himself mentally cursing the Smoking Man. He didn't know the elderly man very well, but enough to dislike him. Enough to have been pleased by the rumors of his death the year before. "Did agent Mulder send you here?" Kersh demands to know.

"Of course not. If he'd thought you'd be of any help, he'd be the one holding the gun."

It occurs to Kersh that he might know who this man is. One of the sectaries mentioned once that agent Scully's sister had married an agent who had briefly worked in the Hoover building before he arrived. The agent's name wouldn't come to him, much to his frustration. He hisses in pain when the man hits him in the ribs with the barrel of the gun.

"Don't."

"Tell us where to look for Bill Mulder."

"There's a cabin."

"Where?" The stranger threatens to hit him with the gun again.

"Somewhere in Pennsylvania. I've never been there," Kersh says, his voice more of a pathetic whine than he intends.

To his surprise, the next blow fails to come. Instead the man nods. "If you warn anyone that we're coming, you'll be dead within hours."

"You'd come back and kill me?" Kersh asks grimly.

"Not me. I have an associate who'll be watching you," the gunman warns. "But you should be happy, you're getting what you want."

"What's that?"

"To keep Fox Mulder out of the FBI."

The man lets himself out of the house a moment later, and Kersh can't help but agree with him. Taking Mulder's father hadn't been his idea, but it was having an unexpected benefit. And because he believes the man with the gun, he won't bother to tell anyone that Mulder is going to be looking for his father. They probably already realize that, and if they don't...let them be the ones staring down the barrel of that gun. He's got enough to worry about with his day job.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
6 a.m.

Since he's just stumbled out of bed, Mulder is dressed only in a pair of flannel boxers when he opens the door for his brother-in-law. "What's so important that you're pounding on my door this early on a Saturday?"

"Relax, Mulder, it's not like you've got to worry about the kids getting enough sleep before school today," Krycek says as he follows Mulder into the kitchen. "I have something for you."

"What's that?" Mulder asks warily. He knows that he's fully on board with the idea of tracking down his father, but he worries about his methods. Hopefully it won't be a hostage or a body part.

"A destination. Sources say your father's being held in a cabin in Pennsylvania."

"What source?"

"One that's scared shitless that my associate is going to blow a hole in the back of his head if he dares tell anyone we're on our way."

"Your associate?" Mulder cocks his head. "Is this a real or imaginary ally?"

"Real. We're not the only ones that the syndicate has burned. I've called in a favor from an old friend. I don't think we'll need her to act, though, not if we leave quickly."

Leaving quickly is the problem, Mulder thinks. He doesn't want to leave at all, but he soon finds himself going up stairs to wake his wife and let her know that he needs to pack.


	107. Consequence

Mulder-Scully Home  
October 6th, 2001

As Mulder throws clothes into a duffel bag, he can't help but feel a keen difference between now and all the times he's packed for a case. With cases there's a clear goal and a reasonable expectation that one will come home before long. And most of those times Scully was packing along side of him, not staring holes into his back.

Turning, he gives her the saddest of smiles. There's so much he wants to say to her, but the words stick in his throat.

"You'll find him, Mulder," she says, putting her hand on his hip to comfort him.

Looking up at her, words finally spill free. "What if I don't? What if we don't find him and never figure out what he was trying to warn us about?"

Until he hears himself saying it, he hadn't fully realized his own fear. Nothing in his old life has prepared him for his father being forcefully dragged back into the conspiracy, one now apparently involving his children as well.

There have been so many times in both of Mulder's lives that he's imagined what his sister would have done with her life if it hadn't ended so young. But it had never occurred to him to wonder back then what might have become of his father if he hadn't been murdered. Even as his father has now gone beyond his previously allotted time, Mulder has primarily thought of his father's continued life in relation to what it has meant to him: his father at Page's first birthday party; at the baby's funeral; playing with the kids at the beach... Just the tiny fragments that he's witnessed with his own eyes.

The fact that his father has lived mostly outside of witness the past six years is something he's never had cause to be conscious of. How often does anyone think of the lives others live in private? These years of Bill's have been filled with a multitude of things Mulder has never been privy to, nor even thought to ask about.

Now Mulder desperately wishes he knew what they had been.

"There are always dangers," Scully says, forcing him back to the present. "No one's children go through life charmed and wrapped in cotton wool, least of all ours. If you don't find your dad, we'll be vigilant to protect them the best we can. The same as if you find him."

From what, his heart desperately wants to know, but he doesn't ask because she can't answer him that.

* * *

Seconds after he slings the duffel bag's strap over his shoulder, Sammy and Page run into the room. Looking at their eager faces makes his heart sink even further. He thinks he can feel it in the vicinity of his knees.

"Where are we going, Daddy?" Sammy wants to know.

Mulder drops his bag and picks his son up. "Sorry, Buddy, this trip is for just me and your uncle Alex. We'll go some place together during another vacation, okay?"

"Oh." Sammy's face falls. "Okay."

Page tugs on the hem of his still untucked shirt. "Where are you and Uncle Alex going?"

"Well, we're going to look for someone," Mulder says, hoping that they won't press the issue. He and Scully haven't told them yet that their grandfather is missing, and he hopes that they'll return with him before that necessity becomes a reality.

"We could help you!" Sammy offers. "We're real good at helping."

"Aren't we?" Page asks uncertainly after a moment when Mulder doesn't answer.

It's another thing he and Scully haven't told them yet, but this time he decides to tell them a less than pleasant truth. "You guys **are** great helpers, but I'm afraid that you're getting too big to miss a lot of school. Mom and I love your help on the case, but you need to learn a lot, right?"

"How come?" Sammy demands to know.

"Most of the fun things you can be when you grow up mean that you need a good education. You wouldn't want to miss a lot of school because of our jobs, then not get to be what you want when you grow up, right?"

"Right," they both agree, but neither of them looks happy about it.

"You can still help us during the summer, though. That's a quarter of the year, so you won't miss too much."

"Yeah... but you're not taking the little kids with you, though, right?" Page asks with a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"Nope, I'm not even taking Mom. Just your uncle," Mulder reassures her. He doesn't add that he's less than thrilled about who is going with him.

"Okay." The fact that they're not being singled out seems to make them feel better.

::Wish I felt better:: Mulder thinks to himself as he picks up his bag again.

* * *

By the time Mulder walks out the door after saying goodbye to the rest of his children, Krycek is already behind the wheel of a car that Mulder has seldom seen. Usually, Missy is the one to come over, and she has her own car. This car is new, sleek, and black, and would never be rented to two FBI agents pursuing an official case. As he walks towards the car trunk opens, and Mulder takes it as his cue to throw in his bag with Krycek's.

When he makes no move towards the passenger seat after that Krycek rolls the window down six inches. "Get in."

He does so slowly. Something in Mulder makes him want to protest the fact that Krycek automatically assumes that he is the one who will drive, but he doesn't have the heart to. Instead he quietly envies the fact that his brother-in-law is not forced to drive a minivan. Craning his neck, he looks at the back seat and sees that it's just big enough for a booster seat and a single car seat, not that they're there at present.

Krycek follows his gaze. "What are you looking at?"

Mulder shakes his head. "Nothing." Instead of trying to offer an explanation, he just snaps on his seatbelt instead.

"So, Scully. She's mad at you," Krycek says as he turns onto the next road.

"How do you know that?" Mulder asks, wondering if there something about his expression that says that clearly. She didn't come out and say she's mad, but he got that vibe from the set of her shoulders when he hugged her goodbye. He can't tell if it's equally at him for leaving her behind and with the situation, but she's definitely unhappy in a more than she'll miss him sort of way.

"Missy's mad at me, and I'm only leaving her behind with two kids. I figure that Scully must be exponentially angrier at you then."

Mulder snorts. And imagines how Missy might have expressed her unhappiness. Something must have been broken. Maybe something Krycek really liked. "The geometric growth of pissiness. It sounds like you've got the basis for self help book."

"Only if I can get ghostwriter," Krycek says, giving Mulder the faintest of chills. In another lifetime the only way he'd be sitting next to this man today was if he were an actual ghost.

Conversation fades out after that. If the trip had been shared by other men, ones who could stand each other, perhaps they could have filled the empty miles with inconsequential chit chat. But they're not other men. The only thing they have in common is the women they love, and a fear for their children.

Too loud, the CD player attempts to fill the void.

_I hate to wake you up to say goodbye.  
__But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn.  
__The taxi's waiting, he's blowing his horn,  
__Already I'm so lonesome I could cry._

_So kiss me and smile for me,  
__Tell me that you'll wait for me,  
__Hold me like you'll never let me go.  
__'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane  
__Don't know when I'll be back again -  
__Oh Babe, I hate to go._

"This better work," Krycek growls over the melancholy lyrics. "It'll be hard enough if we get the answers we want. But if it's all for nothing..."

Mulder doesn't say anything, but he studies the other man's face out of the corner of his eye. What he sees there surprises him a little bit. Instead of being carefully planned and highly anticipated, fatherhood had initially been unexpectedly dropped in Krycek's lap. Yet the set of his jaw and the fierce determination in Krycek's eyes mirror his own. If Mulder has ever had any doubts about what sort of father Krycek is, they're erased by Krycek's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"The kids will miss us. But maybe it's better if they don't know," Mulder tells him.

"Know what?"

"How far we are willing to go to keep them safe."

Krycek's eyes harden. "I think I could go farther than you."

Mulder has few illusions about this. "Perhaps," he says noncommittally.

"Boy scouts don't kill people. Mercenaries do." When Mulder lets that go without protest, Krycek changes the subject. "I hate this song."

"So turn it off."

"I can't. Missy made this CD for us and I promised we'd listen to it." Noticing Mulder's smirk, he growls, "If you even think the word 'whipped' too loudly, I'll leave your sorry ass on the side of the road."

Mulder holds his hands up in surrender. "I have seven kids. That's irrefutable evidence that I do a lot to stay in my wife's good graces. And bed."

"There's just so much I can't tell her. I'm not going to add to it by lying about the little things too," Krycek grumbles.

Since there's a lot he's keeping from his wife as well, Mulder can't chide him for wanting to be honest with his. ::It's easier for him. He's not hiding as much. He can't be.::

_* "Leaving On A Jet Plane" written by John Denver, covered by multitudes_

* * *

"Where did your reluctant source say to go?" Mulder asks after he bores of watching the scenery pass him by. It should be more entertaining since he's so seldom had the chance to enjoy the experience as an adult, but he just finds that having nothing to do on the drive makes him more anxious.

"Pennsylvania."

"Just the state? That's a pretty big place to be driving around aimlessly in hopes of chancing upon where they've stashed my father," Mulder grouses.

"I know exactly where we're going," Krycek tells him, much to his surprise.

"How?"

"I've been there before. After I was... returned. The smoking man got me released from the hospital and I spent the next couple of weeks there at that cabin."

"Oh." Mulder feels a familiar twinge of guilt, the same one he gets every time something related to Krycek's abduction and subsequent illness is brought up, and it's been worse than ever since Krycek helped look after his kids while he was missing. ::But I still think he's better off:: Mulder admits to himself. ::He's got a wife and two great kids instead of being six feet under and haunting me. That has to be a reasonable trade-off.::

Apparently misinterpreting the reason for his quietness, Krycek adds, "As places you're being kept against your will go, it's not such a bad place. Your father is probably comfortable."

"Thanks," Mulder replies, feigning reluctance to acknowledge the other man's unexpected kindness. Krycek just nods his head.

* * *

Later

To Mulder's surprise, he finds himself waking up at a stoplight. Never in his wildest imagination could he picture falling asleep in the same space as Krycek, but now he has. The one-armed man doesn't seem to mind that he's been virtually alone with his thoughts and the maudlin easy-rock tunes that Missy has inflicted on them. She must really be angry at him, he decides, based on the songs he didn't sleep through.

"What did I miss?" Mulder asks with a yawn. A quick glance at his watch reveals that he's been out for more than an hour, which means that the other man had to endure his light snoring for a third of the trip.

"Not much," Krycek replies, not sounding too put out. "We're almost there. Just a few more streets."

As they near the cabin, Mulder begins to become aware that he has formed an expectation of where his father is being held. There would be high walls, perhaps strung with barbed wire. Closed and windowless, the small building will feel like a prison to his father, who is probably locked into an even smaller cell. Severe hulking men will guard him, bringing him bread and water, and a bucket for baser requirements.

What he doesn't expect is the innocuous log building that they see in the distance.

"That's the cabin," Krycek says, pointing with his good hand.

"And two guards." Though they're still some distance from the cabin, Mulder can clearly see them through the binoculars Krycek insisted they bring. In a way the seeing the guards is a comfort. At least he hasn't completely blown up the danger to his father to mythical proportions.

"Two that we can see," Krycek corrects him. "When we get out of the car, go around the back of the cabin to see if there's anyone there. And try to avoid being seen."

"Obviously. I'm no more eager to be shot than you are," Mulder says sourly. "Or maybe even less so, considering I've already had the pleasure."

The gravel driveway is crowded with trees and along its sides thick with bushes. Mulder ducks into them, hoping that the ticks are already gone until spring. He can't help but cringe every time he steps on a stick and it snaps. The men chatting in front of the cabin don't react, though, making him believe that they can't hear him over the cries of birds and the distant roar of trucks. Once in a while he notices Krycek making his way up the other side of the driveway, but he's doing a remarkable job not being seen by someone actually looking for him. This makes Mulder believe that there's very little chance his brother-in-law will be spotted by the guards, either.

The back door of the cabin doesn't have a guard posted there. Mulder watches for a minute, making sure that someone hasn't just stepped away to take a leak in the woods. Just as he's satisfied himself that no one's around, he hears a short burst of gunfire.

Fighting his instinct to run around the building to see what's happened, he forces himself back into the bushes and keeps his head down. The thought of having to face his wife's sister is barely forming in his mind when Krycek walks into view. Besides a rent in his leather jacket, he looks unscathed.

Keeping his head down, Mulder trots over to him, the binoculars he's forgotten about bouncing against his chest. "What the hell happened just now?"

Krycek's shoulders rise and fall in an inelegant shrug. "They decided not to be reasonable."

"So you shot at them?"

"Not _at_ them..." Krycek mutters.

When he raises the binoculars to his eyes, Mulder sees the men lying sprawled on the ground. Even at that distance he can see a splotch of red near one of the bodies that can't be explained away by the dead leaves that litter the property.

"Did you see my father?"

"No."

The two men exchange a grim look. The fact that gunfire didn't rouse Bill is not a good sign. Mulder can't decide which would be worse - to find him dead in the cabin, or to never find him at all. Drawing their guns, he and Krycek cautiously approach the cabin and the corpses.

Mulder pauses to look down at the dead men. "Do you know them?"

Krycek shakes his head. "Never seen them before."

Looking at the corpses, Mulder wonders if they were thugs for hire, or actually part of the conspiracy. "Me neither," he says before turning his full attention to the cabin. It's not a large building but there are places for adversaries to hide. He hopes they're not walking into an ambush.

He starts to walk towards the door, but Krycek grabs his arm. "We can't just leave them here. This place doesn't look like it gets much traffic, but what if the mailman shows up?"

Mulder grunts in agreement, and grabs ones of the dead men under the arms. Then he swears when his knees nearly buckle in the attempt to hoist him up. The last adult he's had to carry was Fowley, and it's been long enough to forget how heavy adults are compared to his small and highly portable children. The only thing that seems comparably close is how heavy the cats get when he's tried to carry them into the vet's office.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees that Krycek is struggling even more than he is. He might be older, but at least he's got two functional arms. Taking pity on the other man, he shifts his corpse long enough to point at an SUV parked a couple hundred yards away. It's an excruciatingly slow journey.

"Keys?" Krycek pants when they finally reach the vehicle. Mulder feels in the dead guy's coat pockets and comes up with a set of them. Still, it's hard not to dump the corpse on the ground while trying to get the back open. Finally it swings open and he dumps his burden without ceremony before taking the other corpse from Krycek.

"Do you see a-" Mulder spots a tarp still in plastic. "That'll do." They cover the corpses up, and head back to the cabin.

"Suppose he's in there?" Krycek whispers as they get close to the building.

All Mulder can do is shrug.

* * *

Neither of their guns are safetied when they push open the door. To Mulder's relief they're not immediately beset upon by men eager to avenge their fellows' deaths.

Because it's an actual cabin even though it's huge, most of the interior is taken up by one large room that serves as a kitchen and living area both. A few dirty dishes and an abandoned deck of cards show that someone had comfortably settled into the place.

At the same time the place seems unnaturally quiet and half-filled with shadows. All the signs of life seem to have been bleed away when the men outside were shot. Mulder's stomach twists uncomfortably when he doesn't hear anyone in the place.

There aren't many doors to look behind, but he and Krycek cautiously begin opening them, starting at opposite ends. The first room reveals rumpled twin beds, and Mulder has the idea that the dead bad guys were sharing the room.

The next room has no lights on. He's still groping for a switch when he hears it. "Fox?"

Mulder starts, then picks a figure out of the gloom. His father is leaning against door frame to what seems to be an adjoining bathroom.

"Dad?" he whispers. His fingers finally find a switch, and the room floods with light.

When Bill Mulder is visible, he's holding a tissue to his nose. "I wasn't sure I'd see you before I died."

"You're safe now," he replies nervously. His father's expression is too grim, still, for comfort.

Bill worries him further by shaking his head. "I don't think I have much time left. I wouldn't have taken it if I knew you'd come today. It's too late to worry about it now, I guess."

"Wouldn't have taken what? What did you take?" Krycek appears in the doorway, but father and son ignore him.

"Cruortin. It's a blood thinner I've been taking since I got that clot in my leg. When I was in the hospital a nurse brought the kind to flush IVs, not the regular blood thinner amount. There was a code blue while she went to fetch the right one. I pocketed it. Just in case something like this happened. She forgot all about." Bill grimaces. "The idiots paid to babysit me had no idea what it was. But I guess from the gunfire we don't have to worry about them any more. I would have waited if I thought you were coming, but it's too late now."

"You poisoned yourself with this drug? We need to call 911," Mulder insists. "And have your stomach pumped."

"No. It wouldn't work, it's in my blood, not my stomach. And I have to die," Bill insists. "I'll never be free as long as I live. It's better this way. I planned to leave you a letter, but now I can answer questions instead, while I have some time left."

"Oh Dad..." Mulder says miserably.

Unencumbered by sentiment, Krycek demands to know, "What does any of this have to do with my kids?"

"Just the boy. There's a prophecy about Dana's family-"

"A prophecy?" Krycek doesn't bother hiding his incredulity.

"A self-fulfilling one, more than one made by a supposed mystic. Dana and Missy probably don't remember, but their father had a brush with the syndicate when they were very young."

"He was a military man, not part of the conspiracy," Mulder protests.

"Captain Scully didn't work with us, Son. His family just happened to be stationed at the wrong place at the wrong time. Military bases were often the best place to conduct 'harmless' experiments on people, including children, because the families often hurt for money. We preyed on their desire to make some quick cash for what we made seem like no risk at all. Two hundred dollars for an hour of their time must have been irresistible.

"Someone decided to use that base to test ESP in a general population for an experiment that didn't end up going anywhere. The only real consequence to the aborted project was that William Scully's little girls impressed the wrong people with there psychic abilities."

"Dana's not psychic," Mulder objects.

"But Missy is," Krycek says quietly. "And so is their mother."

Remembering the dream Maggie had once relayed to him after Scully's abduction, Mulder couldn't help but agree that his mother-in-law at the very least was sensitive to something.

Undeterred by his son's outburst, Bill goes on. "Maybe she doesn't have any gifts now, but that was a long time ago. She wasn't any older than David and Jared when I saw them testing her." Bill explains. "Gifts like that can atrophy if denied and never used. Or so I've read."

"You saw them test her?" Mulder asks in disbelief.

"Yes. They were so small...their father had Dana on his lap while they did the testing," Bill tells them. "It was summer then and they were wearing these little white sundresses. Dana must have just been out of diapers."

Unbidden the image of a piece of paper floats to the forefront of Mulder's mind, startling him so much that he shudders. "Dad?" he asks urgently. "Do you think it could have been 1967?"

"That sounds about right, Fox," Bill tells him with the tiniest of nods. He looks very pale.

All Mulder can do is stare at him. Once upon a time, when he'd broken into the house where the surrogates who'd carried Emily and other babies lived, he'd found a refrigerated box containing an embryo with Scully's name on it. But he'd also found a piece of paper with her name on it as well. And at the bottom there'd been a date: August 2nd, 1967. Now that Emily was Missy's, he hadn't bothered to look for the embryo or the ova, because they should no longer exist, and even if they did exist, Missy hadn't had all her ova extracted like the women the government had experimented on had had. The paper might have had Missy's name on it if he'd looked at it this time. It never occurred to him to wonder what the date signified.

"It was deemed that they were both psychic, so the powers that be decided then and there to keep an eye on them," Bill continues.

"Why?" Mulder asks, still dazed by the idea of his skeptical wife being in possession of psychic abilities. "What did this prophecy say?"

"Once upon a time there was a prophecy that a child born to a psychic would grow up to be a leader who'd throw a monkey wrench into the plans the organization had. Once they met Bill Mulder's daughters and saw that they scored the highest on the test, they focused on them, sure one of those two girls would be the mother of the child."

"So they did testing on them, and what, decided they might be useful if the syndicate ever started its own eugenics program breeding psychics?" Krycek asks, looking incredulous. "If we're talking about 1967 Missy was only five. And Dana was even younger-"

"She was three," Mulder offers weakly.

"Okay, they were all of three and five," Krycek grumbles. "They decided when they were that young they'd be great for a breeding program to bring this child about-"

"They didn't want the child, Alex. They feared it," Bill corrects him. "The reason they kept an eye on the girls was so they would know when the child was born. At first they thought that was enough."

"Dad, what do you mean by 'keep an eye on'?"

"Fox, has Dana ever told you a story about a little girl, a little younger than her that she was good friends with? One who died young?" Bill leans over to cough after getting his question out.

"Yes," Mulder answers slowly, remembering the Easter when his wife had told him about her friend Patience. A horrifying suspicion begins to form in his mind.

"Her father worked for us, just peripheral stuff, but deep enough that his child caught their attention. She was the first sacrifice," Bill explains. "They gave that child her illness. All to encourage Dana to enter medicine."

"That's not possible," Mulder objects. "Scully told me the disease the girl had, it was genetic. How do you induce a genetic disease in a kid? It was before they even had the first successful test tube baby."

"The child's parents were told what the syndicate doctors wanted them to believe. They never got a second opinion about the so-called disease. People didn't question doctors like they do now. Being a doctor was almost like being a God. No one would have suspected that the doctor was making that girl a little sicker every time they brought her in to be seen."

"Even if they could do it, why would they?" Krycek asks. "Why would they want Dana to enter medicine?"

A ghost of a smile crosses Bill's face as he turns his head to address Krycek. "Having met your wife I find it hard to believe, but they once thought she would be easier to control than my daughter-in-law. Doctors are often rooted to the hospitals they work in, so they planned to make sure she was hired by a DC hospital and not allowed to transfer elsewhere. And by the time they killed that little girl in 1975, you-" Bill points at his son. "-were already being heavily encouraged by so-called guidance councilors to consider law enforcement when you grew up."

"Mister Campbell was a plant?" Mulder can't figure out why this surprises him, but it does.

"He was. They thought they had your destiny all sewn up before you charmed your way into opening the X-Files." Bill coughs. "And I'm sure you realize now that you and Dana ending up together was definitely not part of the plan."

"I guess," Mulder says, feeling terribly confused. When his father mentioned their molding of their career paths, he automatically began to wonder if they'd been pushed together as well.

"It burned them up with anger when your marriage was announced. You were supposed to be too busy for families, after all. But you, Alex, I think in a way you ought to be grateful that they married when they did."

"Why is that?" Alex asks suspiciously.

"Your abduction - yes, I know all about that - and Missy's being recruited for a supposed study to freeze ova were quickly arranged once they learned Dana was pregnant with a girl."

"What? We didn't even know she was having a girl until Page was born," Mulder protests.

"True, but the lab tech they bribed to show the ultrasound knew. Since your daughter wouldn't be the prophesied child, they nurtured a hope that they could beat you to the punch, and create a child of Missy's that could be controlled, first. Before Dana could have a son of her own." Bill explains.

"Emily." Krycek looks stricken.

"When their one and only attempt turned out to be female, blonde, and sickly, they gave up on Melissa."

"What does being blonde have to do with anything? Or a girl?" Krycek wants to know.

"Their so call prophet was rather specific. The child in question was to be a red-haired boy."

Even though he has been expecting to be told something like this, Mulder goes pale. Sammy had wanted to come along. What if he'd indulged his son and brought him into the jaws of danger?

"They thought it was Sammy, didn't they?" Krycek asks. "So why did they continue to watch my family?"

"By the time you claimed your daughter, Dana had produced a second red-haired child. When they realized that you and Missy had begun a relationship, their interest in her was renewed. Sammy is a wonderful, bright little boy, but they didn't think he was the psychic they were looking for. If he wasn't, another child in the family would be."

"Dad...Did they take you because of William and Ryan?" Mulder asks with a sinking feeling.

"Yes. I just wanted to be closer to you and the kids, Fox. I swear it." Bill's eyes teared up. "I didn't know that they were watching my every move. I wouldn't do it, absolutely refused, and they took me, planning to hold me prisoner until I changed my mind."

"What wouldn't you do?" Krycek demands to know.

A pair of silvery tears roll down Bill's cheeks. "They... They wanted to abuse your trust in me. Some day when Missy was over too, they wanted me to take William and Ryan and bring them to a facility they have."

"What sort of facility, Dad?"

"I'm not entirely sure, or even where it is," Bill admits. "All I do know is that they have some other children there, I think they might be like Alex's daughter, though created to what end I don't know since they thought the child would come from the Scullys' bloodline. And apparently still do. They want me to give them the babies because they don't have well-formed personalities yet like Sammy does. It is seen as a mistake that they didn't steal Sammy as a baby, that maybe his upbringing is what has kept him from reaching his potential, so they don't want to repeat it."

::So that's what happened to some of those other babies created with Emily.:: Mulder thinks to himself before asking, "Have they decided against this prophesied boy being Sammy?"

"No, they're not ruling him out entirely. But they think it's not worth their while to try to take him now, even if he turns out to be the one they want," Bill says weakly. "My guess is they'll try to influence him when he's another decade older, like they did you."

"Then we need only to keep a fierce eye on the little ones, then," Krycek states.

To their surprise Bill grabs their wrists. "No. You must find out where they're keeping those children and rid the world of such a place. There's more than your sons at stake!"

"I know," Mulder says and finds that he does. As long as the syndicate remains, his family will always be in danger.

"Like what?" Krycek wants to know.

"Continuity," Bill says weakly. "Destruction of the elders in that fire was like cutting off the Hydra's head. Finding where they're keeping those kids might be your only opportunity to figure out where they all are now."

Mulder notices how ashen his father's face is, and how labored his breathing is. It makes him wish he could ask his wife what dying of internal bleeding is like.

"Fox?"

"We will, Dad," Mulder promises, ignoring the look annoyed look Krycek gives him.

Bill lets Krycek go, but clings to Mulder's wrist. "I'm sorry, Son."

"You don't need to be."

"Yes I do," Bill insists.

"Then I forgive you," Mulder says, beginning to tear up. And finds that he does. "We all love you, Dad. I'll make sure the kids know how much you loved them too."

* * *

When Bill's eyes close and his grip on his son's wrist slackens, Krycek turns to look at Mulder. "I think you better call 911 now."

"No. Not yet."

"Mulder, he's unconscious. He's not going to fight you over it."

"We have to wait," Mulder insists.

"For what?" Krycek is beginning to look exasperated.

"He's right," Mulder says calmly. "If he lives, they'll only find other ways to drag him back into things."

"So you're just going to let him die?"

"Have you ever been made to feel like you've destroyed someone you love deeply?"

"No," Krycek admits.

"Neither have I. But he has. I've watched the guilt over his part in what happened to my sister eat him up for decades. What if we get the EMTs here in time, and they save him, only to have that lead to them making him hurt one of the kids? We might as well demand the devil show up right now and take him to hell, because that's how every day there after is going to feel to him. No. We... we have to let him go."

In the end it doesn't take long. Bill's labored breathing finally trails off, and for second Mulder thinks he's just forgotten to breathe, but he doesn't start again. Krycek looks at him, apparently wondering if he's going to change his mind. But Mulder can't. It really would be condemning his father to hell to make him live everyday wondering if that day would be the one where he was dragged back into the conspiracy yet again.

A few minutes later Mulder looks up and speak sharply. "You have to go."

Krycek stares at him. "Why?"

"I'm going to have to call the police. And when I do, those two bodies can't be here. And neither can you. I don't suppose you care to be arrested today."

"No. That hadn't been in my plans for the day," Krycek agrees with a smirk.

"I didn't think so. I can pretend your car is mine, since I'll have needed a way to get here. Use their truck to get rid of the bodies." Mulder tries not to think about how the one-armed man will manage that on his own. Krycek is nothing if not resourceful, and there are plenty of bodies of water around, so competency with a shovel probably isn't an issue.

"And then?"

"Right before we got here I saw a diner. Walk there. I'll pick you up once the police have gone."

Krycek doesn't look pleased by this idea, but he says, "all right."

It only takes a few minutes for Mulder and Krycek to erase most traces of the dead men. Fortunately they found a bottle of bleach in the bathroom, so they were able to wash away most of the blood, and destroy the integrity of the traces if they were noticed. Since Mulder intends to tell police that his father was staying at the cabin alone, he has to get rid of all of the other men's belongings. So he shoves them in the back of the truck along with the bodies.

A few minutes later, a sour looking Krycek drives off, leaving him and Bill Mulder alone.

He decides to take a pulse, just in case. It would be awful if he was wrong, and the medics came and revived his father. There isn't one. And for the second time in his life, he's touched the body of a loved one that's still warm. Just like Angel's had been. Unlike the baby, though, he half expects Bill to sit up and talk to him. Of course, he doesn't.

In the end, he waits another half hour before he calls the police.

* * *

Sighing, he pulls out his cell phone and dials 911. The dispatcher is calm and professional when Mulder explains that he's just arrived at his father's cabin and found out that the older man has committed suicide. She takes his location and tells them that someone will be there very soon.

When the ambulance arrives, so does the town sheriff. This makes Mulder slightly nervous, but it seems clear that the sheriff does not believe there has been any crime. Unless of course the state of Pennsylvania is one that still considers suicide a crime, which is something he hasn't had time to look up. That has always bothered him. How can killing yourself be a crime? It's not as though they could ever prosecute anyone for it.

"Sir?"

Mulder snaps to attention. Apparently the sheriff believes that he is distracted by the paramedics attempting to work over his father. He's not, not beyond a faint horror that they might be able to revive him. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry that you found your father this way," the sheriff says, and sounds like he means it. "I wish no one ever had to be the one to find a loved one after they've passed away."

"I didn't think..." Mulder trails off. "I know he suffered from depression, but he was doing better lately. We went on a vacation a couple of months ago and had a great time, so how could I know something like this was coming? What am I going to tell my kids?" :: God. What am I going to tell them? I can't sit them down and say "Bumpa killed himself to protect your baby brother and cousin Ryan"!::

The sheriff gives him a sympathetic look. "So you're saying that this was unexpected. What prompted you to come up here today?"

"Um. I was going to surprise him by inviting him on a fishing trip. I thought I'd bring him to... to buy the rod he's been talking about getting..." to Mulder's surprise, his eyes fill with tears. The fishing trip is a fabrication, so why does he feel like he is really has been let down that benign way?

"It's okay, Sir." The sheriff tries to sound like he means it. What he actually means is that he and the paramedics will deal with the body. The body. How had his father become "the body"? "We'll bring him to the hospital, and they will pronounce him there."

Mulder wipes a fist across his eyes. "And after that?"

"Well, there will be an autopsy. It's just a formality. After that we'll release the body to whatever funeral home you and your family choose to use," he says slowly, as if he doesn't expect Mulder to be able to understand him. "This will probably take a day or two. It will give you time to make arrangements."

"Right. Arrangements," Mulder mutters to himself. "I've got to go home and make arrangements. Maybe my mother..." But he doesn't really want to bother his mother, given that he knows she's not in the best of health even though she won't talk to him about it. At least she apparently has decided to fight her illness this time. He'll have to arrange the funeral himself.

The other man looks slightly concerned. "Do you think you're okay to drive? I know this has been quite a shock."

At this, Mulder's nods slightly. "I'll be okay. I'm in law enforcement myself. We're meant to deal with this sort of thing."

"True. The usually not when it involves our own families."

"Usually," Mulder agrees.

* * *

Debbie's Good Eats

The fat on the plate underneath the hamburger has begun to congeal by the time Mulder reaches the diner and finds Krycek sitting at the counter. Only half the burger has been eaten anyway, so Mulder suspects that he only ordered it so he wouldn't look completely out of place. For a man that has just disposed of two bodies in an undisclosed location, Krycek looks more annoyed than paranoid.

"Took you long enough," Krycek grouses as he toys with the cold French fries.

Mulder ignores him. "Let's go."

There's still steam rising from Krycek's coffee mug, so Mulder suspects that he's drank at least a couple. When he drains the mug and plunks it down on the counter, Mulder resists the impulse to ask him if he needs to hit the head before they go. Missy probably asks him things like that. He doesn't need it from Mulder too.

Instead Mulder leads the way out of the diner.

When they get to the car Mulder has the urge to ask if he should drive, but he's been blindsided by a weariness of the soul, and decides against it. Krycek doesn't ask him to drive, so he gratefully slumps in the passenger seat.

He has half a mind to take another nap, but Krycek speaks. "I've been thinking about what your father said. Do you think there are any more children out there? Missy's and mine?" He sounds worried.

"My dad said the other kids aren't yours."

"Would he know?"

Mulder shrugs.

"Have you ever stopped to think about what they must have done to Emily before she was even born?"

"Thought about what, specifically?"

"I was taken in August. She was born November of that same year. When Missy told me that the girl was mine, I thought she was out of her mind. You don't get live babies at less than five months gestation-" Krycek doesn't notice when Mulder winces. "-much less three months. To humor her, we did a DNA test. Then we did it twice more with two other companies. She's mine without a doubt."

"Of course. She even looks like you."

Krycek shakes his head. "When the impossible became the truth, I was terrified the whole first year we had her. Every time Missy had your kids over, I'd find myself compulsively comparing Emily to Page. Did she look older? Was she getting taller?"

"Neither," Mulder awkwardly assures him.

"I know. My eyes told me that every time. I just didn't trust them. Eventually I forgot to worry about it any more. At least until Missy got pregnant. Then I worried that something in how they changed my DNA made Emily's accelerated gestation happen. And if it could happen again. I couldn't stop wondering how we'd explain a baby conceived during the summer being born before winter."

Mulder is fascinated by his brother-in-law's uncharacteristically sharing mood. "Did you tell Missy what you were afraid of?"

Krycek snorts. "Of course not. In my place you wouldn't have either. I just decided to wait and see."

"It worked out all right. I don't think you'll have to worry next time."

"There isn't going to be a next time. Your wife and our mother-in-law might have taken to pregnancy all right, but Missy hated it. She's not interested in doing it again."

Mulder doesn't ask if Krycek wanted more than two kids. Most people are happy with that few.

The brief conversation seems to suck up their allotted quota of words. Missy's CD is the only sound the next three hours home.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Late

Only the front light is still lit up by the time Krycek drops him off. It takes Mulder two attempts to stab the key into the lock and let himself into the house.

A light he doesn't turn on himself floods the room, and he finds himself looking at his wife. The day's events must be written on his face, because she looks at him and cries,

"Mulder, what happened!"

He shakes his head softly. "We found him. He's dead, Scully. My dad is dead."

"Oh, Mulder..." Instantly her eyes fill with tears. "Did you..." She trails off for a moment, looking uncertain. "...find out what he was afraid of? For the kids?"

"Yeah. Someone made a prophecy, and they think that it's about you and Missy. About your children," Mulder says with a sigh.

Her face is a sudden mask of surprise. "Why would they believe my sister or I had anything to do with a prophecy?"

"When you were little, they were at your dad's base to conduct an experiment. They decided that you and Missy had psychic gifts and you were going to pass them along to a special child. A boy with red hair. Missy I can see being psychic, but you? You don't have a psychic bone in your body."

The smartass facet of his personality feels like making a joke, but he pushes the impulse aside. :: I could say that she had a psychic bone in her body when I could read minds, but she'd just point out that the penis doesn't have any bones in it unless it's a dog's ::

He's surprised when her face crumples. And even more surprised that she puts her hand to her mouth.

"Scully, what's wrong?"

"Maybe it's true," she says behind her fingers.

This makes him feel uneasy. And he immediately thinks about the deal he made with Elsbeth. But she couldn't know anything about that, could she? She's never mentioned déjà vu. "Why do you say that?" he asks cautiously.

Her breath comes in a hitching sigh. "When you were gone, Gibson had dreams. He dreamed about you being tortured."

"What does that have to do with you-" he starts to interrupt.

"Me too. I dreamed about you being tortured too," she says quietly.

"When?" he asks, startled.

"All the time. The dreams only stopped when you were in the ground."

"Jesus. Why didn't you tell me?"

She laughs mirthlessly. "I thought you had enough trouble adjusting when you came back. There was nothing to gain from telling you. So I didn't."

"So... if there's something to the theory that you and Missy have some degree of ESP maybe the prophecy isn't entirely unbelievable," Mulder says slowly.

"Of course it isn't," she replies sharply, startling him. "We already have significant evidence that April is in tune to something most people aren't. Sammy might not be, but who's to say how William or Ryan might turn out? They can't even talk yet, so it'd be foolish to assume anything yet."

"The prophecy says that this red-haired boy who will become a liaison to the aliens, so that rules out April. They also don't think it Sammy, probably for the reason you pointed out. But they wanted my dad to take William and Ryan. That's why they kidnapped him. He refused to be a party in his grandson's abduction." Mulder looks down at his feet. "That's why he killed himself too."

"I'm so sorry..."

"He was a good grandfather. I wasn't wrong about that," Mulder says insistently, even though she hasn't objected to the statement.

"I know he was. I know."

"So that's why I had to let him die when he asked me to. There was time to try and save him. But he didn't want me to, so I didn't."

"It's okay," Scully says wrapping her arms around him.

It doesn't feel okay. But he knows he'll have to live with it.

* * *

October 10th, 2001

It doesn't rain the day that they bury Mulder's father. Standing there with his wife and children, Mulder can't help but think that. There had been a steady downpour the last time the man had been laid to rest.

The last time Mulder had only had Scully at his side, occasionally offering awkward condolences for a man who was basically a stranger to her. Now she and their children share in his grief. Standing with Alex and Missy, even Emily looks stricken, and Bill wasn't her grandfather, just her cousins'. Sammy and Page are taking his death the hardest, crying throughout the funeral.

April is sad too, but the sorrowful glances she keeps giving her father leave him with the uneasy sense that she isn't just thinking about her grandfather. Mulder is half sure that she already knows that he's leaving.

In his arms William stirs fretfully. Scully mentioned that she thinks he might be cutting his first tooth early which is something Mulder thinks of with awe; once upon a time he'd only known the boy for two precious days. Now he'd had almost five months in which to get to know his small son. William is special to him now because of his developing personality, not just because he was Scully's longed for child.

It is going to be so hard to leave them all. But as much as he wants to stay, it's the only way he is going to keep Sammy, William and Ryan safe.

And that's more important than anything else.

He tears his thoughts away from leaving when he feels a tug on his suit jacket. Looking down, April's dark eyes meet his own. "Yes?"

"Daddy, I'm sorry," she says solemnly.

"For what?"

To his surprise, she heaves a tremendous sigh. "Bumpa is **not** sleeping. Not like you was."

"I know, Sweetie."

"You're going to miss him. He was _your_ daddy." April looks very sad for him. Knowing that she watched him put into the ground, he understands her empathy.

"Yes, he was." Though the man they're burying wasn't related to Mulder by blood, he's the only man Mulder can think of as his father. Even knowing the truth of the matter doesn't change how he feels. "We're all going to miss him."

April throws her arms around his waist and squeezes him. "Yeah, we will."

When he looks up, Mulder sees his mother approach Bill's casket and feels an old stir of guilt. In his old life he wondered if asking her about Samantha had been the catalyst that made her kill herself, rather than the disease Scully had insisted had been her motivation. He hadn't needed information from her now, and she was still among them, so that was as definitive an answer as he could ever hope to get.

Tina's mouth moves, and Mulder can't hear what she's saying. Goodbye, probably. Would she be Bill's widow now, if Samantha hadn't been so brutally ripped from their lives so many years ago? Or would they have had to change things much earlier, before his conception sealed her husband's betrayal? As they begin to lower Bill Mulder into the ground, his son can't help but wonder what the man might have changed if he'd had an Elsbeth of his own.

* * *

October 15th, 2001

Though they know they ought to leave as soon as possible, things have a way of delaying people when the journey they need to take isn't one of their own choosing. Eventually Mulder finds that his bags are packed, and he and Krycek are about to leave. It seems like years since the funeral, but it's only been a handful of days.

The last few days he spent at home gave him an opportunity to have a fight with Scully. "Are you sure you want me to do this?" Mulder had asked two days before he and Krycek planned to leave.

"You know the answer is no. But what choice do we have? If you don't go and find them, and route them out, we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. I don't want you to leave. But you can't stay."

He had nodded before blurting out. "We have to tell them."

Scully had looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The older kids," Mulder said patiently. "They're too big to fob off lies on to."

"Mulder! They're practically babies."

"No, they're not. They're old enough to handle this."

"Mulder..." She had wrung her hands, making him feel like a heel.

"Didn't you tell me that we can't wrap them in cotton wool? It may seem like we're protecting them by not letting them know what's going on, but what if it makes things worse? What if we keep them in the dark, and something happens because they don't know to be wary?"

He has to force himself not to look away when his wife's eyes fill with tears. "Okay."

Krycek has won a similar argument with Missy, which is why they're walking into Dennys with Page, Sammy, and Emily. The kids think that the breakfast is an unexpected treat. Mulder is worried they'll feel betrayed by the end of it.

* * *

Though they get glares from other patrons, they opt for the smoking section. None of them intend to smoke, of course, but it's mostly empty. A waitress settles them into a booth before disappearing. Mulder wonders if he'll recognize her when she comes back.

"Daddy, can we get waffles?" Sam asked eagerly. "With strawberries and whipped cream?"

"Sure. If that's what you want."

After a few moments of excited chattering, the three children decide what to have for breakfast. The adults wait for the waitress to come and take their orders before they begin to talk to the kids.

After a moment to chewing on his lower lip and trying to decide where to begin, Mulder begins speak. "We have something serious we need to talk to you about."

All three kids look up. "What?" Page asks.

"Before he died Bumpa was worried about you guys. Especially Sammy, and William, and Ryan."

Sammy puts down the fork he's been playing with. "Why? What did we do?"

Mulder pats him on the shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why was he worried, uncle Fox?" Emily asks.

Mulder studies her for second. She's no longer Scully's daughter, but it's clear that Scully isn't the only one in her family to pass on intelligence. He also grudgingly admits that his brother-in-law isn't quite an idiot, either.

Krycek answers her. "We don't want you guys to worry, but we also think you're big enough to know the truth. Some of the bad men that we've punished before-" None of the three children realize that Krycek has a criminal past. They've been allowed to believe that he's simply a person who used to work with Mulder and Scully, much like John and Monica currently do. "-want to take William and Ryan away from home."

"Why?" all three children demand to know.

The adults shrug. "It's hard to understand why bad guys do anything," Scully tells them at last. "But we know for sure is that they want little boys with red hair."

"What about me?" Sammy asks. "And April. And Mommy."

Though he more than half expects Page to correct Sammy, and tell him that April and their mother are not boys, she says nothing. "Well, we think that they are mostly interested in very little boys. Ones too little to talk," Scully explains.

"However, we had the same worry. Which is why we're telling you this now. We wanted you to know that you should be careful of strangers. More careful than just every day stranger-danger careful. Don't talk to anyone you don't know. If you see anybody near the babies that you don't know, tell an adult right way."

They all look surprisingly calm, bolstering Mulder's conviction that they were old enough to know was going on.

"No strangers. Okay. We can do that," Page says, and Emily and Sammy agree.

"We knew we could count on you," Missy says, speaking for the first time. "We don't think there will be any danger, but just in case we're glad that you know what's going on too."

Next comes hardest part.

Krycek is frowning when he says, "We have something else we need to tell you too."

By the time the waitress appears with their breakfasts all three kids are in tears, which has too often been the case over the past five weeks. Mulder wishes that they could answer their questions about how long they'll be gone, but "we don't know" seems better than a lie. At least they won't be waiting for that date to come and go, without their fathers returned home.

* * *

The kids seem slightly less traumatized by the time that Missy and Krycek gather them to bring to the elementary school, but Mulder is not looking forward to an encore goodbye once he and Scully get home.

It turns out that the younger kids are less upset that he's leaving, but Mulder wonders how much of that is because they don't understand how long he might possibly be gone. There are fewer tears, and he allows himself to be grateful for that without analyzing too much why that might be.

"I want you to be good for Mommy, okay?" Mulder asks his younger children. April nods but David and Jared fidget indecisively. "Boys?" he prompts.

"Okay, Daddy," they finally agree.

Christopher merely looks confused, but he returns Mulder's hug. "I'll see you soon," he promises even though he knows the toddler has very little grasp of how time works.

Though he'll never admit it to anyone, William is the hardest to leave behind. The last time they were separated, Mulder didn't see him again for more than two years, and then only in a courtroom.

* * *

An Hour Later

The first leg of their journey comes to an abrupt halt when Krycek pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop. "Hungry already?" Mulder asks dryly. "This is going to be a long trip."

"There is someone I want to talk to before we leave," Krycek explains.

In between breakfast and lunch the coffee shop is mostly empty. Whoever Krycek intends to meet has not arrived yet. Mulder gives him a questioning look. "Who are we here to talk to?"

"Marita Covarrubias."

Somehow, this makes some sense to Mulder. He's not sure why Krycek continues to associate with the woman, considering they have no romance going on in this lifetime. ::At least they better not:: Mulder thinks as he considers his sister-in-law's potential capacity for crime of passion. And if there's any truth to what Scully told him about her sister's reputation years ago over a bottle of wine, Alex ought to be too worn out to sniff around other women.

Krycek looks disappointed that his revelation has not gotten more of a reaction. "You don't look that surprised."

"I'm not. People like her play both sides," Mulder tells him. "I just can't figure out what you have over her to get her to help you."

The ghost of a smile creases the other man's face. "What makes you think it's anything to do with me?"

"So you're saying she's just motivated by revenge?"

"You say that like revenge isn't enough," Krycek admonishes him. "Revenge is an engine that powers many weapons."

"True enough," Mulder concedes. "But-"

Before Mulder can get his next question out the slim blonde woman has taken a seat on the bench across from him, but taking care not to press up against Krycek. She looks far better the last time Mulder saw her, so it makes him wonder what she's been doing since then. And with who.

"Do you have photos?" Marita's smoky voice holds a hint of mockery. "If I'm to play bodyguard, I'd like to see my charges." Her statement is something of a joke, because that is not actually what she's doing for Krycek. Instead, she's merely promised to keep a weathered eye out in their absence.

They pass her photos of the three little boys, and she glances at them briefly. Then she looks up at Krycek. "It will be easier if your wife spends a lot of time with her sister."

"I'm sure they will. They normally see a lot of each other anyway, and I'm sure there will be a lot of complaining about us to be done while we're gone."

"Cynic," Mulder accuses. Krycek shrugs.

"You're leaving today?" Marita asks.

"Yes," Krycek tells her.

She nods and tucks the photos into her purse. "I would say that you owe me one, but if you manage to get rid of that nest of vipers, then I guess we'll be even."

They leave without saying thank you, nor does she tell them good luck. It just doesn't work that way with her.

"Why California?" Krycek asks Mulder as they get into the car.

"I heard a rumor about other kids like Emily there. It's as good a place to start as anywhere."

Instead of disagreeing Krycek puts the car into drive.


	108. 4D

November 2001

Reyes takes a long, comfortable drag off her cigarette, walking down the hallway. In her earpiece, she can hear Doggett and Follmer grouse about the nitty-gritty details on the operation, and has to force herself not to roll her eyes. Her longish hair is both a nice cover and muffler, but it's up to her and the various cameras placed all over the apartment to keep an eye on Erwin Lukesh. She stands in front of the wall of mailboxes, her dark brown eyes scan the rows and columns until she finds the number she's looking for, 3-C. It doesn't take long to get a hold of all the envelopes the FBI have carefully shoved into the box that morning, and she pretends not to notice that a lot of the agents have given her their junk mail. A sidelong glance reveals she's not alone, as Lukesh has joined her, opening his box, 4-D.

Ignoring the further grumblings between the former lover and current, she puts most of the envelopes into her jacket pocket, turning away from the chubby man to open something marked "Urgent." When she finds it's only more junk mail, she sighs, a plume of smoke escaping the side of her mouth. Turning back, she sees no sign of Lukesh, then spits the cigarette out, stubbing it out with the sole of her shoe. "Where is he," she asks in a low voice, pulling her gun out.

The earpiece, covered by her longish hair, crackles as Follmer tells her, "Down the hallway, Agent Reyes. And keep your distance, or he may see you following." Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she keeps herself from retorting that it's Lukesh that's been doing a good job of keeping his distance, always out of sight but definitely the serial killer cutting out women's tongues. Hearing the creak of a door, she runs towards it, catching it with her gun and nudging it open again.

Meanwhile, sitting the back of an oh-so-nondescript white van with Follmer and a techie, Doggett squints at the various monitors filling up the rest of the space. "Monica, where are you?" he says, keeping his tone even, as it seems she, like their quarry, has disappeared from sight.

"In a stairwell," she replies, her voice low. "I don't see him. Do you guys-" And a sudden, immense pain fills her head, and the blackness begins to spread, along with nausea. As she loses consciousness, she fires off in the direction she's guessing her attacker is, but slumps over before she can confirm a hit or miss.

Hearing the gunshots over the receiver, both Doggett and Follmer practically explode from the back of the van, guns out and race towards the apartment. Running past the mailboxes, they head down the hallway and out towards the stairwell. They find her slumped on the stairs, looking like she's asleep except for her very bloody neck, and Follmer shouts, "Agent down, back stairwell, get EMS here now!" Then he kneels at her feet while Doggett runs out, hoping to get a glimpse of Lukesh. His blue eyes scanning the dimly lit scene, the blond AD shouts, "Doggett! He's got her gun!"

"Shit," Doggett mutters under his breath, then sees Reyes' attacker twenty feet away. "Erwin Lukesh! Federal Agent!" he shouts, wanting so badly to shoot first and shout later. "Turn around, you son of a bitch."

The chubby, balding man turns slowly, his face expressionless and hands covered with blood. The sight alone is enough to get Doggett's blood boiling, and he can feel a vein bulging in his forehead as he walks toward the bastard that got Monica. Police sirens alert both men that there are more lawmen to help Doggett, and the FBI agent turns his head, waving the cop cars over. "Over here!"

When he turns back, there's nobody there. The hell? Doggett thinks, knowing it's impossible to disappear in that open, enclosed space in that short a time. With no time for any practical reasons or explanations for the unexplainable, there is a psycho killer here, and he can't have gotten far. He finds himself scanning the area, his eyes and ears sharp, his whole body tense and alert. And then he notices something else that's weird – the street is empty. There are no cop cars blocking the exits, there are no FBI agents rushing the scene, it's just him. Oh, shit, he thinks, his eyes wide with a realization almost as fast as his reflexes, which has him spinning around, his gun pointed at Lukesh, who has a gun pointed at him.

Two shots are fired, and both men fall.

* * *

Doggett's House

Doggett yawns, and so does Reyes. "I don't wanna go to work," he grumbles, tiredly strapping on his thick stainless steel watch onto his right wrist.

"Then don't." She smiles, pulling down more of the covers to reveal, well, more of her.

He gives her a stern look as he sits up, but it soon matches the smile on her face. "Monica, boring as the X-Files have gotten without Fox Muldah digging up God-knows-what, we gotta clock in," he says, trying to convince himself as much as her, even though they're both naked as jaybirds and he'd really like to get back to doing what they did last night. "Besides, that AD is tryin' to be more of a pain in the ass than Kersh was, and that takes some doing." He stands and pulls his boxers on, figuring that more of a distance between him and the bed (and Monica) would mean less pull either would have on him.

She laughs, but doesn't argue. "Come here before you hit the shower," she says, and when he leans over, she gives him a long, lingering kiss. "Mm." She smiles, "I may have to join you."

"Then we'll never get to work," he retorts, and jumps away from the laughing temptress. "Be nice and give me a few minutes to get cleaned up, okay?"

"Okay," she says, the smile still on her face. Then the bathroom door closes, and it's not long before she hears the shower running. Still smiling, she closes her eyes, telling herself she'll give him a couple of minutes before she joins him.

Then the phone rings, and she sighs, crawling over to John's side of the bed to answer it.

* * *

"Agent Reyes?" Skinner says, his voice crackling a little through the landline.

"Yes," Reyes replies, automatically straightening her posture somewhat.

"It's Doggett. He's been found in an alley off Dillon Park. He's been shot."

"Wait, what did you say?" Even as she asks this, she gathers the bedcovers to cover herself, in case there were hidden cameras. Perhaps this is some new kind of reality show where they play sick jokes on people...

"They're taking him in the Washington Memorial," says the unrelenting solemn voice on the other end. "Agent?"

And now she notices that the shower has stopped, and she races to the bathroom. There's no one there, no sign of John in the bathroom, no moisture in the shower, no way he could've escaped through that tiny (and stuck) ventilator grill, no smell of a man with overnight musk lingering... Her hand hangs onto the phone, even as it falls limply to her side. "John?" she asks, her dark eyes wide with confusion, wondering what the hell just happened. "John...?"

Meanwhile, Skinner thinks the connection may have dropped, or maybe somebody got to her, too. "Agent Reyes? Agent Reyes?" he asks.

* * *

At the hospital, Reyes leaves the elevator and walks down the hallway, sure that this is all some kind of strange joke. Or odd game - with the X-Files, she's never quite sure. If John managed to rope Skinner into this, I'm impressed, she thinks. When she stops at the counter to talk to the clerk, she pauses when she sees Follmer. "Brad?"

"Monica?" he says, and she could almost swear he's deliberately keeping his tone and expression neutral. Is he in on this, too? she wonders, her paranoia reaching new levels.

"Oh, so Skinner called you, too," Reyes observes aloud.

The AD nods briskly, "He's staying at the crime scene. I've been put in charge of this investigation." He pauses, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I promise you, it's my top priority. I will find a person who did this. I just need to find out why your partner was in that alley this morning."

She smiles ruefully, brushing off his hand. "There's no way he could've been," she disagrees, "he was at his home. In fact, that's where Skinner called me."

It doesn't take the AD long to put one and one together, but now he frowns. "That's not possible."

She's about to ask him if he's joking, but decides against it and walks off, only to bump into Scully. They both murmur apologies and compose themselves, and Scully is the first to speak a complete sentence. "I hate to tell you this, Monica, but Agent Doggett is just coming out of surgery and they're moving him to the ICU."

Follmer reacts to this seriously, "How's it look?"

Just as soberly, Scully answers, "If he pulls through, it's likely that he'll be paralyzed for life."

Reyes looks at the red-haired woman, then at the blond man, a somewhat bemused smile on her face. "Okay, joke's over, guys. I can't believe John would pull this kind of elaborate stunt, but it's good, I've got to admit."

Scully and Follmer look at each other, then at the tall brunette, shocked, then steer her towards the ICU.

* * *

"This... this can't be happening," Reyes says, her face still a mask of shock as she stares through the glass at Doggett's unconscious body lying in a hospital bed, his neck held in a cervical collar and looking quite unlike the man she saw heading for the shower this morning. "I was with him at his home, Dana." She turns to the shorter woman. "How is this possible?"

"I," Scully starts, then looks away, over to the man seemingly asleep in the room. "I saw something once," she continues. "It's only been the last couple of years that I've... fully come to terms with it. In '94 my father passed away... and that night... at the very moment that it happened he came to me. I like to believe that he came to say goodbye."

Reyes reaches over and puts her hand on the other woman's arm. "A visitation." She smiles warmly, "I think that's wonderful." The smile disappears when she, too, looks at the man in the bed. "But that's not what happened to me."

Scully's cell phone rings, stopping her from snapping at her friend who's obviously in shock and denial. "Scully," she says tersely.

What follows is a brief conversation that Reyes doesn't bother to pay attention to, instead, she's still trying to reconcile the sight of the prone man before her with the more than healthy and totally hot man who headed for the shower this morning. It's only when Scully says, "Monica," that she turns, and sees the same grim look that greeted her earlier at the hospital.

* * *

The day keeps getting stranger and stranger for Agent Monica Reyes. First, there's the call from Skinner telling her that Doggett had been shot, and right when she hears that, Doggett disappears from his shower. Next, she goes to the hospital, to find Doggett not only shot, but practically in a coma. Then came the indignity of the interrogation that all but accused her of shooting the man she loves in an alley at least fifteen miles away from where she and John were this morning.

And now she's back at the hospital, sitting beside the man she supposedly shot, holding Hannah on her lap as the tears continue to flow down the little girl's face, stroking the soft hair with one hand while holding her lover's hand with the other. Standing beside her like two pale sentries are Luke and Gibson, neither one wanting to cry aloud, but their silence and trembling lips betray their pent-up grief and rage.

"This can't be happening," Reyes murmurs to herself, which only makes Hannah cry harder, burying her face into the dark-haired woman's shoulder. "Shhh, shhh," Reyes absently continues to stroke the girl's hair, unaware that she, too, is crying.

When Scully and Skinner walk into the room, she lifts her head, tears still streaming down her face, her expression an unspoken accusation.

For once, it seems Skinner is at a loss for words, but then his eyes narrow behind his glasses. "Luke, Gibson, take Hannah outside. We need to talk to Agent Reyes."

"Hey, she's innocent!" Luke shouts. "Why don't you guys do your job and find the real asshole who shot my dad?"

"They will," Gibson says quietly, putting a hand on his friend's arm.

"Oh yeah, they're doing a great job." Luke scowls, shaking off the shorter boy's hand angrily.

"Luke, Gibson," Reyes says, her cracked and broken voice surprising even her, "take Hannah outside." When Luke continues to protest, she shakes her head. "It's okay. Really. Wait for me outside, okay?" It's only when the door closes shut behind the children that the woman's demeanor changes, from grieving and supportive, to hard and weary. "All right. Talk."

Scully finds the parallel between Monica's situation and her own almost intolerable, especially in light of her history with similar things happening to Mulder because of their search for the truth and sense of justice, including death, and even now, he's on the hunt for those remaining conspirators who would hurt their families... Forcing that last thought to the back of her mind, she says evenly, knowing that the woman needs the truth, not coddling, "Follmer's case has a couple potential holes. For one, there's the fact that when Skinner called you, you were at Doggett's home, more than fifteen miles from the crime scene. Plus there's the condition of your gun."

"It hadn't been fired." Reyes nods.

Scully nods back, "However, the bullet does match your gun. Perfectly."

Now Reyes looks more intently at the other woman. "None of this makes any sense. What about the eyewitness? What can you tell me about him?"

Before Skinner or Scully can say anything, Doggett's fingers twitch, and Reyes nearly drops his hand. "John!" she gasps when Doggett's eyes fly open, then close.

"Is he conscious?" Skinner asks the only medical expert in the room.

"I don't know." Scully shakes her head a little. "It could just be a muscle spasm. It's not uncommon with this type of spinal injury."

Skinner's eyes narrow as he watches Doggett's fingers, "That's not a spasm. That's Morse code."

"What'd he say?" Reyes looks up at him.

But Skinner's not the only one who can read Morse code. "Lukesh," Scully answers instead, her face changing from detached doctor to a very alert FBI agent.

"What? What does that mean?" the dark-haired woman leans toward Scully now that Doggett's fingers have stilled, his message sent.

* * *

It feels weird to Reyes that she's back in her apartment, even though it's only been a couple of days over at Doggett's home. And now that she's here, it feels less like home... in fact, she wants to be with Luke, Gibson and Hannah, but Scully insisted on taking in the kids, at least for the time being. "As if she doesn't have enough problems of her own," Reyes mutters, as if speaking normally would cause an echo or something.

A knock at the door startles her, and she looks through the peephole. Sighing, she unbolts the door, then opens it. "Yes?" she says, as politely as she can under the circumstances.

"Doggett hasn't regained consciousness since his message," the bald man says, quickly stepping inside after surreptitiously glancing around.

Locking the door behind her, Reyes looks at her boss. Well, would-be boss, if Brad wasn't there. And how she wishes he wasn't, more and more each day... "What's with the cloak and dagger?" she asks, as Skinner opens his trenchcoat and takes out a brown file from it.

"Agent, you're still under investigation," Skinner replies, walking away as soon as she takes the file.

Opening the file, she glances at the name that practically leaps out. "Erwin Timothy Lukesh?"

"Have you even seen him before?" Skinner asks, not aggressively, but curious.

She looks back down at the photo, shaking her head. How does John know him? She wonders as she reads aloud from the file, "1995. Patient at the State Psychiatric Hospital at Gaitersburg. Diagnosed with a delusional disorder anger sub-type that presented itself shortly after the suicide death of his father."

Skinner nods. "After four months, he was deemed fit for release. He lives with his invalid mother in an apartment adjacent to the crime scene."

"This witness, what did he say?"

The bald man purses his lips as if he's got something distasteful, then says, "Lukesh claims he heard a bang, went downstairs to investigate, saw Doggett lying on the ground and that you shot at him when he was running away."

Reyes stares at him incredulously. "I shot at him?" Then her eyes narrow. "So he was wounded... this is the one person we know was in the vicinity at the time of shooting. And how does John know his name?"

Skinner's own eyes narrow when he sees where she's headed. "You think Lukesh shot Doggett?"

She exhales, suddenly dying for a cigarette. "What if," she muses aloud, "Doggett was investigating Lukesh. What if Doggett caught up with Lukesh, and they fired at each other... What if," she looks back down at the abnormally plain man in the black and white photo, "Lukesh is somehow behind all this?" Skinner's phone rings, diverting his attention. Reyes' attention, however, is on the file. She goes through the contents more carefully now, trying to find some sign of her partner, of how or why he would be involved with this man, and still trying to tease out how her disappearing John and this disabled John is linked to this mad man, for he truly is, no matter what the psych hospital says.

Skinner closes the file folder, and her head snaps up. "Come with me," he says, "we're going back to the hospital."

* * *

Washington Memorial

Reyes and Skinner leave the elevator, only to meet with Scully and Follmer halfway down the hallway. "How is he?" Reyes asks Scully as they all head towards Doggett's room.

"Fully conscious," Scully says briskly, although that doesn't fully mask her optimism. "We set up a communication device designed for spinal injuries-"

Follmer interrupts, "Just so we're clear, we ask only the questions I want asked. You're not to try and shade his testimony in any way."

"If you're so concerned, why let Reyes talk to him in the first place?" Skinner asks, clearly irritated.

It galls him to admit it, but, "Because he says he won't talk to anyone but you," Follmer replies quickly. When they reach the door, Reyes walks through, but the blonde man stops the redhead and the bald man. "He didn't mention you two," Follmer says smugly.

* * *

There's a monitor at the end of the bed, and his fingers are attached to a Morse button connected to a laptop, but all Reyes has eyes for is the man in the bed. "John." She smiles, stroking his face with her fingertips, "hey."

Doggett's own fingers twitch, and the monitor reads, "ALIVE."

"Of course you are." Reyes' smile deepens.

There's a pause, and then he blinks, as if surprised that not only can most of his body not move, but neither can his face. After a while, he types out, "NO YOU HOW OK."

Now Reyes frowns. "Why am I alive? Is that what you're asking? I'm fine, John. Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, confused.

Follmer quickly jumps in, "Have him say who shot him."

Doggett types out, "YOU," and Reyes looks at him, shocked, while Follmer grows smug. But the smug look is replaced with confusion when the bedridden man continues to type "YOUR THROAT CUT."

Reyes leans forward, pulling her long dark hair away from her neck to show him, "My throat wasn't cut, John. What do you mean?"

"LUKESH KILLED YOU. TRIED KILL ME."

And for the first time in a long time, both Reyes and Follmer were thinking the same thing: What the hell?

* * *

It was one of the most uncomfortable hospital visits Scully has ever been to, and that's saying something, especially in light of all the ones she's had where either she or Mulder was the patient. And it was probably because of that that her children have become accustomed to it, while Doggett's children have rarely seen him in a hospital gown, much less so incapacitated. Luke was monosyllabic, almost to the point of being mute, while Hannah was a too-bright chatterbox, and it seemed only Gibson held something like a normal conversation with the bedridden man. Scully just stopped herself from thinking that that was because he was a mind reader, she isn't about to go that far.

By the end of visiting hours, Luke seemed relieved, while Hannah started to cry, and Gibson had a familiar, weary look on his face (the same one he had while we were trying to protect him in Canada, Scully recalls), and the children leave only after reading their father's much-abbreviated wishes of love and paternal admonitions.

Scully had squeezed his hand, then took Hannah's hand, and everyone bundled into the minivan in silence. The only thing any of them said on the way back to her house was, "I hope he gets better soon," and that was Hannah. Scully hadn't the heart to tell the little girl that the fact that Doggett was lucid and intelligent enough to grasp Morse as his only means of communication was a miracle, and kept silent. The older boys went to bed as soon as they finished their homework, while Hannah played up with Page and April, and the rest of her children were either running around or fed by the nanny.

Scully sighs, rocking William to her chest, when her cell rings, startling her. "Scully," she answers.

"Hey, it's me," a familiar voice says on the other end.

"Oh, Mulder." She smiles for the first time in a long time that day. "Is everything okay?"

"I was gonna ask you that," he answers, "I can say that so far, we haven't killed each other. You?"

"John's kids are staying with us for the time being," she says, and fills him in on the details. "Mulder?" she asks after a pause.

"Yeah, I was just thinking," he replies. "You know, I think it would be okay if the kids stayed with Reyes over at Dog, er, John's place."

"What?" Scully blinks.

"From what you've told me, she's pretty much off the suspect list now, most of the kids are old enough to be at home by themselves, and really, what they need now is to support each other. I think it's great that you took the kids in," he says quickly, "but now that Reyes is in the clear and Doggett's awake and communicating, they should be there for each other, don't you think?"

She exhales, then smiles ruefully. "I guess I do tend to be a den mother, don't I?"

"It's what I love about you," he says.

"Mulder," she says before he can hang up, "what about you? Have you found what you're looking for?"

"No," he answers heavily, guiltily.

"Keep looking," Scully says, "if anyone can find them, it would be you two." When William yanks on her cross, she smiles a little. "I'm praying for you."

"Thanks," he says, and it sounds like he means it. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Scully says, and forces her voice not to catch.

"Yeah," he says, and hangs up, before unspoken words like "I miss you, I need you, I wish you were here," and other threaten to be said and overwhelm and undermine them both.

"Please," Scully whispers, taking the small gold cross from her son's chubby fingers to pinch it tightly in her own, "please, let them find what they're looking for, keep them safe, and let them come home soon." She smiles gently when William fusses and she hands the cross back to her child.

"Who was that?" Page asks, curious.

"Your daddy," Scully answers. "He's okay."

"Is he coming home soon?" she says hopefully.

"Not yet," her mother has to say truthfully, and her heart breaks again when she sees her little girl's crestfallen face.

"I miss him," the little blonde girl says, and hugs her mother tightly.

"Me, too," Scully frees a hand to hug her back, closing her eyes against tears that threaten to fall.

* * *

The kids are at school, and Reyes is at the hospital. It's almost disturbing how accustomed she's gotten to this new routine, dropping off the kids at school before heading to the basement office to prod and poke at the current case, then driving over to the hospital and spending time with Doggett. The hours fly by and then she picks up the kids from school, drop them off at various activities, do a little grocery shopping and cooking before picking the kids up and having dinner at home.

And she's found that it's better for Doggett and the kids if she brings them over individually rather than en masse, as the pressure for him to want to talk to everyone makes his typing sloppy and the children impatient. Yeah, it's almost disturbing to see how used to this life she has become, but then again, she's never been the type to get thrown by different things for too long.

And besides, she smiles as the doctor finishes up his checkup, she would do anything for this man, this man she loves even if his only form of movement is through his amazing eyes and nimble left-hand fingers. "Hey, you," she says, sitting beside him.

"HEY SEXY," Doggett types.

Reyes snorts. "You're such a bad flirt," she says, grinning anyways.

"HOWS CASE?"

She scrunches up her face. "I think 'fucked up' would just about describe it." When he continues to look at her, she sighs. "Nothing fits. You say I was on the stakeout with you, the kids say..." Then she looks at him. "Hey, what's the last thing you do before you leave the house?"

"LOCK DOOR," he replies.

"Before that," Reyes clarifies.

He looks at her, then types, "STICK PENCIL LEAD IN DOOR HINGE."

A cheap alarm system, to place a mechanical pencil lead in the door hinge, especially if someone was skillful at picking locks and would leave little evidence of a break-in. It was something she'd picked up from the kids, but hadn't seen Doggett do, since she'd always left before he did. And according to the kids, there was no lead, not even a broken piece, around the doors that morning.

"John, what if we were both right?" she leans forward, her eyes wide with excitement. "What if you were at home with me, and I was on a stakeout with you at the exact same time. What would it take for that to be true?"

"WE BOTH HAD TWINS WHICH WE DONT." He doesn't thin his lips in a skeptical line, but he doesn't have to.

"Except maybe we do," she rejoins. "Maybe all of us do. You've heard of the idea of a parallel universe? One that's identical, or nearly identical, to our own. One in which we all have a double. It's theoretical physics but... what if it's real?"

"TOO MUCH STAR TREK," is his answer, and she could almost swear he rolled his eyes.

She smiles briefly, but continues. "You said yourself Erwin Lukesh was known for his impossible escapes. You said that in the alley you looked away only for an instant and he was gone." She snaps her fingers. "And then, somehow, he was behind you. And he shot you. With my gun. My gun, that never left my possession that entire day. What if Lukesh can pass freely from one parallel world to the other? Like," her eyes go to the ceiling searching for the words, and then her gaze returns to him, "like he's opening a door. And what if somehow you followed him through that door without even knowing it." Reyes runs a hand through her hair. "Maybe when you followed Lukesh into this world, my - my John got forced out."

"FUKN WEIRD."

Reyes chuckles. "My John would have called that crazy, too..." Then her gaze holds his with a challenge, "But give me another theory that fits."

* * *

Skinner walks into the hospital room, his face grimmer than usual. "There's someone who wants to talk to you," he says, his jaw clenched and his lips barely moving. Doggett merely looks at him, not wanting to waste finger-tapping time on an obvious question. The bald man exhales noisily, then looks away. "Your ex-wife, Barbara."

As Reyes looks on in shock, Skinner taps a few buttons on the in-room phone, then says, "Go ahead."

A voice made tinny by long-distance connection and speakerphone says, "Hi, John."

There is no typed response from the man in the bed, and after a long, uncomfortable pause, the voice goes on. "I assume your boss told you I was calling. Well, I'm surprised I didn't hear the news earlier. I only found out because Hannah-"

A flurry of taps drowns out her words, and Skinner reads from the screen, "You talked to Hannah?"

"Yeah," she says, flustered. "Anyways, I was thinking that it would be best if the kids were with me at this time."

"John," Skinner frowns at the choice language Doggett has so thoughtfully typed. "Um, Ms., um, Barbara, I don't think he thinks that's a good idea."

"What he thinks isn't the issue," she replies, "Luke and Hannah need someone who's going to be there for them, who's able to care for them."

Now Reyes is pacing the room, dying to hit that woman who's thousands of miles away, dying for a cigarette, dying for a chance for that man in the bed to give his ex some lip. Then a thought strikes her.

Both she and Skinner say, "What about Gibson?" and they look at each other.

"Gibson? Oh, that boy John wanted to adopt," Barbara says, her tone dismissive. "Well, I doubt the courts would let someone in John's condition adopt a child, especially a special needs boy like that."

"He's not a special needs child," Skinner corrects her. "And Gibson's paperwork is already finished, I sent in some recommendations myself. All that's left is the processing, and once the last form is stamped, Gibson's legally theirs. Hell, he's practically a part of their family now."

"You keep saying 'they'," the voice on the other end says. "I assume you're talking about that Monica woman?"

Both Doggett and Reyes roll their eyes. "Yes," Skinner responds tersely.

"You do realize she has no legal say or rights regarding my children, right?"

"Stuff it, Babs," Skinner reads, then adds quickly, "That was John."

"I guessed as much," she says. "Listen, John, you may talk tough, but you and I know you can't do a damn thing from where you're at. And while I may be miles away, I'm still Hannah and Luke's mother, and I'm sure the courts would agree that I'd be more fit as a guardian than you are. You're in no shape to put up a fight, and that Monica woman is pretty much out of the picture when it comes to family matters. Just give it up, John."

"Like hell I will," Skinner reads.

"Suit yourself," Barbara sniffs. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers."

The dial tone is loud, and Skinner quickly hangs up. "John, are you sure this is a good idea?"

Onscreen, Doggett replies, "WAS GONNA GIV UP B4. SHE AIN'T TAKIN KIDS."

Reyes smiles, then holds his right hand. "I love it when you get all mad and Southern."

* * *

That Night

The phone rings, and Hannah, the only one not loaded down with ten hours worth of homework, answers. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey, this is Mommy," Barbara Patrick coos.

"Hi, Mommy," Hannah says.

When he hears that word, Luke's head whips up from his homework and his long legs take him over furniture to get to the phone. "I need to talk to her," he tells his sister urgently in a low voice.

Surprised, Hannah hands it over. "Okay."

"Hey," he says when he hears his mom squawking at Hannah.

"Oh, Luke," Barbara says. "Oh baby, I've missed you so."

"Sure you have," he drawls, deliberately sounding like his father. "This is a record, you calling for about the third time in a couple of weeks. I might have to call CNN."

"Luke, honey, don't be like that," she tries to sweet-talk him as if he were Hannah's age. "You know I've been busy-"

"Exactly," he interrupts her, "what makes you think, with all your busy-ness and being so far away, that you have any say in this family? Or that you think you can be the boss now that Dad's in the hospital?"

"Luke, you make it sound like he got a scratch, when you know it's more serious than that," she admonishes him.

"Please." He rolls his eyes, "we got the 411 on his condition, okay? We're his kids, not idiots. And in about a month, they'll bring him home, and we'll have it set up so that it's all wheelchair-friendly and everything. We've already got his bedroom set up downstairs, and we're getting lots of help with folks wanting to redo the bathroom and everything. So you see," he pauses for effect, "we. Don't. Need. You."

"That's cute." Her son can practically see her sneer down her nose at him, "but you see, you're still a minor in the eyes of the law. You can't take care of yourself and your sister, on top of having to take care of your father as well. There's no way you can do all that, much as you'd like to think you're the man of the house now."

Luke narrows his eyes, and if his mother could see him, she'd see it's the same exact expression her ex-husband would have. "I don't have to be man of the house," he tells her, "because Dad is."

"Get serious," she snaps. "Your father is totally paralyzed, with no way of earning a living, no way of talking except tapping like some old lady, and no way of taking care of you! If you think you can call that a man-"

"Shut up!" Luke yells, surprising Hannah into making her cry. "Stop pretending like you care! You don't care about us, you don't care about Dad, and you don't give a damn about anyone except your selfish, stupid self!" He slams the phone down, breathing hard, and then sits down hard on the couch next to his little sister. "I'm sorry, Hannah."

"How come you were yelling at Mommy?" the dark-haired girl asked between hiccups.

"'Cause she's not acting like one," he says grumpily. "She hasn't been, not for a long time." He awkwardly pats her on the head, "C'mon, don't cry. It was her I was mad at, not you."

"Okay," Hannah sniffles. "I can't wait for Monica to get home."

"Yeah, me, too," Luke slumps his shoulders. "Then she can yell at Mom."

"I'd love to see that," Gibson says, and Luke turns toward the guy he's already thinking of as his brother as well as friend. But the smile on the smaller teen's face is strained, as if the situation is hitting him as hard as it does Luke and Hannah.

Luke smiles back at him, but it's a small smile. "Wanna make a bet on that?"

Gibson's strained smile eases up somewhat. "Sure. How about a can of Coke, and she yells on the second call?"

The other teen raises his eyebrows up. "You're on." As Hannah watches her brothers, Luke winks at her. "I say Monica yells on the first call."

* * *

It doesn't take long before their wager is called, literally. After a week of hearing a dial tone whenever he picks up the phone, Luke finally yells, "Wow, scared of your own son? What kind of mother are you?"

"I don't appreciate being talked to in that tone," Barbara Patrick says coldly.

"Oh, finally she speaks," Luke comments sarcastically. "Hey, guess what, 'Mom'? There's gonna be a woman helping Dad around the house, and it's not gonna be you."

"You mean that Monica tramp? Don't make me laugh," she retorts, not bothering to hide her venom from her son. As soon as she sees how much it's going take looking after a cripple, she'll be running off to who knows where with who knows what."

"Isn't that what you did to Dad?" Luke shoots back. "As I recall, it didn't take much to get you running, and Dad wasn't even paralyzed."

"How dare you!" she sputters. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, young man, and a lot of things you don't know about adult issues!"

"Maybe," he says grudgingly, "but there's a lot I do know. I know that we can depend on Monica more than we can depend on you. She's great with Hannah, she's cool with Gibson and me, and she'll never disrespect Dad like you are!"

"Gib-? Oh, you mean that boy that John wanted to take in. Well, he can have him," Barbara says as if she's tossing out the trash. "All I want are you and Hannah. You're mine."

"What?" Luke's eyes are bulging, but he doesn't even notice that Reyes is making her way towards him. "You-, you-!" There are a thousand things he wants to say, but even he knows not to call his mother those things, no matter how much he wants to. When he feels a hand on his shoulder, he looks up to see the woman he's defending against his mother. "Hey," he says, his eyes pleading with her, "Mom doesn't want Gibson."

The news doesn't seem to surprise the FBI agent, and she nods, taking the phone from him. "This is Agent Monica Reyes," she says crisply.

"I see," Barbara sounds less than pleased. "Hand the phone back to Luke, I have family matters to discuss."

"I don't care what you think of me," Reyes ignores the request, "but you don't talk that way to your ex-husband, and you definitely will not talk that way to your ex-husband's children, which, by the way, includes Gibson Praise. His status in this family is as legally binding as anything blood-related, and I suggest that if you want to further harass your children in this or any other matter, you should watch what you say before you get, at the very least, served with a restraining order."

"Now you listen here, you slut," Barbara hisses. "You've already gotten your hooks into John, I won't let you have my kids as well."

"Your kids?" Reyes echoes in disbelief. "You may have given birth to two of them, but you certainly haven't been acting like a mother. When you decide to take some actual responsibility and have some love for them, I will graciously step aside, but I have a feeling it'll be a cold day in hell before that happens. Goodbye." Then she slams the phone down. "How dare she?" she blazes. "That self-centered little-!" Then she remembers who she's with, and simmers down a little. "Sorry."

"Wow," Gibson says. "You can get scary, even though you're usually pretty mellow."

Reyes chuckles. "You think that was scary? Trust me, scary is if I ever see her in person, I don't know what I'd do..." she trails off when she sees Hannah's lower lip jut out. "Sorry, Hannah."

Hannah shakes her head. "If she doesn't want Gibson, she doesn't really want me or Luke, neither," the little girl says sadly. "I thought she still loved us, but she just wants to be mean to Daddy, huh?"

The brunette sighs, then squats down to hug her. "I'm sorry," she says again. "Grownups sometimes don't act like they should, even if they're your parents."

"She's not gonna take us away, right?" Hannah looks up at her, teary-eyed. "We're gonna stay with you an' Daddy, right?"

"Nobody's going anywhere," Reyes assures her, wiping Hannah's tears, feeling the most rage and bitterness against a woman not connected to a case she's ever felt.

"Damn straight," Luke agrees. When Reyes gives him a look, he sighs. "Sorry."

"Man, neither of us wins the bet." Gibson sighs.

"What?" Reyes blinks. After Luke grudgingly tells her, she laughs. "And how would you know this was my second conversation with her?" she asks.

"Dad told us about this morning's conference call," Luke explains, "and you didn't lose your cool then. And just now, you were tough, but you didn't yell. Well, not 'til after you hung up," he grins. "Are you like Gibson?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like a mind reader," he says, more matter-of-factly than his father ever would.

Reyes shakes her head. "I," she pauses for the right words, "have these feelings, but nothing even close to what Gibson does." She smiles ruefully. "Speaking of which, I have a feeling if we keep taking these calls, we could lose more than our tempers. Just screen the calls and let the answering machine take her messages, okay? There's something I don't trust about her calls."

"Gotcha," Luke nods, as does Gibson, and Hannah has to be reminded a couple times as the night goes on.

* * *

Try as they might, however, it looked like Barbara's lawyers were getting the upper hand, and Reyes was seriously thinking about letting loose some bad mojo on the woman. It's obvious to everyone involved that the former Mrs. Doggett was more invested in winning rather than wanting the best for her children, but that doesn't stop the literally and metaphorically distant woman from wreaking havoc with the children's hearts and minds, even at such a great distance.

It didn't take long for Scully to want Barbara's head on a platter after one conference call that left little Hannah in tears, Gibson grinding his teeth, and Luke swinging his baseball bat way too recklessly. Even Skinner was appalled at how lax the FBI-connected lawyers were, and was starting his own inquiries into getting a decent lawyer.

Still, in spite of all the long-distance legal wrangling with Barbara and the closer-to-home stalled investigation, Reyes finds peace simply spending time with Doggett. At the moment, they're listening to some pretty corny country music, her right hand resting lightly on his left. When his fingers start tapping, however, she removes her hand, looking at his face before looking at the monitor.

"BEEN THINKING," he says.

"About?"

It takes a while, but the end result sounds like something he'd say at the end of a crazy X-File. "SOUNDS CRAZY, BUT THINK YOURE RIGHT. 2 JOHNS CANT BE IN 1 WORLD. U CAN FIX"

She looks at him. "How?"

"PULL THE PLUG."

"John, that's not funny," Reyes says, pursing her lips.

"I GO YOUR JOHN COMES BACK. CMON YOUR THEORY SOUND"

She stares at him incredulously. "My theory is sound? You don't believe a word of it, John, not in a million years would you believe. It has nothing to do with my theory and more to do with the damn legal battle and stupid case."

He looks at her for a while, and neither backs down from the other's gaze. Without taking his eyes off her, he taps, "DO U BELIEVE?"

She tears her gaze away to read the monitor, then answers, "You know I do."

"PROVE IT"

"You know I would do anything for you," she says quietly. "But you also know I would do anything for Luke, Gibson and Hannah, and they wouldn't want me to do that. And neither would I."

* * *

They continue to stare at each other in silence until Reyes' cell rings. She glances over, then picks it up. "Reyes."

"It's Skinner, are you okay?" he says at the other end.

She blinks. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I can't say the same for Marion Lukesh."

Reyes frowns. "What happened?"

"She's dead," Skinner says succinctly. "It's the exact M.O. Doggett described. It looks like a straight razor was used."

Reyes tells Doggett in a low voice, "Lukesh killed his mother." Then she continues her phone conversation, "Do you have any idea where he is?"

"No," he replies. "But if everything I've heard is true, he's not going to be easy to find."

She shakes her head. "I think he'll find us." When she hangs up, she answers Doggett's questioning look, "Don't worry." Her look becomes determined, almost grim. "The kids will be fine, and so will I." Then Reyes leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Remember you said you wouldn't give up, not to Barbara, not to anyone. Don't give up on yourself." Then she strokes his short hair and leaves, not looking back to see his eyes follow her.

* * *

67 Bennett Ave.  
Washington, DC

It's early evening, but because of the autumn season, it's about as dark as it would be at midnight. Then again, it took a while to get everything covered, from Skinner guarding Doggett's room, as well as placing a watch for Doggett's kids, and now for Reyes herself around her apartment. She's already thinking of it as her "old" apartment, even though the longest she's spent at Doggett's place is only recently. Walking around in her dimly lit apartment, with more shadow than light as if to invite attackers, she moves about slowly, and scrapes her elbow stepping into the kitchen. "Shit," she swears under her breath, holding her arm as she gingerly moves it.

"You all right, Monica?" Scully asks, her voice crackling in Reyes' ear piece.

The dark-haired woman exhales. "I'm okay," she answers, flipping on a light switch. "I'm just gonna ice this. Anything happening outside?"

"It's dead out there," Follmer answers. "The cameras inside and out show you're the only one around."

"Great, my own reality show," she comments. After strapping a makeshift icepack to her elbow, Reyes declares, "I think I'll check around again."

Rounding the corner to the living room, she steps into the half-lit room, and the icepack slips off her arm, spilling into a slick mess on the floor. "Great," she mutters, bending down to clean the mess. Gathering the wet, icy mess in the saran wrap, she heads back to the kitchen when someone grabs her neck from behind, and the ice flies everywhere. Guided more by the feel of a cold sharp razor at her throat than by his strong hand around her neck, Reyes staggers backward, her eyes wide. When he pulls her close, he notices the ear piece and tears it out, then grins into her ear, "Bet you wanna scream, don't you?"

"Lukesh," she says, her voice flat. The razor presses deeper against her skin when she tries to pry his arms off, and she lowers her hands slowly while breathing shallowly, as if that would lessen the pressure.

"Parked in a van outside was the FBI," Lukesh hisses in her ear, so close that she can't help but shudder. "Try and scream out now. They can't hear you."

"Lukesh," she says calmly, even though she can feel the thin trickle of blood crawl coldly down her neck. The wound is light and barely stings, but she knows he's capable of doing much worse, and that only hardens her resolve.

"You ruined everything, you bitch," he raves. "You made me! You made me do it." The razor wavers around her throat, moving from the front to the side, closer to her jugular.

"Lukesh," she says again, bracing herself.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he shrieks. "But you know what? This time, I get to bleed you slow."

He leans in, raising his elbow to draw a deeper cut, and that's when she raises her gun, shooting him from below his jaw. The FBI marksmen explode through the door, but lower their weapons when they see Lukesh slump behind Reyes, who is standing on wobbly legs. Follmer and Scully run in after to see Reyes drop her gun, and when Follmer starts to bark questions, Scully props up the taller woman, guiding her towards the bathroom, since it looks like she's going to be sick, "Monica, you all right? It's okay. It's over now."

Her hand over her mouth, Reyes manages a small nod, even as tears well in her eyes.

* * *

It's late, and the hospital room is empty of anyone save the man sleeping in the bed, his neck encased in a cervical collar, his life sustained by the various machines attached to him by various tubes and wires. Reyes walks into the lonely room, her body radiating a weary resolve as she locks the door behind her before standing next to the man in the bed. Her dark eyes fill with tears full of too many emotions, and she reaches out a hand to stroke his hair.

Doggett's eyes open, and when he sees her there, the blue eyes flicker with understanding. Taking his hand in hers, she leans over to kiss him, then turns off the monitor, followed by the respirator. It doesn't take long for the machine hums to silence themselves, and now the tears fall freely, even as his fingers squeeze hers reassuringly.

"Oh, John," she cries, hugging him fiercely. She doesn't care if anyone sees her, she doesn't care any more, she killed a man out of self-defense earlier, and now she's killed a man because she loves him... Reyes closes his eyes before closing her own, wishing she could end her life just as easily...

* * *

And opens them when bright light floods against her eyelids. Confused, Reyes blinks, seeing that it is daytime, perhaps even morning. Then she sees she's in Doggett's bedroom, and she's on his bed, wearing nothing but a bedsheet. What...?

Doggett comes out of the bathroom, clad in boxers and fairly dry. "Hey Monica, the hot water's taking a while, I'm gonna join you for a bit." She stares at him and he stops just short of the bed. "What's the matter?"

Reyes smiles, a blindingly bright smile, gets up off the bed and hugs him tight. He stiffens with surprise at first, then relaxes, returning the hug. "Monica, you okay?" he asks, his voice a low, reassuring growl.

She buries her head into his shoulder. "I'm good," she tells him, still smiling, although tears are running down her cheeks, holding this man, this John, alive, healthy, talking, standing. "Real good."


	109. Trust No 1

December 25th, 2001  
Mid-morning

"Now you open a present, Daddy," Page insists, her young face looking adamant. "You saw us open all our presents, now you open one."

"Which one should I open?" Mulder asks, pointing at three in front of him.

Page looks over her shoulder. "I think April wants you to open hers."

"Is that right?" Mulder asks, and his younger daughter smiles shyly. "Okay, I'll open it."

The package is wrapped in a shiny blue paper, and Mulder knows that the little girl must have enlisted her mother's help, because the wrapping is far too perfect for tiny fingers. He opens it slowly, and smiles when he sees the contents. "Wow."

"You like it?" April asks nervously.

"I love it," Mulder tells her, running a finger down the box to the herb garden. "It has all my favorite herbs."

"Mommy says if'n they grow good, we can use them to cook!" April says enthusiastically. "Then we don't have to buy them at the store when we make skeddie."

"That'll be nice."

"Ours next, ours next!" the twins insist, and to Mulder's pride, neither Sammy or Page insist that they be next instead. They might be gaining a little maturity, he suspects.

The twins give him UFO and alien toys for his desk, Sammy gives him a wallet, and Page proudly presents him with a black wool scarf "so your neck won't get cold." Neither William or Christopher have any interest in picking out gifts yet, but he's rewarded with their enthusiasm over his gifts to them, so he considers that enough.

He and Scully have decided to wait to exchange their gifts to each other until they are alone. A reminder that they are not suddenly fills the screen of Mulder's laptop. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." Langly tells him brightly.

"Merry Christmas," Mulder replies. "Thank you for setting this all up."

"No problem. I think it's about time to wrap this up, though."

"Okay," Mulder says reluctantly. He wishes his wife and children good night, then closes the screen to his laptop which makes his home disappear from view. The hotel room instantly seems more lonely. Sighing, he kicks off his shoes and settles onto the bed. The web camera had been the gunmen's idea, and they're promised that it was the next best thing to being there. He decided that they were probably right.

It wasn't as though they'd decided that the search was more important than Christmas, but a fierce storm in the northeast cancelled all flights to DC... so he and Krycek were stuck in California, unable to get home. The gunmen had been kind enough to walk them through setting up web cameras hastily bought at Radio Shack when it became clear that they wouldn't be home for the holidays bodily.

At least Scully had thought to have him and Krycek take the kids' gifts to them when they left "just in case." At the time it had seemed silly, but now he was idly wondering if there was anything to the tests that had been done on her and Missy when they were small.

Still, gifts with them to open or not, Mulder was more than half afraid that he'd wake up yesterday morning and discover that Krycek had decided to drive back to DC, weather be damned. As bad as missing Christmas is for him, Krycek also just missed celebrating his first anniversary.

Even with Scully's pregnancy with Sammy making her sick and sleepy, their first anniversary had been much more pleasant than the other couple's must have been. Mulder hasn't talked to Missy to find out her thoughts on the matter, but Krycek spent most of the previous night drowning his sorrows at a bar within walking distance. It makes Mulder wonder if they regret having picked Christmas Eve as their wedding date. Ever since he woke up in the hospital and learned that they'd married in his absence, he's been suspicious that Missy must have insisted on a holiday because her little sister had been married on one.

::Please let me be home by Valentines.:: Mulder prays, but he has the sinking feeling that no one is listening this time.

* * *

January 7th, 2002

For what seems like the millionth time since his father's funeral, Mulder finds himself a stone's throw from their goal. At least he used to believe that, but these days that sort of hope is thin on the ground.

Their unpaid chauffeur, however, isn't as jaded as his two passengers. "I think it's next street." Kelly, a friend of the gunmen's says with a hint of excitement in his voice. "Yeah, it's right down here," he says as the GPS unit beeps anxiously. The car slows as they approach the address they were given.

"Right..." Kelly's nasal voice falls. "It's supposed to be right here. I don't understand it."

Mulder's eyes trace the scarred ground, where a few blackened timbers poke out of the earth like the fingers of a buried giant. Those few things are the only proof that there'd ever been anything there. Otherwise the growth of the trees and other greenery nearly hides any trace of past human inhabitance.

"Fuck!" Krycek's good fist pounds the headrest in front of him. Mulder doesn't blame him since he feels like throwing an all-out fit himself, just like the twins would when you refused them ice cream.

"Shit. I thought this would be it for sure," Kelly says nervously. "I mean, this is the right address. It has to be."

"Kelly. I'm sure it's right address," Mulder tells him impatiently. "But clearly they've moved. It's been ages since anyone's been here, given how overgrown it is."

"Now what?" Krycek growls.

::Now what? Now we're back at square one trying to do research to find out where the hell they moved this place to.::

"Crap." Kelly says glumly as he peers at the wreckage. "I still owe Melvin one, don't I."

Mulder shrugs. "I don't know. You'll have to take that up with him."

"Damn."

A few minutes later they drive away from the charred remains. It's the fifth dead end they've encountered in California. This month. All total, but probably up to a dozen places that syndicate members had at one point or another held the children the Bill Mulder told them about hostage.

"Why the hell can't they stay in one place for more than a few months at a time?" Krycek grumbles as they returned to the seedy hotel they've been staying in for the past week.

"You know as well as I do they have no intention of making anything easier for anybody. Not even themselves." Mulder reminds him.

Krycek wheels around to face him. "Are you sick of this game yet? We are doing anybody any fucking good, but were stuck here because this is the only solid lead we have. I want to go home to my wife and kids. Don't you?"

"Of course. How can you ask that?" Mulder snaps back.

"Don't say that like you aren't all about the game. You like puzzles."

"Regardless, I like my family considerably more," he says stiffly.

"Right." Krycek inserts the passkey into his door, and leaves Mulder standing in the hallway.

::At least,:: Mulder finds himself thinking. :: we aren't crazy enough to share rooms. One of us would end up dead for sure.::

After kicking off his shoes, Mulder picks up the phone and dials his home phone number. ::At least I can keep in touch this time around.:: He finds himself thinking as he listens to the dial tone. ::At least there's that.::

"Mulder?" Scully's voice asks, making him sure that she's got the caller id on. It took quite a while to convince her that it'd be useful, and he wasn't sure she'd bother with it when he was away.

"Hey."

"Did you have any luck today?"

"No. The place was burned out. Another one that we got to too late."

"Mulder, it's not as though they know you're on their trail and moving to keep a step ahead of you," his wife chides mildly.

"It certainly feels like it." Mulder sighs. "But you're right. This place was torched months ago. I wish that made me think we were getting closer, but we're obviously not finding the places they used in chronological order."

"You'll find it soon."

"I sure hope so. Whose turn is it to talk to me tonight?" Mulder asks then. To reduce hurt feelings, they designed a schedule so everyone got to talk to their father once a week.

"Jared's," she tells him.

A minute later there's a rustling on the other end of the line, and he can hear voices faintly in the background. "Hi Daddy."

"Hey, Buddy, what's up?"

"The cats were bad." Jared's voice holds a note of delight. "They knocked stuff all down. Flour got everywhere!"

"They did? Why?" Mulder has had enough conversations with three-year-olds to know that they talk about whatever they're thinking about. There's no sense in really trying to direct a conversation with one.

"Dunno. Michelle says maybe they knew we was going to have a storm."

Mulder wonders what Scully thinks of that. "Is it snowing again?"

"Yeah! Mommy says we can make snowmen in the morning. Too dark now."

For a second Mulder smiles. If his wife hadn't told them to wait until the next day, he could picture the little boy and his twin sneaking outside to play in the dark.

They talk for a few more minutes before Mulder coaxes Jared into giving his mother the phone. "Tell everyone I love them, Jared."

"I will, Daddy."

Mulder stares at the phone once he hangs it up. ::When is this all going to be over so we can go home? Is this ever going to end?::

The longer he's away from them, the harder it is to continue. ::But if I don't, things could go much worse than this. What if they got a hold of William and Ryan? I have to keep reminding myself what's at stake.:: It's the one thing pushing him and Krycek on, despite the painful separation.

* * *

New York City  
January 11th, 2002

The day after a judge grants him permanent, legal guardianship of Gibson, Doggett takes the family to their favorite restaurant in New York to celebrate. He hopes that Monica and Gibson will enjoy the food as well.

As they enter the restaurant, the hostess smiles up at them from the front desk. "Name?"

"John Doggett."

"Here we are, Doggett party of five," the hostess notes that the younger boy blushes when she says it, but she has no idea why.

"Wow, this is neat," Hannah says as they're lead to their table. "It hasn't changed at all since the last time we were here."

"I thought it would be a good place to celebrate," her father tells her. "It's not every day that a family officially gets a new member."

"Nope," Hannah agrees. "Just having babies, or adopting kids, or getting married, right?"

"That's right," Doggett says, eyeing her suspiciously. Distracted by the arrival of the bread basket, the little girl doesn't say any more on the topic.

A few minutes after their order is taken, Luke leans over and whispers to his father. "Do you remember where the bathroom is?"

Doggett reminds him, and the boy heads off. He's on his way back to their table when he hears a familiar voice. "Hey, Luke!"

When he turns around, he sees a girl he'd gone to middle school with. Katie. Not a classmate he had particularly liked. "Hi."

"What brings you back to New York?" she asks curiously. Luke highly suspects that he'll be gossiped about the following day, and decides to give her something to talk about. "You're not moving back, are you?"

"Nah, we're just here for the night. Come to our table, we're celebrating tonight. I want you to meet my new little brother. The adoption just was finalized yesterday," Luke says enthusiastically, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Aww, you have a new brother?" Katie croons, apparently misinterpreting his mirth.

"Yeah, come meet him." Luke leads the way across the room, and Katie follows.

When they reach the table she looks confused. Luke smiles broadly. "Katie, this is my new brother, Gibson. Isn't he cute?" Luke asks, ruffling Gibson's hair.

Gibson swats his hand away. "Let me guess, he let you think that his dad adopted a baby, right?" he asks Katie.

"Our dad," Hannah corrects him primly.

"Well... He didn't _say_ you were a baby," Katie says quickly.

"You know what they say about assuming," Luke says with a smirk.

"Luke!" Doggett glares at him. "Behave."

"Ah, nice to see you again, Mister Doggett," Katie says and makes her escape.

Luke looks at Gibson. "Sorry, bro. She totally deserved being made to feel like an idiot, though. I'll tell you why later."

"Whatever. Don't do it again," Gibson says good-naturedly.

"I'd like to make a toast," Reyes announces. "To Gibson, a boy who has found his place, and may he never want for one again."

Gibson flushes again, but his shy smile is pleased.

* * *

Late That Night

After dinner they spent a couple of hours at Madame Tussauds admiring the wax figures before driving back home. Since the kids have been up since getting ready for school that morning, they go to bed without any prompting, thus leaving the adults to have a beer and watch the sports channel.

"I was thinking about your toast," Doggett tells Reyes after a while.

"Oh?" she asks, giving him a curious look. "It wasn't very profound, so what's there to think about it?"

"It was plenty profound," Doggett defends it. "I wonder if you feel that way too, that you lack a place."

"Sometimes." She admits. "I think we've all felt that way before."

"What about this point in your life?" Doggett presses.

"All right, what is this really about?" She puts her hands on her hips. "I feel like I'm wading through subtext all of the sudden. What gives?"

Doggett colors slightly, reminding her of Gibson's reaction to the hostess' off-hand comment earlier in the night. After a moment of silence he says, "Things are going good between us. So good I'm beginning to wonder if I should put shopping for a ring on my to-do list."

"No," she quickly replies.

"No?" He gives her an astonished look.

"Oh, John, don't look at me like I just killed your puppy! I think things are going really well, too. And I love you. But we're not getting married."

"Why not?" he asks, trying to keep his voice from wobbling.

"I'm never going to get married," she explains. "It's an archaic ritual, and I don't think it really means anything much these days."

"So you have no plans to settle down, ever? You could have mentioned this soo-"

"I didn't say that." Reyes picks up one of his hands, and he fights the urge to pull away. "I didn't say that at all. If you want to settle down, we can do that. We're just not walking down an aisle."

"How do you see our relationship turning out, Monica? Buying a house together, maybe having a couple of babies, but they'd get your last name?"

"Something like that," she agrees, meeting his disbelieving eyes. "Does that sound so awful?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Do you want me to leave?" Her voice is suddenly small.

"I didn't say that." He echoes her earlier statement. It only reassures her as much as it did him.

* * *

January 14th, 2002

Along with permission slips to go to the zoo, David and Jared bring home a cold. They get over it in a day or two, but William catches it from them, and in him it lingers. At day three, a weekday at last, Scully makes an appointment to see his pediatrician. It's probably just a virus, but she wants to make sure it's not strep.

As miserable as he must feel, William makes eyes at the other baby in the doctor's waiting room. It's a little girl, at least judging from the bow held in place by an elastic headband. The sight of it makes Scully a little sad, because it's always struck her as more of a way to show off a parent's insecurity than something that benefited the little girl. As bald as Page had been as an infant, she never gave into the urge to do the same thing to her.

"How old is he?" The other mother leans over to ask once she's noticed that the two babies are staring at each other.

"Almost eight months," Scully says. This leaves her wondering how time has gone by so quickly. The days seem to drag with Mulder off trying to keep the family safe, but time has undeniably passed, no matter how slow the days have passed for her.

"My little girl is seven months," the other mother says with a proud smile. "Joy is my firstborn."

"Oh, William is my baby," Scully replies, hoping that the conversation won't turn to how many other children she has. Some people are less than rational about large families, assuming that all of them are overly religious, and headed by domineering men who want to keep their wives barefoot and pregnant. It's a tedious conversation, every time it turns that way.

"William's a lovely name," the woman says instead. "Is it a family name?"

"My father's name." Scully decides not to mention Mulder's father. His loss is still too fresh a wound, even for her.

"Oh-" She looks up when a name is called. "That's us, nice to meet you." The woman stands and gathers her daughter into her arms.

"You too," Scully tells her. Once the other woman is gone, she picks up a magazine and half reads it while cuddling William on her lap. He's become more fretful since the other baby left the waiting room. All Scully can do is sigh.

* * *

Meanwhile...

"Jesus, Mulder, haven't you killed the battery on that thing yet?" Krycek asks, pointing down at Mulder's laptop. "I thought they were only good for 300 recharges."

"I bought a new battery before we left." Mulder doesn't even bother to look up from what he's typing.

"Too bad you couldn't buy new eyes. Yours are bloodshot. Why don't you go get a cup of coffee or something?"

"Okay, yeah." He stretches when he stands, wincing a little when things pop in his back.

Krycek smirks. "That's what happens when you huddle over a keyboard too long. Could you get me a coffee too? Black."

"Just like your heart. All right." Mulder takes the money that Krycek offers him and leaves the room.

As soon as he's gone Krycek pulls out his cell phone. "Marita. I thought I'd never get rid of him."

"You're sure he's gone for a while?" Her voice sounds faintly amused.

"For a few minutes."

"Why couldn't you just of called from your room?"

"The walls are like paper. And he doesn't blare porn like most guys." Krycek shrugs, not that she can see him.

"What did you want?" Marita asks, reminding him that time is short.

"An update and an opinion."

"No one has gone near your families, if that's the sort of update you're looking for. I think they're laying low. Somehow they seem to realize your absence is connected to Mulder's late father."

Krycek swears under his breath. He never should have trusted Kersh to keep his mouth shut. "My fault. But you haven't seen anyone lurking about?"

"No. The tapes come back clean every day. I have hours of lovely footage of your daughter and some of your nieces and nephews playing pirates in the snow, though. Perhaps I can save it for you so you can embarrass them during high school graduation parties," she says dryly.

"Maybe," he mutters.

"What did you want my opinion on?"

"Do you think Mulder is capable of killing, if necessary?"

"He has before, hasn't he?"

"He's slayed monsters. Not slaughtered inconvenient human beings."

"Whether or not they're human is up for debate," she says coolly. "But I think he could kill if it was the only way to protect his hen and all his chicks."

"He doesn't keep poultry, Marita," Krycek says, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Just a couple of temperamental cats and some fish."

To his surprise, this evokes a laugh from the woman. "You're not Shakespeare scholar, Alex. That's how McDuff in McBeth referred to his wife and kids. You should have read it in high school."

"Missed it somehow," Krycek tells her. "I guess I was having enough trouble adjusting to living here back then."

"I keep forgetting that you're not a US citizen," Marita mummers.

"The hell I'm not. I became a citizen before my folks died."

"Sounds like I hit a nerve," she replies smoothly. "I didn't mean to offend you. But getting back to your question, I'm not really sure if he'd kill someone who isn't an immediate threat."

Krycek sighs. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

January 17th, 2002  
8:30 a.m.

"Come on, Christopher, you need to finish breakfast," Scully encourages impatiently. There's nothing pressing going on at work, so she came home after dropping kids off from school so she could spend a little time with the little ones, but Christopher's refusal to eat is frittering away the time she has before she has to leave.

Ignoring her, Christopher waves an oatmeal crusted spoon towards the window. "A lady!"

Following his gaze, she sees the woman she met at the pediatrician's office. Even from a distance she looks stressed out, and she doesn't seem to notice that the baby she's holding is wailing unhappily.

The hairs rise on the back of Scully's neck, but she can't explain why. "Go see Michelle," she tells Christopher as soon as she releases him from his high chair. The toddler obligingly toddles towards where Michelle is already playing with William.

Scully slowly opens the kitchen door. "Hello?" The other mother's head whips around. "We don't usually have people come to the back door."

In three steps the woman reaches her. "You have to help me!" She grabs at Scully's arm like a drowning victim would.

Scully pushes her hand away, taking care not to accidentally swat the baby. "What are you talking about? Help you how?" She leads her unexpected guest into the kitchen.

The woman looks stricken, and is still shaking when she takes a seat at the table. "My husband. He's looking for us. You can let him find us."

"Why? What's wrong with your husband?" Scully asks, confused. "What did he do?"

"It's not what he's done. It's what he wants to do," the woman says ominously.

Scully begins to feel exasperated. "Are we going to talk in riddles the whole day or are you actually going to tell me what's going on? I don't even know your name."

"Patti."

"Well, Patti-"

Suddenly the door shakes with a pounding knock. Scully backs away from the door. Pattie looks at Scully. "It's him," she whispers.

"What is your husband's name?" Scully whispers to her.

"George."

Reaching to her hip, Scully unsnaps the holster on her gun. In a loud voice she asks, "George?"

The voice on the other side of the door says, "Yeah?"

"George, think I should let you know that I'm armed."

"Jesus. I just want to talk to my wife," the man grumbles.

"I don't think she wants to talk to you."

"Whatever. I ain't leaving without her." There's this slight noise as a man sits down against the door.

"Stay here," Scully hisses at Patti. She nods. Before she leaves the room, she grabs two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, and Christopher's sippy cup off the counter.

Walking quickly, Scully finds Michelle. "I need you to take Christopher and William up to the attic. Don't come down until I call for you." Scully's voice is laced with urgency.

Michelle looks frightened, but she takes the water from Scully before picking both of the boys up. "All right."

"Wait." Scully stops her, and hands her Mulder's spare cell phone. "Just in case."

A minute later Michelle and the two boys disappear from view as she hurries them up the stairs.

* * *

"I told you not to come here!"

"What choice did I have?"

Hearing voices, Scully takes her gun out of the holster all together and cocks it. George is in the kitchen now, and she can't figure out why Patti would let him in. She was afraid of him, so why would she remove the barrier between them that the kitchen door provided?

"What are you doing in my house?" Scully asks angrily, and Pattie shrinks back against the counter like a dog might when it knows it's done something wrong.

"I came to get my idiot wife." George takes his baby from Patti, though she tries to keep him from doing so.

"It doesn't seem to me that she wants to go with you." Scully is reluctant to bring her gun up to train it on him, because he could try to use his daughter as a human shield.

"That doesn't matter. I told the dumb bitch you weren't going to help us, but she brought the kid here any way."

"Help you do what?"

"Figure out what's wrong with our daughter," Patti says.

"She's sick?" Scully asks, eyeing the baby. The little girl looks frightened, but not ill.

"No, nothing like that," George says dismissively. "She's got... powers."

Scully's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "Powers?"

"Yeah. She can move things with her mind," George says, then grimaces when he notices her expression. "See, Patti? I told you that she's not the one that can help us. Her husband is the one who believes this sort of thing, not her, and he's not here."

Shock makes Scully sit in a chair. "What do you know about me and my husband?"

"All sorts of things. It's my business to know about you."

"Why? Who do you work for?"

"The department of defense. They've been keeping an eye on you for a long long time."

"What interest does the DoD have in my family?" Scully's voice rises involuntarily.

"You can't do the sort of things you've done without attracting attention," George scoffs. "And your little stunt with Ms Hendershot only renewed the spotlight on you."

"Shit," Scully says under her breath. Then in a louder voice she says, "What did you think my husband could do for you?"

"I...I thought he could explain what they did to Joy," Patti says softly, reaching for her baby. George twists away, refusing to hand her over. Defeated, she lets her arms fall to her sides.

"They?" Scully asks, wondering if there will be aliens in this tale.

"We were part of an experiment," George explains. "They wanted to see if they could make people better soldiers by manipulating their genes after conception."

"So you're saying that Joy is the product of genetic manipulation?"

This makes George laugh, but without humor. "That is the least of it, but yes."

Excitement begins to bubble up inside Scully. "Were there children where you went for the, uh, procedure?"

"A few," Patti says. "They were kids that the program already produced."

It's all Scully can do to keep from whooping with joy. This is what Mulder and Krycek have been looking for. "Where? Where is this place?"

A sly look takes up residence on the man's face. Clearly he's realized it's a bargaining chip. "I'm willing to tell you in fair trade," George says.

"Fair trade for what?" Scully asks, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think I have of any value to you?"

"I want to disappear. Me, Patti, and Joy. If you can make that happen, I'll tell you what you want to know."

"So, you want to be put in the witness protection program? In order for that to happen, of course, you'd have to blow the whistle on-"

George shakes his head violently. "No! Not Witsec. I don't want to go through official channels. Going through official channels would just lead to three dead bodies at the end of the trail."

"Then what?"

"Don't play stupid." George sneers. "I know you know that type of person. The type who can create an entire history out of whole cloth. You have connections. Use them."

Scully hesitates. "If I can help you with us, you promise you'll talk with my husband and tell us what we need to know?"

"I swear on my baby's life," George says passionately.

"I-I don't think you need to go that far," Scully stammers. "I believe you."

"The sooner you get it set up, the sooner I'll meet with your husband."

She looks up, surprised. "Meet with him? Why can't you talk to him on the phone?"

"I don't like the idea of speaking on the phone. You never know who has put a bug on the line, and your line probably is bugged."

This gives her an idea of how to get him out of her house. All she needs to do is prey on his paranoia. "That's true, we've debugged the phones before. Why don't we go somewhere and discuss this? Somewhere less intrusive."

"Why?" George asks. "We're not talking over the phone. There's no one around to bother us, either."

Just before Scully can imply that there's the possibility they could be spied on with cameras or microphones, Patti blurts out, "Her nanny and two of her sons are here."

Scully fumes.

"Why don't you go upstairs and call your husband?" George suggests. "I know you're going to talk to him before you make a deal, so you might as well get it over with. Use your cell phone, that's probably more secure. But don't mention our names anyway."

"Fine," Scully says flatly. "I'm going to send my nanny out to do some errands." She leaves off the part where she asks if he has a problem with that, but he picks up on the unspoken anyway.

"Send her wherever you want. This isn't a hostage situation." As if to convince her, he hands the baby back to his wife. The way Patti clutches her daughter does nothing to make his statement more believable.

A few minutes later Scully watches Michelle put the babies into her car and head for a movie theater in the area that has matinees for people with babies and toddlers in tow. Until now Scully's only thoughts on the idea have fallen along the lines of it being a good idea, because it lets them watch movies without worrying about bothering other movie-goers.

She offers her "guests" refreshments, but George waves her off, repeating that she should get the conversation with Mulder over with. With one backwards glance, she heads upstairs, eager to do just that.

* * *

"Mulder pick up, pick up, pick up-" Scully doesn't realize that she's been saying this aloud until she hears a dry voice on the other end of the line.

"Your phone etiquette has gone to hell, Scully."

"Shut up and listen."

For the next five minutes he does while she fills him in on how she came to meet the carefully unnamed couple now hunkered down in their kitchen. "So, what do you think? Do you think they really know where to go?"

There's a lull while he considers what she's said. "I think it's worth meeting with him to see what he has to say," Mulder says at last.

"So you want me to send him to you?"

"No. I want you to bring him to me," Mulder corrects her.

She's surprised. "Are you sure? I miss you so much, but what if seeing each other briefly makes it harder to bear being apart?"

"I think it's a risk worth taking," he says gently.

"All right. I'll set up a meeting. It's going to take a couple of days to get the boys to create the identities they want."

"It won't be soon enough." Mulder's low voice makes her want to tell him to forget everything and come home to her. But she knows that's selfish, and instead promises to see him soon.

* * *

As she walks down the stairs, she realizes that George and Patti have come into the living room so they can watch her approach. As soon as George can see her face clearly, he breaks into a wide, ironic smile. "When do we do this?"

She shakes her head slightly. Mulder once told her that she has no poker face, and it seems as though he's right. "It's going to take me a little while to get the documentation you want."

"A couple of days?" George looks frustrated.

"I assume you want stuff that'll pass close inspection, or you wouldn't have come to me," Scully says coolly. "That sort of quality takes a little time and effort."

"I'll be back tomorrow to see how it's progressing." A vague threat.

Scully doesn't allow herself to be so easily cowed. "Make it the day after."

There's suspicion on the man's face. "How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"I want what you have to offer just as much as you want what I'll give you."

Her lack of poker face must let her sincerity shine through, because the man's shoulders relax. "All right. The day after tomorrow. Early."

"If you don't mind the possibility of waiting around a while, it's no skin off my nose. Don't knock on the door until I've come back from bringing my kids to school. They don't need to know I'm going to be seeing their father."

"You're coming with me?" George doesn't look as though he likes the idea.

"It's part and parcel of our arrangement. I'm not willing to negotiate on that point."

"Whatever." George gives her a look of disgust when he realizes that she's not about to back down. They stick around a few more minutes before Scully gratefully closes the door behind them.

Scully doesn't breathe easily until they're out of her house and Michelle has brought William and Christopher home.

* * *

Reagan National Airport  
January 20th, 2002

Before Scully can head to the boarding area, Frohike grabs her hand. "Are you sure that you don't want one of us to go with you? So nothing funny can happen." He looks around, his expression suddenly becoming doubtful. "They'd still have tickets, maybe."

It takes her effort to keep from grinning. "While I appreciate the offer of some muscle as back up, I'm not even going to be on the same flight as him. He won't be able to try anything while he's on a different plane."

She hadn't liked the idea of flying separately, but there had been a shortage of tickets for the flight George had booked, so she had no choice but to fly on her own. While she took no pleasure in the idea of spending a couple of hours in the man's presence, it would have allowed her to keep an eye on him. The image of arriving at the airport and not seeing him, obviously having been the victim of an elaborate prank, came to her mind more times than she could count. This is why she insisted on keeping the family's new identities with her, rather than hand them over beforehand, which is what George initially lobbied for.

"What about once you land? Is Mulder meeting you, or are you going to drive there?"

Instantly, she's able to see where her friend's thoughts are headed. "Mulder is going to pick us up and drive us to a new hotel, where he and Alex plan to take rooms."

Frohike's shoulders relax. "All right then. Have a safe flight."

For a moment she's tempted to kiss him on the cheek like she might Sammy, but decides that he might find the gesture condescending, so she settles for waving to him from the gate. He's still there watching, just like she knew he would be.

* * *

California  
Later

The flight is rather uneventful, other than listening to a baby screaming occasionally in coach. Somehow, even though he'd been quiet the entire way, this situation keenly reminds her of having flied internationally with Christopher. Now, with the sober light of hindsight shining on it, it seems bordering on insane to have dragged a newborn to another continent. But at the time it had been the best possible solution to a nearly insurmountable problem.

Being away from her children pained her then, as she's sure that being away from them pains Mulder now. Before the plane lands, she offers up a small prayer that they reunion will be both permanent and quickly forthcoming.

She doesn't allow herself to fantasize that Mulder will be flying home with her.

As she steps into the airport, she scans the crowd for both her husband and the man who is responsible for temporarily bringing them together. At last she spots George, nervously pacing in front of the newspaper stand.

For a fleeting moment she doesn't want to draw attention to herself, but realizes that she has to get things over with, even if it means spending time in his company. "George?"

He looks up at her, half irritated, half relieved. "There you are. I've been waiting for close to an hour!"

"I'll make sure I lodge a complaint about my pilot with the airline on your behalf." She retorts icily.

"Where are Patti and Joy?"

"I sent them ahead to a hotel. But never mind them. Where the hell is your husband?" George asks, casting her sour looks.

That was a good question.

"Scully!"

Turning with a genuine smile, she points at the tall man striding towards them. "There."

To her surprise, Mulder picks her up by the waist and twirls her around. She doesn't even feel embarrassed. She's just thrilled to have a familiar pair of hands on her for the first time in what feels like forever.

The expression on George's face plainly says that he's not impressed, before he even opens his mouth. "I hate to break up this touching scene, but we've got things to do. Do you suppose we could get this show on the road?"

The couple reluctantly releases each other, and Mulder leads them to his waiting rental car.

* * *

After a largely silent car ride, made that way because George sullenly refuses to say anything without the faux documentation in his sights, they arrive at a nondescript motel. The three of them get out of the car and go up to a room where Krycek is already waiting.

This apparently pisses George off, because he points at him. "Who the hell is he? Get him out of here!"

"I have every ri-" Krycek begins to say belligerently, but Scully cuts him off with a look. Apparently realizing that a temper tantrum is the last thing that will move things along, he gives George a cold look. "Fine."

Then, with more dignity that Scully would have credited him with, he leaves the room. He doesn't even let the door slam behind him.

"Where's the stuff? Take it out." George's eagerness reminds Scully unpleasantly of a drug addict that she had the misfortune of being acquainted with while in college. He'd been prone to lurking in a dark ally, pouncing on passers-by with a sob story about just needing a few bucks to get him through a hard time. The first couple of times she'd given him small amounts of cash. But as the years passed, his time became no easier.

Scully reaches into her briefcase to take it out, but for the second time that morning, a man she cares for grabs at her hand. "Wait, Scully."

George looks about ready to howl with frustration. "What?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Mulder says flatly. He hands the man a legal pad and a pen.

They wait a moment while George laboriously copies out an address. "There, are you satisfied?"

Mulder nods and Scully takes this as her cue to take out the paperwork. She puts it on the table and looks George in the eye. "Your name is Craig Green. You're thirty-eight, born in New Jersey. Your wife Susan is also thirty-eight, and from Maryland. Your daughter Katie is six months old, born in Virginia. I'll leave it to you to memorize the particulars."

For a moment she is sure that he'll reach over and caress the packet, but George stays his hand. "You're sure these will pass close scrutiny?" His eyes narrow, full of suspicion.

"As you said, I know the right sort of people." Scully reminds him.

After he slips the documents into his pocket, he turns to Mulder with an expectant look. "All right, your turn. Ask me what you need to know."

"First things first," Mulder says after a pregnant pause. "What exactly are they trying to do with these kids?"

"It ain't just kids... The thing they're hoping for is to create people who both heal quickly, and are virtually impervious to pain. The theory being that people who don't feel damage and heal quickly as well can be pushed farther for longer. A lot longer."

"What do they need this sort of person for?" Scully asks. She wonders immediately if this is some sort of offshoot to their attempts to create hybrids to be the aliens' slaves. A race of people who didn't have to worry about injury would be more valuable to the co-conspirators as a bargaining chip – and it would never occur to them that people aren't supposed to be used that way.

George shrugs. "For whatever comes up. They were a little vague on that point. I'm sure that they have uses in mind, but they weren't exactly in a sharing mood when they forced us to participate."

"How did that happen?" From a glance at his face, Scully realizes that her husband has just let his curiosity get the best of him, because he seems to regret derailing the conversation for a tangent. She's not sure how long that George will indulge their questions, so she hopes this doesn't cost them any valuable information they might have gained in its place.

"Patti and I were marines-" George says, and Scully starts. It's hard to believe the woman she's interacted with had that in her. "And we were set on a mission a few months before the whole nine-eleven debacle. Somehow it was orchestrated so it seemed like failure was all our faults, and we faced court martial when the terrorists succeeded in attacking the US.

"Some non-government guy waltzes in making promises, and suddenly we might not be facing possible death after all He tells us that getting married and having a baby for the project was a generous alternative. I can't prove it, but I always suspected that he was on the scene before we got into trouble... anyway, we were desperate, and agreed, and all possible charges dematerialized. Of course, we didn't know until Patti was pregnant several months pregnant that they'd altered Joy's DNA."

"Through IVF?" Scully asks, sure that this is the case.

To her shock, George shakes his head. "No. We conceived the old fashioned way. They exposed Joy to something while she was in the womb. I never learned what. Now she can move stuff by thinking about it. Who knows what it'll turn out they did to her."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mulder's voice is appropriately grave. "What makes you sure that this is the address to the facility? My-" He almost says brother-in-law but thinks better of it. "- associate and I have visited several sites that were supposed to be it, but they've all been abandoned if not razed. Your daughter is several months old, what makes you think that they're still going to be at the facility that altered her before birth?"

George's chin thrusts down for a moment, and when he raises his head he looks sick to his stomach. "I know it's the right one because... this is the address I received two days before contacting your wife here. It's the address we're supposed to go to and give them our daughter. If you get there pretty soon, it's a guarantee that they won't have moved on yet."

Scully is horrified. "They want to take her from you?"

"Yeah. They said now that she's old enough to interact with people, it's time to move on to the next stage of the project. You seem like nice enough people, and I didn't really want to get you involved in this mess, but I can't let them take our little girl and keep her there with those other kids. Those kids...it's not right what they've been doing to them. It isn't right at all."

"So you're trading this information for your chance to disappear," Scully says gently.

"And to hope they get what's coming to them. Maybe you've got the sort of friends that can see to something like that, too, huh?"

Though they exchange a look, neither Mulder nor Scully agree or disagree.

"Anything else you want to know?" George asks.

"How hard will it be to get in?"

"Not very. There are people wandering around all the time, and there's not much in the way of security. I guess they think moving all the time keeps them safe from unfriendlies."

"Thanks, George." Mulder claps him on the shoulder. "I think you better get back to Susan and Katie now, huh? I'm sure you've got a drive or flight or whatever ahead of you before long."

"Right. Thanks." George shrugs on his coat the rest of the way, and is immediately out the door.

* * *

When they're alone at last, Mulder expects that he and Scully will have a lot to talk about, but words won't come to him. It's not the end of the line for his adventure, and they are both acutely aware of it.

So instead of meaningless small talk, he kisses her. She responds with a hunger that is both expected and surprising. He thought they'd want to make up for lost time, but he didn't expect her to be pulling at the zipper of his pants quite so soon, because George might not even have driven out of the parking lot yet.

"Do you want-"" Before he can finish his offer, her fingers are covering his mouth.

"All I want is you," she says breathlessly, and her eyes reassure him that it's true.

That's all the invitation he needs, and within a couple minutes their clothing is strewn across the floor. It's in the back of his mind that they should make their way to the bed, but before he quite realizes who decided, he's holding her against the wall, thrusting into her. The moan she gives before gripping his shoulders with her fingernails and tightening her legs around his waist makes him wonder if it might have been her idea all along.

He tries to make things last, but they're both so needy, that they've hurried through.

"How long?" he whispers while he's still inside her.

"My flight is in two hours," she whispers back, making him wonder for whose benefit they're being quiet now. For once Krycek's room is across the hall, and he doubts that the one-armed man is lurking outside the door.

Disentwined, they finally have the ability to have a conversation. "George better be right," Scully tells him tiredly. "I don't think we can do this much longer."

He grins at her. "I know. I never was the long distance relationship type."

"It's more than that. We need you home. You have no idea what it was like when we thought we lost you for good..." Scully trails off, and he notices a shimmer in her eyes that wasn't there before. "We just need you home."

"As fast as I can, Love," he says, kissing away a tear that's suddenly on her cheek. "I need to return to my heart. It has never left you."

When they make love a second time before she needs to leave, he finds it's both slower and sadder. Promises aside, there's no real way of knowing how long it will be before they're back together for good.

* * *

Later

It's hard for Scully to make herself comfortable in the seat on the plane. She aches from their antics against the wall, but she doesn't regret it at all. Even if it means begging aspirin from a flight attendant.

The flight home is filled with whirling thoughts, but one her attention is able to fasten on is to wonder if George and Mulder are alike. She can easily admit to herself that she doesn't like the other man, but she respects the fact that he's willing to give up everything he knows and start over somewhere else to keep his family intact. Mulder hasn't gone so far as that, but in her heart she knows he's capable of it.

She just hopes if it ever comes to that, she is too.


	110. Endeavor

Late February 2002  
The Basement Office

Scully catches Doggett leaning back and throwing pencils up into the ceiling, and she smirks when he hurriedly sits up. "Wow, slow day, huh?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I figured someone had to be here, and it's better than being at home," Doggett sighs, and there are some serious furrows in his forehead.

Sitting at her desk, Scully asks, "So, what's the problem?"

He looks at her, then up at the ceiling. "Monica," he groans.

"That's specific," Scully crosses her arms. "So, the kids don't like her anymore? She hogs the bedcovers? She decided to cook for you?"

"Worse," Doggett says glumly. "she says she doesn't wanna get married."

She shrugs. "Give her time," she says reasonably.

"It's been over a month," Doggett says, now turning to her in earnest. "She's got it in her head that no matter what, she doesn't want to get married. Period."

"Does she still love you?" Scully asks, even as she wants to shriek, Over a month? Why didn't Monica tell me?

He shrugs again. "That's what she says. But if she loves me, why won't she marry me?"

Scully blinks, then looks at him. "John, you know what kind of person she is. Nontraditional in most senses of the word."

"Yeah, but so's Fox, and he married you," Doggett rebuts.

"And that still surprises me to this day," Scully retorts. "But listen. Even if we didn't go through the ceremony, I'd still be his partner at work and in his personal life. He knows it, and so do our kids." As Doggett looks at her like she's grown three extra heads, she goes on. "John, you love Monica, right?" He nods. "And she loves you and the kids, right?" He nods again. "Well, I really don't see a problem here."

"I do!" he exclaims. "She doesn't want to marry me!"

Scully wants to hit her head on the desk - no, scratch that, she wants to beat his head into the desk, if that would help. "But in all other respects, you're together, right? I mean, short of a license and two rings, you two love, respect and want each other, and that's more than a lot of people have. Honestly, whether we'd have pledged our faithfulness in front of a judge or behind a desk while fighting off mutants, it wouldn't have mattered because the result would be the same," she ends truthfully.

"Really?" he looks at her curiously.

She nods. "Really. Being with Mulder, I've learned that some things, like real love, is something you cherish and fight for, no matter what other people think. It may not be conventional or what's expected." She smiles a little, thinking about her husband, "but it's precious, and it's real." Then she looks at him soberly. "John, if Monica really means that much to you, you shouldn't let her go just because she doesn't want to wear a wedding ring."

It's obvious he never expected her to take the other woman's side, much less argue persuasively for it. "But -"

" 'Wow, Dana'," Scully interrupts him, " 'you're absolutely right. I'll stop acting like an idiot and make up with Monica. Why didn't I think of that earlier?' "

He knows he should be mad, but he laughs instead. "Damn," he chuckles, "you ain't pullin' punches, are you?"

"When it comes to important things, hell, no," she agrees.

"Wow, Dana," he says, knowing when he's licked, parroting her tone, "you're absolutely right. I'll stop acting like an idiot and make up with Monica. Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

"Because you needed a friend to help you think straight after all this time," Scully replies, smiling.

He snorts, but smiles back. "Hold down the fort, will ya?" Doggett says, getting out from behind his desk and heading out.

"Will do," she waves. When the door closes behind him, her expression becomes more serious. "I always do." Then she pulls out her cell, debating whether she should call Mulder or not.

* * *

Elsewhere...

It's been a long day, with another dead end thrown in their faces. After they had a decent dinner, Mulder could hear Krycek practically throwing himself onto the motel bed after slamming the door shut. "Night," he mutters to the closed door, before unlocking his own cheap-ass room.

Moments after he locks the door shut, his cell rings, and he almost jumps at the unexpected sound. "Yeah."

"Hey, guess what?" a garbled voice comes over his cell phone.

Mulder almost rolls his eyes. Gunmen. Figures. "What," he says, grabbing his laptop and sitting on the bed.

"You might be interested to know that a certain Deputy Director is heading to your neck of the woods. In fact, according to his sparse itinerary, it looks like the woods is exactly where he's going, and he's not bringing any camping gear."

"You serious?" Mulder's sitting up now. "Are you sure it's not a bluff?"

"Please," another voice goes through filtering process, "you know our kung foo is better than that."

"Give me all the details," Mulder says, his voice barely betraying his excitement.

* * *

Because sleep is far from her, Scully decides to read up on her first case with Mulder, in fact, her first case with the FBI as a field agent. A smile plays on her lips as she re-reads the old report, parts of it already committed to memory, but there's something about her writing style, her initial skepticism paired with her personal arrogance and unwavering faith in science that contrasts with Mulder's version, one that likewise gives the same details, but his pushing-the-envelope views, open-minded beliefs and personal experience with his sister color his report.

It was especially memorable because, after they'd filed their report, with tests being run on Billy Miles, their report had conveniently disappeared. Fortunately, between his photographic memory and her excruciating attention to detail, they'd rewritten and resubmitted their reports. It was one of those times that she was thankful for her medical training, and astonished at the laxity of the bureaucratic system. Never would she have thought that, due to the nature of the X-Files, missing reports would become a common occurrence, nor excessive red tape.

Neither can she forget how, even after coming home to a normal life, to a normal home, and normal sex with her old boyfriend, the case had lingered in her mind. Yes, there was the strangeness of it all, but that was part of what drew her to working with the FBI, putting her medical degree to work as a forensic instructor initially, and later, expanding her expertise on the X-Files. She shakes her head. She would never have dreamed she would stay with that, as she'd privately termed him, "clever but pompous nutcase," much less marry him and bear his children.

Then her bile rises, and she rushes to the bathroom. After dry heaving, she groans.

* * *

Several hours and a few minutes of sleep later, both men are near their destination. "These guys don't know the first thing about getting laid, but they know how to find Kersh's travel plans," Krycek shakes his head, checking his gun. "This world is totally fucked up."

"If those bastards stay in place, the world'll be a little less fucked up once we get our hands on them," Mulder mutters, as much a threat as a promise, his hands gripping the wheel.

"Mulder, you're my hero," Krycek bats his eyes at the driver.

Mulder doesn't bother looking at the other man, but shakes his head. "I'm debating whether we should worry about mechanical alarms or psychic ones."

Krycek flips on the radio. "We're gonna park too far away for any camera to notice," he says, "and listening to music should blank our minds sufficiently."

"And once we get into the facility?" Mulder asks. "The Gunmen can only guide us so far, but if we run into those psychic kids-"

"I'll take care of them," Krycek cuts in smoothly. "You can take the old dudes, Kersh, whoever."

"Sure you don't want to take down any head honchos?" Mulder drawls.

Krycek smirks at the passing scenery. "When it comes to kids, you'll be too soft," he says, "and they'll take advantage of that."

Mulder gives his passenger and current partner a sidelong glance. "You are one scary son of a bitch," he comments.

The other man shrugs, not taking offense. "If the Gunmen's intel is sound, all we have to do is take the new syndicate down. Easy."

And after all this time, after all the dead ends, false leads, and near misses, Mulder has to chuckle. "Easy. Sure."

Krycek grins. "That's it. Then we go home, get laid and get paid, and it's all good."

Now Mulder's guffawing. "I love your dreams of glory, Alex."

"Fuck glory," Krycek snorts, "I just wanna get the job done and go home." Then he shifts his eyes at Mulder. "Isn't that what you want, family man?"

Mulder doesn't have to answer, since, in the end, that's what both men want.

* * *

Thanks to the Gunmen, Mulder types in the correct numbers on the keypad and the door swings open silently, and they go from bright light to near-darkness. They check around for cameras, and when they see one perched above, they keep on their ski masks and shades until they're out of the camera's range.

Krycek leads, his gun aimed ahead like a pointer dog's snout, and they continue through the badly-lit complex with their weapons drawn until they come to the door marked "1013". "Thirteen's my lucky number." Krycek grins, and Mulder shakes his head, but follows him through the door.

And what greets their eyes is something like out of sci-fi horror movie, infants and small children suspended in greenish liquid, each contained in coffin-sized tubes, on display like lab specimen on the walls.

Perhaps that's what they are, since they don't seem to be alive or moving at all. And then one infant boy opens his eyes, and then all of them do, and while Krycek points his gun at one, then another and another, Mulder's horrified fascination keeps him in place as the tubes, one by one, break, starting with the closest to them. To their surprise, the children remain floating in mid-air, but while they're covered in the greenish ooze, it's clear that each and every single one is red-haired, and they're all staring and pointing at the intruders.

"Holy shit!" Krycek screams, and starts shooting at the babies.

"NOOOOOOO!" Mulder yells, throwing himself at the other man.

And wakes up in a cold sweat, his arms flailing about, breathing heavily. Running a hand through his short hair, Mulder catches his breath, even as he stares into the neon-filled darkness, his eyes acclimating quickly. Then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A dream. Just a freaky, stomach-churning dream. Thank God.

His cell phone rings, startling him. "Yeah?" he says, after squinting at the familiar number.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

"Ugh." Scully wipes her mouth, sitting beside the porcelain god. Turning her head, she closes her eyes, willing her stomach to stay strong, and takes a shuddering breath. Then she leans over to the side to flush the toilet, breathing shallowly so she won't have to smell that awful bile that might cause her to empty what's left of her stomach contents again.

When the room starts to spin, ever so slightly, that's when she forces herself to stand, wash her hands and mouth, and drink the water from the tap so she won't dehydrate. Once she drinks enough so that the world doesn't wash out in a white haze, she breathes more deeply, and is thankful that her queasy stomach has settled somewhat and braces herself against the sink.

"What the hell," she rasps, and her medical mind begins to run down a list of possibilities. One by one, she rules them out, until all that's left is food poisoning, stomach flu, and pregnancy. Then she puts a hand to her stomach, rubbing it in a circular motion. It doesn't seem to provoke the extreme need for a bowel movement or further nausea, so that crosses stomach flu off the list. Wearily, she bends down and drinks more tap water, then wills her legs to carry her to her children's rooms, to make sure they don't have any food poisoning.

One by one, youngest to oldest, she finds each of her little ones asleep in their beds, soundly oblivious to their mother's travails. When she stops at Page's room, she breathes a sigh of relief, thankful her babies are healthy, then closes her eyes.

"Hoo boy," she breathes. Preliminary diagnosis: pregnant. It should have occurred to her sooner. She hasn't been this sick since she was pregnant with David and Jared. Not that it'll be twins again, she reassures herself and makes a mental note to buy a pregnancy test, then snorts, remembering Missy's comment about stocking up on those kits, and a wobbly smile finds its way to her lips for the first time that early morning.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, both Mulder and Krycek are driving down the California highway, the traffic somewhat sparse because of the early hour.

"Are you sure about this?" Krycek asks. "Could be another false lead."

"Hey, if both Marita and the Gunmen come up with the same thing, it's gotta be good," Mulder replies, to bolster his own spirits as well as his companion's.

"Yeah, or it could be a trap," Krycek scowls.

"Don't go all Admiral Ackbar on me," Mulder quips.

Krycek looks at him. "Who?"

"Haven't you watched 'Return of the Jedi'? He's a rebel alien with some of the craziest lines ever, like pointing out the obvious, when he's supposed to be this high-ranking officer."

"I think you watched too much 'Star Wars'," the younger man shakes his head. "But the movie alien is right. This is so obviously a trap."

"Could be," Mulder shrugs. "But I'd rather spring a trap with some people to question rather than wind up at another deserted building." He glances at the passenger. "I don't know about you, but I'm dying to beat the answers out of somebody."

Krycek sports an unhealthy smile. "Now you're talking my language," he chuckles.

"Hoo boy," the driver comments, "that's a scary thought."

* * *

Missy's Home

Melissa yawns, having just fed Ryan, and putting him to sleep took longer than she'd hoped. She rotates her neck, then does another monster yawn. "Mm, thank goodness it's the weekend," she murmurs.

Out of habit, she checks on Emily, who is sleeping soundly, looking like a little blonde angel under her puffy white blanket. She smiles sleepily, then totters to her own bed. Once she hits the pillow, her eyes close. "Please," she prays to anyone that will hear, "let Alex and Fox find the bad guys and come home soon."

And as she easily slips into sleep, her arm automatically drifts to where her husband would be, her breathing deep and relaxed.

* * *

Meanwhile...

They park the car as close as they dare, then waltz right up to the front door. Mulder punches in "tommalchow200" at the prompt reading "butterfly?"

"Weird name for a butterfly," Krycek mutters, but Mulder quickly shakes his head when the door swings open. They're dressed in business casual, in nice shirts and slacks but no tie, as opposed to what Mulder's termed "funky poaching wear", which is basically all black and ski masks. Krycek, for his part, is wearing a fleece pullover over his shirt, one that would effectively hide his false arm, and brown riding gloves. According to their intel, they would best blend in by looking like they worked there, but no suit and ties, for that was the uniform of the secretive and high-ranking types of this new syndicate.

Once inside, the desk clerk hands them a clipboard, and they sign in false names. The clerk doesn't even bother to check the names, hands them a couple of clip-on badges, then replaces the walkman on her head and continues playing computer solitaire. The two men exchange a brief look, but say nothing as they go down the hallway, clipping on the badges.

Fortunately, the building is relatively well-lit, as opposed to Mulder's nightmare, and they come across other people in business-casual attire, nodding briefly as they assess each other's badges with a perfunctory glance. Krycek's about to comment on the lack of security, but there's a strange, cautious side to him that doesn't want to jinx their luck. Along the way, Mulder takes a drink from the water fountain, shifting his gun in its holster for easier access as he does so. Krycek, impatient, glares, but Mulder merely says, "I'm okay," when he comes up for air.

Then they come upon an unmarked door that both Gunmen and Marita swear is where the children are being held. When they open the door, Mulder almost holds his breath, awaiting the inevitable horror scene. Instead, it looks and smells like a maternity ward, with babies of all colors of hair (and hairlessness) sleeping peacefully in their plastic beds, attached to IVs and monitors. The familiarity of machines with infants strike both men, and they look at each other, wondering for a brief moment if they've made a mistake. The sterile beds, along with the blue- and pink-clothed babies, looks way too normal for this to be part of some top-secret, conspiracy-inspired operation.

Krycek, taking a step back, accidentally jostles one of the babies, and the baby boy coughs, waking up. The brunette infant opens his green eyes, then starts to wail, while his blue blanket and a few other objects begin to levitate. Then other infants start to wake up and cry, and Mulder groans at the domino effect, but there's a part of him that's seriously relieved that, while they're floating things like William did the first time around, according to Scully, they're not covered in green goo nor breaking open from glass tubes. And only then do the men notice that the machines and beds are bolted to the floor, and the children are shackled to the bed rails.

"Yep, this is the right place," Krycek notes as an overhead siren starts to blare.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

"Mommy, what are you doing?" Page asks, then yawns, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Her mother, by contrast, appears wide awake and is scrolling through her laptop. "Just reading," she says, and sips hot tea from her mug. Then she yawns, too, covering her mouth as she does so. "Now look what you made me do."

The little blonde girl giggles, then climbs onto a chair next to her mother. "What are you reading?" she tries to peer around to the screen, curious.

Scully smiles, turning the laptop away so the screen is out of sight. "Something that you shouldn't be reading, not until you're older," she says.

"But I *am* older," Page protests. "I'm older than Sammy, and April, and-"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Scully retorts. She highlights the page with a bright color, saves it, then closes out the window and shuts the computer down. "Hey, wanna help me make pancakes?"

Page gives her a Scully look, making her mother feel both obscurely proud and guilty. "Mommy," she says, like her mother would to her father, "you're changing the subject."

"So I am," Scully agrees, "but I'm really hungry, and soon, so will everyone else. Let's just say I want to get a head start before David and Jared start hogging the blueberry syrup."

Page pouts for a bit, but then helps her mother get out the mixing bowl and whisk, while Scully gets the pancake mix, milk and eggs from the fridge. Soon, they're mixing the pancake batter and teasing each other before the older, mobile children wander into the kitchen. "Sammy, you want a Mickey Mouse pancake?" Page asks while Scully turns up a stove burner and places the frying pan on it.

"Don't act like you're Mommy," Sammy scowls at his older sister while the twins jostle for their place at the table and April and Christopher are poking each other.

"I'm not," Page huffs. "I'm helping."

Then Sammy crawls up on a neighboring chair and grabs a spoon. "So'm I," he says, shoving his spoon in and stirring it.

"Mommyyyyyyy!" Page wails.

Then Michelle walks in with William in her arms. "What's going on?"

Scully's about to say, I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant again, but there's a big part of her that wants to wait until Mulder's back to share the news. "Pancakes," she says simply, wrestling both whisk and spoon from her two elder children.

"Uh-huh," the younger woman grins. "Just make sure I have at least one of those."

"But I get Mickey Mouse pancakes first!" Sammy pipes up.

And the kitchen is filled with the sound of children, loud and soft, small and taller.

* * *

Meanwhile...

The room is filled with the sound of sirens, but more importantly, the babies, all of whom are crying loudly. Mulder looks around wildly for something to pacify them with, while Krycek sticks his fingers in his ears, since it's too damn loud to think straight. Then Krycek's eyes widen. "Mulder," he shouts above the din to be heard, "we've got a problem."

"What - oh, shit," Mulder groans, as both he and Krycek are floating, along with other various objects. Desperately, he makes a grab for an IV rack, misses, then grabs a monitor and goes hand-over-hand down the screen and on downwards until he grabs the base, then goes between swinging from monitor to monitor, using his legs and hands like a flying monkey, finally wrapping his legs around the leg of a bed closest to the door. When he looks around, he realizes Krycek has fared less well than he has, as he's pretty much made it to the ceiling, floating like one of those laughing gas folks in that Mary Poppins movie, except Krycek is far from jovial.

Then the door opens, and Mulder's face to face with what looks like a small herd of toddlers - at least, ones who are looking at him like robots, their wide eyes glazed and their faces pale, and Mulder has to restrain a shudder from overtaking him. Then his agent's training takes over, and he notes that, yes, these children aren't solely red-haired, their glazed looks are probably the result of powerful hallucinogens or antipsychotic drugs, and those collars around their necks aren't for decoration.

"Don't," he breathes, holding his hands out as if that would stop the children.

* * *

The Krycek Residence

"Mommy, help!" Emily wails, flailing around in a blue dress and waving a wand madly. The dress is hanging on her, unzipped from the back, and her necklace is twisted up and tied around her waist.

"Whoa, whoa, hold still." Melissa smiles, then firmly holds onto the little girl's shoulders until she stands still. "Let me get your zipper first, okay?" Then she gathers her daughter's hair up into a makeshift ponytail and tells her, "Hold this, please." When Emily has a decent grasp of her hair, Melissa zips up the dress expertly. Then she kneels down, unties the apron, shakes it out and drapes it over the front of her little girl. "Emily, I know you're excited, but when you manage to turn a necklace into a belt, that's," she shakes her head, "that's too excited."

"But Mommy," Emily turns around, stopping her mother from removing the necklace, "I get to be the fairy godmother!"

"I know, honey," Melissa nods, "turn around." Her daughter does so, but with the kinetic energy of the young and impatient, so that it takes a couple of times before Melissa is successful. "All done."

"Yay!" her little blonde baby swirls around and hugs her mother. "Thank you!"

Melissa laughs. "If this is what gets you excited about school on a weekend, you should be in plays more often," she comments, then picks up the hairbrush that Emily had dropped. "Come on, your hair won't brush itself," then blinks as she realizes the mom-ism she's just uttered.

"It should," Emily pouts, then submits to her mother's ministrations, wincing a couple of times as the brush catches a snaggled lock of hair, but relieved when her hair is bound up in a long ponytail. "Go home at midnight, Cinderella, or I'll turn you into a pumpkin!" she crows, throwing her arms out.

Now Melissa guffaws. "I'm pretty sure that's not your lines, Emily," she wheezes after wiping her eyes.

Suddenly, her little whirlwind comes to a halt. "Mommy, do you think Daddy will come see my play?"

And the moment she's dreaded has come. So many times, she could've sworn Alex and Fox were thisclose to catching the bad guys, but it was either a false lead or they were just a day late. And what was supposed to be something like a quick operation, at least according to Alex, has stretched out into months. And now she knows, or has some idea, of what her own mother's gone through with her father being stationed elsewhere with no definite timetable. "He will," Melissa nods, if not in person, then by videotape. She'll make sure of it.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Then the children closest to Mulder look at the babies in the beds, then up at the flying objects and Krycek. "Stop," they chorus as one, and whatever was in the air comes down.

In Krycek's case, comes down hard. "Owwww," he groans, but thankful he's not up in the air anymore. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing," Mulder shakes his head, his eyes still on the toddlers. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Krycek rubs his legs, which bore the brunt of his fall.

Mulder slowly gets up on all fours and crawls towards the toddlers. "I mean you guys," he says, ignoring the bruises that seem to cover his entire body from banging against machines. There's something about these kids that break his heart, and not just because he's a father. "Are you okay?"

The children stare at him blankly, then look at each other, their faces blank but intelligent, as if sharing a communication neither he nor Krycek are privy to. Then they look at him again. "Okay?"

"Uh," Mulder looks back at Krycek, who shrugs, then turns to face the toddlers again. "Fine, good, um, healthy, happy, all right, maybe not happy, but you know what I mean." More blank stares. "Maybe not."

"You're a regular thesaurus," Krycek quips in an undertone.

"You're not helping," Mulder mutters. Then he crawls a little towards them, stopping when their eyes start to focus more clearly on him. Raising his hands, he says, "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you." They continue to look at him blankly. Then he exhales heavily, and sits down, slowly and painfully, in a cross-legged fashion. Waving his hands at the kids, he says, "Come on. Come, come."

He seems to have hit a magic word, or at least one they understand, for the ones closest to him come forward, shuffling forward in their hospital pajamas. "That's it," he nods, "come closer. Yeah, like that." Then he gathers those closest to him and hugs them, as he would his own small herd of children. "Mmm, see? This is called a hug. Hugs are good." He smiles as one of them, a boy with short brown hair, reaches in for another hug. Closing his eyes, he hugs the boy back. "Atta boy." He swings his head towards his compatriot. "Alex, tell the other kids to join you."

"You are such a weirdo," Krycek grumbles, but he sees it's working, so he, too, sits down and motions the others towards him. "Come on, I give hugs, too." There's a girl that looks like his little Emily, and he smiles at her. "Come on, it's okay, Sweetie."

The rest, led by the little blonde girl he smiled at, toddle toward his open arms. "Oof," he grunts, nearly bowled over by the impact of a bunch of small kids squishing him, "you guys learn fast."

"I guess this is what it means to conquer with kindness," Mulder quips, ruffling one boy's hair, and smiling at another little girl who looks like a mini-Reyes.

"First time I've seen it happen," Krycek replies, "hey, whoa!" He nearly topples over when one of the boys start climbing up his back and grabs his head. Planting his hands behind him, he waits until the little critter ends up on his shoulders, and he shakes his head against the boy's belly, making him laugh. "Hey, they can laugh," he says, some wonderment in his voice.

"They're human," Mulder says, teaching the kids around him to hug each other.

And then the grown up security charges in.


	111. Endurance

"Get back," Mulder says, instinctively pushing the toddlers behind him. What he's gonna do with just his pistol against these heavily armed guards, he's not sure, but all he knows is, he'll at least knock out some of the guards before they can even hurt the kids. Drawing his gun, he grins cockily, "Twelve against two, I don't think that's fair."

"We've beaten bigger odds." Krycek smirks behind him, his gun also drawn. His real arm, however, is shielding the toddlers, although he's not conscious of that fact right now.

And to Krycek's and Mulder's surprise, the guards who would give Schwarzenegger and Van Damme a run for their money are slammed against the walls, their weapons flying out of their hands. While the intruders are gaping, the toddlers surround them again, this time protectively.

"I think we just got saved by the ones we were supposed to save," Krycek looks at the children around him in shock. Then he grins. "You probably don't understand me, but you guys rock. Come here!" And he hugs the living heck out of the kids. "You guys did great!"

Mulder chuckles, even as he finds himself doing the same thing. "Of course," he says, "they're awesome." Some of the kids around him surprise him by smiling. "Cool," he murmurs, even though he'd just told Krycek they were human, but that still didn't stop him from being surprised.

"Mulder, I hate to break up the love fest, but there's a lot more people we gotta deal with," Krycek says, and mentally kicks himself for allowing regret to color his voice.

"I know," Mulder sighs, and slowly gets to his feet, feeling every bit of his first and second lives catching up with his beaten up body. And like his children, these kids are clinging to his long legs, not wanting to let go. "Um, moving is gonna be a bit of a problem."

"No problem." Krycek smirks, getting up, and is surprised to get the same reaction. "Okay, we can do this."

Mulder twists around to throw the other man a look. "Yeah? Like how?"

Krycek motions with his hands at the toddlers stuck to his legs. "We may not be able to move fast, but we've got protection. Think about it."

Mulder sighs. "Okay. But any sign of trouble, we cover them."

Krycek nods, but has a feeling it's probably gonna roll the other way. Then he leans down and tells his groupies, "Look, I need some of you guys to cover the babies here. Granted, they could probably take care of themselves," he makes a face, remembering how he and Mulder had been levitated with no problem, "but you know who the bad guys are better than they do. I need some of you to be their big brothers and sisters and protect them, okay?"

He's not sure if they even understand what he's said, but as he looks from one round face to another, he figures they do. It's not often that trusts anyone, but here he is, trusting children to take care of, well, other children. "Can I count on you?"

The blonde girl who resembles his daughter looks at some of the others, then nods. She takes the hands of a red-haired boy and a brown-haired girl, and they and a couple more walk over to where the infants are waving about in their beds. There's a strange feeling of pride he can't explain, but Krycek's got it.

Then he looks up at Mulder, who's giving him a damn "I approve" kind of expression, and he makes a face. "Come on, let's do this," he mutters, pretending like he didn't do something good and grown up just then.

* * *

Back at the New Syndicate's hideout, Mulder and Krycek, along with about fifteen toddlers under the age of two, are slowly making their way down the hallways. It doesn't matter that their movements are caught on camera, since the telekinetic toddlers take care of any security that's thrown at them. "It's nice having inside help, isn't it?" Krycek remarks to Mulder after another set of guards are sent flying.

Mulder shakes his head. "Telekinetic or not, we should be the ones protecting them, not the other way around," he says, knowing how narrow-minded that sounds, but deep down, he means it.

"I know that," Krycek says levelly, "but if we're given help, we shouldn't refuse it, right? Kids or not."

"Yeah," Mulder says, but inside, his feelings and conscience as a father war with his paranormal investigator's instincts to rejoice every time the kids use their abilities. He's not sure if Krycek has those same worries, but then again, the guy surprises him about as much as these kids do. Then they come to multiple branches, and the men look at each other. "Okay, I'm guessing Marita didn't tell you about this part."

"Your techno geeks forgot this, too?" Krycek nods. "Damn." Then he looks at the toddlers beside him. "Okay, guide dog time."

"Krycek," Mulder groans.

"Hey, we're lost, we've got native guides," the other man shrugs. "Lead on!" And, led by the small children, Krycek walks down the corridor second from the left.

Mulder sighs, then hunkers down. "I trust you," he says, looking into their innocent faces. "But if you're scared, let me know, okay?"

Then a little boy, his eyes dark blue and his hair a light blonde, slips his hand into Mulder's. "Come," he says, and tugs him towards the corridor on the far right.

Mulder nods, then allows himself to be led by the boy and the other toddlers, willing the lump in his throat to go down.

* * *

Krycek goes down the dark hallway, noticing that the farther they walk, the closer the toddlers cling to him, until he's practically shuffling because of their closeness. "What's wrong?" he asks in a whisper, but gets no answer, except for small fingers clutching tighter to his slacks.

Their tension and fear seeps into him, and he's not sure why they've led him here, until he spots a crack of light seeping from under one of the doors on the right. When he starts to walk towards it, they all but pull him away. Then he stops, putting his hands on the heads nearest him. "You guys stay here," he murmurs, "I'll check it out." There's no audible answer, but he notices that they're holding each other, almost instinctively, and he knows that whatever it is behind that door, they were never supposed to see it, even though they probably have.

Pulling out his gun, he walks over, puts a hand on the doorknob, and gives it a careful twist. It turns easily, which only emphasizes the wrongness of the situation, and he looks over at the toddlers. They'll be okay, he tells himself, even though right now they look like normal, scared children. Then he opens the door slowly, peering through the crack to get an idea, and sees nothing but sterile lab-type equipment. A lab. Okay, he can handle that.

He steps into the room, blinking a little to adjust to the brightness, seeing nothing but a lot of the same old equipment that the Syndicate is wont to use for genetic manipulation and testing. Looking around, there are specimens of failed experiments in glass jars, but nothing alive. He supposes that the successful ones are the ones that are helping him and Mulder, but his gun is still ready and his ears are listening for any sound that's not his own breathing. Then, under the hum of machinery, he hears human voices from around the wall of specimens.

"...Don't know why they don't increase security," a snappish voice says.

"Then we'd have to memorize a new code for each day, just like we did before," a deeper voice responds. "It's probably another squirrel that's tripped security again."

"It's too bad we can't experiment on those, too," a thin voice mutters.

"Yeah, it's too bad," Krycek agrees, "then you wouldn't have to mess around with human children." He points his gun at the eggheads, none of whom look capable to take him down, much less any of the toddlers.

"What?" the thin-voiced man drops his needle. His body, as opposed to his voice, is quite round, and he flaps his hands helplessly. "Do something!"

And Krycek is slammed from the back by what feels like a human wall. He groans when he rolls around to see who attacked him, and is kicked viciously for his trouble. Oh, another Schwarzenegger clone. Damn. Then he grins and shoots the bastard in the head, causing the scientists to scream. "Shut up," he grunts, getting to his feet as quickly as he can without showing how winded or in pain he is. Training his gun on the eggheads, he snaps, "Any more guards I should worry about, or should I just take out your kneecaps for fun?"

"You can't, we're part of the plan," the deeper-voiced, tall scientist sputters.

"And that's supposed to make me scared?" he smirks, and shoots just inches away from the tall man.

"There are four more," says a scientist who hasn't spoken up yet, the shortest of the bunch, pointing at what looks to be another wall.

"Thanks," Krycek grins nastily. Then he pulls out a modified machine gun from under his sports jacket and sprays the wall with bullets, aiming about chest level and then aiming really low, in case they dropped to the floor. Then he motions at the short scientist with his machine gun to open the door, and the short man, shaking, does so.

When the hidden door creaks open, the scientists are sickened to see the guards riddled with bullets, their torsos a mess, as well as their heads and extremities. "Looks like some tried to get away," Krycek comments on the position of a couple bodies, and swings his gun back on the scientists who are also wanting to save their skins. "Personally, I could waste you as easily as those guards," he says, training the business end of his weapon on them, "but an associate of mine wants to see you suffer slowly and painfully, and I gotta say, that sounds just as appealing. Line up and march out, one by one."

As the last one marches out, he flips on the hallway light, and Krycek smirks as they go down the hall, his prisoners before him. The scientists see the toddlers standing in the hallway, and they are surprised, but then their faces revert to that of scientific coldness, even mild curiosity. The children automatically flatten themselves away from the men, even retreating, but Krycek shakes his head, pointing at the gun, then at the scientists. "They won't ever hurt you again," he tells the children.

"Let's see how long your government can keep us locked up," the snappish-voice scientist finally pipes up.

"Let's see how long your head stays intact once I shoot it," Krycek replies. This shuts the man up, and he jerks his head at the door. "Face front, assholes, and take us to the bigwigs." As the scientists shuffle forward, he nods at the toddlers. They may be young chronologically, but they knew who to pick to exact their vengeance, all right.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mulder charges into the office, yelling, "Everyone, stand up with your hands up, eyes front! If I see anyone reaching for anything, I won't hesitate to shoot!" There's a lot of screaming, and he shoots a few inches over their heads. "Sorry, I forgot to add 'Shut the hell up'," he says, and now the noise dies down to whimpers.

Mulder scans the room, memorizing each face and their location. "I know not all the head honchos are here," he comments, "I also know they're not gonna save your asses. What I want you to do is contact them one by one, get them to come here, and that way you're not the only one frying. If you try to warn any of them, well," and he checks his bullets before popping the cartridge back in, "let's just say you're closer to hit than they are. Got it?" They nod, and he points to the secretary furthest from himself, and walks toward her. "You first, the rest of you stay put, because there's no way you can leave this room."

His gun trained on the shaking woman, he taps her shoulder with the gun nuzzle. "Sit down and call your boss," he says, "and sound natural."

As she dials with shaky fingers, Mulder sighs. "Take some deep breaths, okay? It's not gonna work if you sound scared." She stares at him, then takes ragged breaths, making him roll his eyes. When the other line picks up, Mulder hits the "intercom" button so he can hear both sides.

"Hello, Mr. Shaw? Yes, I'm afraid we have a bit of a situation that requires your attention," she says, steadfastly looking away from the gun.

"What, nobody else is close enough to drive?" Mr. Shaw replies peevishly.

"Sorry, no, sir," she responds. "It's not a security situation, but one of the scientists says-"

"Very well," Mr. Shaw sighs. "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. Damn eggheads, probably want more money again. How are the subjects doing?"

The secretary looks up at Mulder, who is stone-faced, and she bites her lip. "The same as usual."

"Well, at least they're not demanding raises," Mr. Shaw says, chuckling. "I'll see you."

"Very well, sir," she says, and hangs up.

"That was easy," Mulder comments, looking at the others. "See?"

"I can't!" one of them gasps, and starts to run towards the door. And is promptly thrown back at the desks, as if an invisible hand got a hold of her, and crumples where she lands.

While the secretarial pool gasps and cries, Mulder shakes his head. "I told you you couldn't leave," he says. "We can do this the hard way like your friend there," he points his gun at the sobbing woman, "or the easy way," he nods at the secretary sitting next to him. "You, next," he walks on to the woman on his left.

And they do it the easy way until Krycek joins him with the scientists.

* * *

"Wow, I can't believe we've got 'em all locked up as easily as all that," Krycek comments, as the police and FBI have their duties assigned to their satisfaction, leaving Mulder and Krycek free for the first time in a long time.

"Like you ever doubted it?" Mulder raises an eyebrow.

Krycek shrugs. "Well, it took an alien ship to flashfry the first bunch, and even then, there were stragglers."

Mulder grimaces, remembering the charred corpses. "Yeah, there's that. Hey, I think that social worker's calling you."

Krycek nods, then walks over to where the social worker is, surrounded by a bunch of what he's privately termed "his kids". "Yeah?" he asks.

"Alex, uh, Krycek, right?" the man asks, and Krycek nods. "Daniel Leung. It looks like some of the kids don't trust our folks, so they refuse to eat or sleep. It's understandable, considering what they've gone through," he says, having bought their cover story of a children's hospital gone wrong, "but they want you to take care of them."

Krycek sighs. "Let me talk to them." Leung nods, and walks off. When the man has gone out of earshot, Krycek squats down and looks each child in the face. "Look, guys. Me and Mulder are the good guys, but so are they," and he jerks a thumb at Leung and his colleagues. "They won't do anything to hurt you."

"You," one of the boys says, "save us."

He closes his eyes, then exhales, opening his eyes. "You saved yourselves," he corrects them. "And you know who are the bad guys, and who are the good guys, so trust yourselves." Then he hugs them, each and every one of them. "Take care," he says in a low voice, and walks away quickly, trying to regain his composure.

Mulder pretends he doesn't see his brother-in-law blinking away tears, turning away until he hears the other man's footsteps. "So, what'd the social worker say?"

Krycek shrugs. "Says the kids are distrustful of grownups, but I straightened things out." His smug tone belies his feelings, however, and he shoves his hands into his sports jacket pockets. When he realizes the pockets aren't big enough, he scowls. "I can't wait to get out of these dorky clothes," he mutters.

Mulder chuckles. "Hey, why don't you take a break," he suggests. "The action part's over now, all that's left is admin work." Then he smiles a little. "Unless you wanna stick around and push some papers for fun?"

"Hell, no." Krycek makes a face. "I'd rather go home and fuck Missy until her legs go numb."

"I think that was wayyyyy too much information," Mulder shakes his head, "just go home before you get any more graphic."

Krycek grins and waves, walking off.

* * *

March 2002  
The Krycek Residence

Melissa's done everything except drug her boy, and part of her thinks that introducing him to beer might not be such a bad idea. "Ryan," she shakes her head, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but Mommy's almost as pooped out as you are." She hears the phone ring, and races out of the room, closing the door shut so he won't wake up, and grabs the nearest landline. "Hello?" she answers breathlessly.

"Hey, are you having fun without me?" Krycek pouts.

"Shut up," Melissa takes deeper breaths. "I just put Ryan to sleep and I didn't want him to wake up."

"Oh, okay," he says. "By the way, I've got some good news. I'll be coming home soon."

"Really? That's great!" she smiles. "So you got them?"

"Yep," he says, and she can hear his smirk over the phone. "So how is everyone doing?"

"Well," she says, "I'm okay, Emily's in a school play as a fairy godmother, and Ryan has been restless all day, just like his father." She's smiling as she says this, brushing a lock of long red hair out of her face. Then she rotates her neck, like her younger sister, and exhales.

"Something wrong?"

"No, long day," Melissa replies, "and I need to bring Emily her wings for her play tonight." Her energy comes back up as she adds, "She'll be so happy to hear you're coming home. I'm glad you'll be here in time to see your baby on stage." She rubs the small of her back, stretching as she does so.

"And I'm happy I'm here in time to help you out with your back," he says.

"What?" she says, surprised. "I didn't say anything about - Ohhh." She smiles as a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist from behind. "You didn't say how soon you were coming home." She ends the phone call, because her husband in person is so much better.

"And spoil the surprise?" Krycek breathes in her ear, rubbing against her. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Mmm, miss me?" she leans against him, feeling his desire harden against her back side.

"Heck, no," he says, his careless tone belying his action, "too busy chasing dead ends and weirdoes to think of anyone back home."

His hands, roaming all over her, under her clothes, and the constant friction caused by his insistent crotch say otherwise, however, and she chuckles. "Of course," she says, rubbing her ass against him, making him groan. "Mm," she moans, as he kisses her neck, her shoulder, divesting her of her blouse, and then her skirt. "Oh, ohhhhh, Alex."

"Oh, baby," he breathes, shucking off his jeans and briefs in one go, "I need you."

His fingers play with her womanhood under her panties, even as she wraps her arms up and around his neck, his manhood rubbing her underneath. "Ah, right there, ooh!"

They soon realize that they can't continue without some support for balance, so they stagger towards the nearest wall, Melissa bracing against it, and Alex right behind her, his hands on her tits. Impatiently, she pulls down her panties, lifting her ass against his crotch. "Give it to me," she tells him, "I'm dripping!"

"Oh, God," he groans, and slides into her. "God, I've missed you," he grunts, feeling her clenching with each thrust.

"Mm, good," she gasps, "ah, unh, unh, oh," and their conversation pretty much devolves into monosyllabic grunts of pleasure for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Later

The play is, as expected of an elementary school play, more entertaining than the actors onstage or the teachers in the wings planned. And Emily Krycek plays her part as the fair godmother with admirable aplomb, even though it's beyond either of her parent's imagination as to why she's waving her wand like a weapon.

"You sure she's not venting her frustration at not being picked for Cinderella?" Krycek whispers to his wife when their baby girl nearly beheads one of the mice.

Melissa shakes her head, patting Ryan on her shoulder. "She was pretty excited to be the fairy," she whispers back, "getting to wear jewelry and wings and twirling in a dress."

"Just like her mommy," he murmurs, and his wife can't help but giggle, while onstage, Cinderella is running in front of the carriage, faster than the badly-costumed mice-as-horses.

And when they do their closing bows to wildly clapping parents, Emily twirls onto the stage, then waves her wand at the audience like a conductor does for her orchestra. "I taught her that," Melissa beams proudly.

"So why didn't she do that during the play?" he wonders. "They're gonna think you put a hit on Cinderella."

Before Melissa can retort, he rushes towards the stage, snapping pictures madly like all the other proud parents doing likewise. None of them, however, have illegally modified technology, but that's something he's keeping to himself. Then he calls out, "Brava, Emily, brava!"

"Daddy!" Emily gives herself a running start before launching herself offstage into her father's arms. "You made it!"

"Of course," Krycek says when he gets his breath back, with more than a trace of smugness. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"I knew you would," she beams up at him with the same amount of smugness. "So, what did you think?"

"I think." He smiles, kissing her on each cheek, "that you are an amazing actress. But why were you waving your wand so hard earlier?"

"Oh," Emily replies, "I thought if I waved it hard enough, it would be magic enough to bring you back home to see me. And you did!"

Krycek can't say anything to that, so he settles for hugging her tightly and smiling the biggest smile a proud parent ever could.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

"So, how are things going?" Scully asks, cradling the cell phone against her ear as she spoon-feeds William baby cereal.

Mulder sighs. He knows he could've left this part to the social services, but he doubts whether they'd be adequately prepared to deal with small children who can move things with their minds, with or without drugs. Even as he tries to figure out how to place these special children into homes, not institutions, there's a part of him that wonders how William would've fared at his adoptive parents' home in that other life once he exhibited his powers. It's not like they have a page, or even a line, on the form related to telekinetic and/or telepathic children on foster and adoptive homes.

"Slowly," he admits to his wife. "It's as if they've guaranteed that these kids would never have a normal life," he tells her, "genetically shackling them to daily doses of drugs tailored to their specific yet incomplete DNA so that they can continue living. It's like what they did to kids like Emily, except they also added hallucinogens and sedatives to make them more pliable and addicted, like pimps would to underaged hookers. Makes me sick."

"Oh my God," Scully breathes, "just when I thought they couldn't sink any lower..." And now she's thankful that she and Mulder intervened in George, Patti and Joy's lives, so that their child wouldn't end up like that. Nor would their own children, she thinks, unconsciously squeezing William closer to her until he starts to fuss.

"Yeah," Mulder says, "at first I thought it was brainwashing, but when the drug tests came back, it was disturbing to see how thorough they were. Of course, with such specific details, it only serves as more evidence to nail these assholes into the ground. Even if they could swing through some loopholes, there's no way these guys will be able to squirm their way out of child endangerment, abuse, and manipulation. And should they try to use the kids as leverage-"

"With the laws as they are," Scully cuts in smoothly, "there's no way they can get the kids in court unless via electronic transmission, and with most of them unable to speak, the judge and jury would be looking at a bunch of helpless infants. Yeah, that wouldn't be in the Syndicate's favor."

"Life imprisonment, doesn't that have a nice ring?" Mulder says lightly. "Never thought I'd be able to jail these guys, but apparently the New Syndicate's strength doesn't come close to their predecessors. Neither did they figure they'd ever have to pay for their sins, since they were oh-so-careful," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, you mind writing the legal briefs? Taking down the bad guys was easy, but cleaning up their mess and properly looking after the kids is looking more and more like a nightmare."

"Oh, is that all? You can handle it." Scully smirks. "Or better yet, delegate. Whatever doesn't come under X-Files jurisdiction, you can farm out."

"The problem is, *everything* falls under X-Files jurisdiction," Mulder groans. "A lot of the parents are complicit in the crimes against their children, while other parents are as much victims as their children, so there's the fun of sifting out the truth there. Either way, the results will eventually be left to the legal system, so once that's done, it's out of my hands. And social services can only scratch the surface of helping these kids before they'd encounter a flying chair, and then they'd be sent off to some kind of institution or lab, which is effectively putting the kids back into the same situation they came from." He sighs. "Maybe we could sign them up for the circus, it's starting to feel like a three-ring madhouse anyways."

"Mulder," Scully warns.

"I know, I know," he surrenders agreeably, pinching the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes against the bright computer monitor and mountains of paperwork threatening to blind him, he asks, "So, how's everyone doing over there?"

The friendly tone worries her more than his earlier whining. "We're good," she says, not wanting to tell him about her pregnancy until she sees him in person. "Page is doing well in class, Sammy's getting really active in his school's intramural sports, April's still got quite the green thumb, Christopher likes the words 'why' and 'no', David and Jared are both trying out for best imitator of TV commercials and driving Mommy up the wall, and William is a sweetheart."

"And what about you?"

"I, I want you home as soon as possible," she finds herself saying.

"I love you," Mulder says, feeling a burst of energy unaccountably surging through him. "Thanks."

"For what?" Scully's confused.

* * *

He smiles, for the first time in a while. "For reminding me of why I'm doing this," he replies. "That these kids deserve to have a good family to come home to, just like anyone else. In fact, they deserve it more than anyone else."

"You're a good man, Mulder," she says, wanting to hug him right then and there.

"No, I'm not," he says, as expected. "Just doing my job."

She chuckles. "You never 'just do your job'," Scully shakes her head. "It's what I love about you and what drives me nuts. You make everything personal."

"Well, duh," he says in an exaggerated drawl, making her laugh.

"I love you," Scully tells him, "now get back to work."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Mulder says, making a smart salute with the wrong arm.

"Other arm, Mulder," Scully says, making him look.

He narrows his eyes. "How'd you do that?"

"Mommy eyes," she says primly.

"You're a scary woman, Dana Scully," he mutters, and hears her laughing before she hangs up. He smiles again, this time saluting with his right arm, and gets back to work.

* * *

Later

"So, how's things?" Krycek asks in a far too chipper voice.

"I hate you," Mulder says with feeling.

"Love you, too, Dude," Krycek laughs. "Sucks being a goody-two-shoes, don't it?"

"Like I said before, I hate you," Mulder says. "So what's this phone call really about?"

"Oh, Scully was making some noises about joining you up in Nowheresville to help you finish things up, and me and Melissa had to talk her out of it," he says, far too blithely for the content of his words. "So I was thinking if you needed some strings pulled-"

"I'd be far too afraid of what or who'd they be attached to," Mulder cuts in. "Besides, I'm doing my fair share of string-pulling and favor-calling. But thanks for the offer."

"Really?" Krycek sounds surprised. "'Cause you're taking forever."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, making sure these kids go to good homes with exceptional medical coverage takes longer than just shipping them off to some medical facility," he says. "As well as making sure their welfare and transportation takes place away from interested parties. So yeah, forever it is."

"You really are a good guy," the other man says, and if Mulder didn't know any better, he'd think there was a little more than a trace of envy in his voice. "If you're ever up for sainthood, me and the rest of the gang will put in a good word with the Pope."

"Being non-Catholic may put a damper on that," Mulder quips. "Besides, I think Scully should be the one up for sainthood, putting up with me and the kids, as well as being the longest-running Catholic in the household."

"Uh-huh." Krycek smirks. "So, Mr. I'm-Not-a-Saint, feel like grabbing a bite to eat?"

Mulder glances at the remains of his lunch. No, wait, that was his breakfast, when was the last time he ate? Aw, shit, that was from earlier this morning, two-something. "You gonna airmail me a care package?"

"No, I was thinking I'd take you to that cheapass restaurant a few miles down the road," Krycek says, walking into the room.

"You are one creepy bastard," Mulder chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm a creepy bastard who hates owing people things," the double agent shrugs. "Come on, I gotta feed you or Scully'll have my ass, and then Melissa won't make out with me tonight."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Love your priorities."

"Hey, at least I know what's important." Krycek smiles. "Come on, I'm paying."

"Par-tay." Mulder grins back, saves his documents on the disk, then sticks said disk and its cover in his pocket. "Lead on, O Payer of Food."

"Cheapass Payer of Food," Krycek corrects him. "No lobster or anything stupid like that, 'cause this isn't a date."

"I doubt they'd have lobster at a cheap restaurant," Mulder mutters as he locks the door behind them, "and Krycek, if you ever mention us and a date in the same sentence again, I'll shoot you where you stand."

Krycek's unrepentant laughter echoes down the hallway.

* * *

Hoover Building

Scully hasn't been to work in a few days, mainly because her morning sickness isn't just nailing her at all times of the day, but also because she finds herself pining madly for her husband and that just wouldn't look good at work. "Stupid hormones," she grumbles, not for the first time, and opens the basement door.

Going through one of the upper files is Reyes, her back facing the doorway and humming. "Oh, Dana." She smiles as she turns around, "how is Mulder doing?"

Scully nods. "He's good," she says, a tired smile on her face. "And how are things with you and John?"

Now Reyes smiles, ear to ear. "Real good."

"I take it you and he patched things up?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

"If you mean great make-up sex, yeah," Reyes chuckles, laughing louder when Scully joins in. "I don't know what you told him, but thanks."

Scully shrugs. "Not much, only what anyone with half a brain could've told him."

Reyes shakes her head. "No, really, thank you." And she hugs her shorter friend tightly. "It was really hard working with someone who barely looked at you, much less respected you."

Scully nods, thankful she's able to breathe again. "I'm glad things worked out, and not just because the senior agents are out of the office," she says, a full smile on her face.

"Hey, I can be a professional," Reyes says, lifting her chin, "John was the big baby."

"I was a big baby about what?" Doggett asks, walking in.

"Love," Reyes says, pulling him in for a hug.

"Monica," he says in a low voice, "we're at work." However, he doesn't pull away.

"I know." She smiles, "but it's okay." And Doggett finds himself smiling with her.

Scully shakes her head. They'll be okay, she thinks, they might need a little help, but they'll be okay.

* * *

Meanwhile...

More than once, Mulder finds himself in the position that Scully found herself in years ago, wanting to adopt these kids like she wanted to adopt Kevin Kryder. It would make things so much easier, a part of his brain tells him, the part that wants to also take Krycek's shortcuts. But the small, stubborn part of him, the one he's dubbed the Scully part, grabs the tempting part in a headlock and tells him that he should stick to doing what he does best, which is the right thing. It's usually the hardest thing, but it's always the best thing to do. He smiles a little, thinking of Scully putting Krycek in a headlock, then gets out of the car.

"Hi, are you Mr. and Mrs. Sergio Goes?" he asks the couple, pronouncing the last name like "goze."

"It's 'go-ess'," Mr. Goes corrects him, shaking his hand. "You must be Mr. Mulder."

Mulder's about to correct him as well, but then realizes that since his dad is gone, then yeah, he probably is. He smiles. "Yes, I am. Meet Matthew." He opens the passenger door, then carefully unbuckles the infant from the car seat. Then he hands the bundled baby over to the couple, who are watching with open eyes and mouths. "Matthew," he says, placing the boy into his waiting mother's arms, "meet your parents."

"Oh my God, he's so beautiful," Mrs. Goes says, tears spilling from her eyes. "I mean, I knew it from the picture, but still..." She looks up at her husband, a watery smile on her face. "He's so beautiful."

Mr. Goes beams under his trimmed beard and moustache, hugging his wife. "Of course he is," he tells her, then smiles proudly at the infant. "He's our son."

Then Mulder opens a back seat door, taking out a large ice chest. "This is his medicine," he tells them, setting it on the ground carefully, then pulls out a sheet of paper from his jacket. "These are the instructions. When you need refills, don't hesitate to call or e-mail the company at the bottom."

Mrs. Goes nods. "We know all about how important constant medical care is, I suppose you know about my diabetes," she looks at her husband, but the answer is directed at Mulder.

"Yes," Mulder says, "that's part of why you two were chosen." When they look at him in surprise, he smiles. "Another part is that you both value family highly, even though you're unable to conceive and you can't adopt under normal conditions. However, Matthew isn't a normal child, and I hope you realize that."

"Of course our child wouldn't be normal," Mrs. Goes says lightly, "he'll be just like his father." Her husband laughs, and hugs her to him. Then she looks directly at Mulder. "No matter what, Matteo is ours." Her hold on the child isn't stronger, but the fierce determination and possessiveness on her face is, as if daring him to take the child back.

"Yes, he is." Mulder nods with understanding, and leaves the re-named infant with his parents.

* * *

Krycek calls him on the way back to the quote-unquote base. "Jeez, I knew you were a goody-two-shoes, but this is ridiculous," the double agent tells him.

Mulder switches hands before he makes a turn. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a regular saint, you said that already," he mutters, "how are you doing on your end?"

"Five deliveries so far, and I feel like a freakin' stork," Krycek replies. "I can't believe you were doing this all by yourself. You realize you can delegate this shit to social services, right?"

"I trust your instincts on certain types of people," Mulder responds drily, "and while I know that social services may have experience weeding out regular assholes, they probably wouldn't have occasion to run across anyone related to either the new or old syndicate on a regular basis. That, and you're pretty good at background checks."

"Background checks," Krycek repeats sourly. "Great. Now I wish I hadn't talked Scully out of joining you. This sucks."

"Suck it up." Mulder grins. "Or can't you handle actual work?"

"This is chick work," Krycek scoffs, "that's all I'm saying."

"Uh-huh," Mulder shakes his head, "chick work. That you can't handle."

"Who says I can't handle this? It's boring as hell, stupid, and I can't believe I'm doing this shit," the other man retorts like a little kid.

"Alex," Mulder resorts to using the guy's first name, "I'm paying for dinner tonight. Happy?"

"It better not be some cheapass fast food crap like you're used to," Krycek grumbles.

Mulder laughs. "Lemme guess, your stomach's gone all delicate since the last time I saw you."

"No, I'm just afraid I'm gonna have to cut your burger into bite-sized pieces," Krycek responds snidely, "for the old man you are. Maybe even mash up your fries."

They keep this up until they reach the base, and even then, they argue over whose car to take (they end up driving their own), and what to get at the restaurant. Lighthearted as the banter is, they both know it's a lame attempt to distance themselves from the children whose lives are in their hands, some of whom already formed attachments to them, and that makes it just that much harder to let go.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home

Scully leans over the bed, her heart swelling with love for her children. "Good night, David," she says, kissing his forehead. Then she turns to the other bed. "Good night, Jared," she kisses his forehead, and he scrunches his face, making her giggle. "Good night, Sweetie." Then a tall shadow blocks out the light from the hallway, and she figures Michelle has something to ask before turning for the night.

"Hey," a familiar voice says from the doorway.

"Mulder!" Scully springs up and wraps her arms around him. "I could've picked you up from the airport," she whispers, so that the twins don't wake up again.

"Yeah, but this is cooler," he grins, hugging her back.

"I think Krycek's rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways," she pouts, pulling away a little, "Missy told me about how he surprised her at home."

He chuckles, kissing her forehead. "I hope that's the only idea I've picked up from him," he says, "God, it's good to be home."

She leans against him, closing her eyes. "I missed you."

He holds her, reveling in the feel of her body against his. "I missed you, too."

She raises an eyebrow at him, reaches over and closes the door behind them. "I missed you more."

"Uh-oh," Mulder raises his eyebrows at the challenge.

But before he could properly answer it with an equally infantile response, Sammy and Page are running towards him, then fasten themselves to his legs. "Daddy!" they both shout.

Soon, other doors are opening, and more children pour out, attaching themselves to their parents like limpets on rock. Mulder laughs, squeezing shoulders, ruffling or stroking hair, being very, very glad to be home. And he can only pray that the children he's assigned families will have lives this happy, this loving.


	112. Scary Monsters

March 13th, 2002

Mulder is pinned to an armchair by the wide-eyed stares of his two oldest children. Eventually Page asks the question that the anticipation of seems to make her practically levitate. "Daddy, are you home for good?"

"Yes," Mulder tells her, relieved that this is the truth. Though he's thrilled that the little ones he and Krycek rescued have all gone to good homes, he's _so_ ready to take a long break from anything stressful.

"You're going to stay home, and not go away for long times again?" she persists.

"No longer than Mom and I usually go away for work," Mulder says, but even as he does, he wonders how receptive Kersh will be to rescheduling a meeting to discuss reinstating him to the FBI.

Sammy gives him a suspicious look. "Really?"

"Really."

"Really-really?"

"Yes, really."

"Okay," Sammy says. "What about Monsters, Inc.?"

"What?" Mulder gives his oldest son a blank look. This is not the sort of follow up question he's been expecting.

"You _said_ we could go see that movie, Monsters, Inc. but then you went away with Uncle Alex. Can we see it tomorrow?" Sammy asks.

Mulder stares at him.

This doesn't faze his eldest son. "So, can we?"

Mulder doesn't want to disappoint them, but he's not sure it's a plan that can be followed through on. "I don't know if it's still playing anyw-"

"When the theater says the name on the sign outside, that means the movie is playing, right?" Page asks from the couch.

"Right."

"It says Monsters, Inc. at the theater near our school. The second fun theater."

"Second run," Mulder corrects absently. "I give them a call. If it's playing, I'll bring you tomorrow night."

"Good!" Sammy says excitedly. "I'm gonna tell April, n' David n' Jared."

"Wait, let me call the theater first," Mulder tells him.

A couple of minutes later Mulder is able to confirm that they're showing the movie, so Sammy is able to spread the good news. Page trails her brother, but doesn't seem to be trying to steal his thunder. Mulder supposes if he asks her, she'd tell him that it's fair he gets to tell their siblings since he's the one that asked about the movie.

Shaking his head, he goes to find his wife. "They act like nothing has changed. How can my being gone for four months not have changed anything for them?"

"They're adaptive. Like us," Scully tells him. "But don't go convincing yourself that they didn't miss you every minute you were gone. They did."

"I know, but-"

"You should be happy that they're treating you the same. It's much healthier than-"

"-when you dug me up? I know."

"Good." She gives him a sly smile. "But not everything is the same."

"No?" he asks, wondering what she's hinting at.

"Remember when I saw you in January?" she asks, letting her voice drop into a teasing whisper.

Mulder pulls her to him and nuzzles her neck. "How could I forget? I'm surprised your back isn't still bruised from the wall."

"Seven months from now we're going to have a permanent reminder of that visit."

"Oh," he says, catching her drift. "Once more into the breach, huh?"

"Something like that," she agrees. "But don't say breach. Let's not tempt fate."

"You're worried about bad luck now?" Mulder teases her. "I guess something has changed after all."

* * *

Missy and Krycek's Home  
8 p.m.

Just when it seems like Ryan might finally nod off after his bath, he opens his eyes, then his mouth. A forlorn wail exposes the nubs of two shiny new teeth trying to come in. He flails when Missy tries to comfort him.

"Ryan, you're trying Mommy's patience, yes you are." Missy tries to keep her tone light, but her baby is exhausting her. "Why can't you be more like your cousins?"

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets them, even though she knows that he's too young to understand. It does strike her as unfair that Ryan is more of a handful than William, or Christopher or...She once complained about that to her mother, and Maggie told her that Page had been a fussy baby too, but she hadn't been around then to see how her sister's oldest two were when they were as small as Ryan. None of the younger kids cried for hours at a time the way Ryan does.

But, as always, eventually he stops crying, and she doesn't even dare to breathe a sigh of relief.

As Missy walks by the den with a finally sleeping Ryan on her shoulder, she notices that her husband is peering intently at a sheet of paper. She doesn't want to wake the baby, but she promises herself that she'll swing back through the room once she's put Ryan down.

Three minutes later, Krycek is still staring at the same page.

"Did you discover the meaning of life?" she asks, making him look up at her. To her surprise, the comment doesn't elicit a smile.

"No. It's the result of a DNA test."

"A DNA test on who?" Missy asks sharply. A prick of guilt pokes her heart when she remembers asking her sister if she cheated on Mulder after his abduction. The thought that Krycek might have questions about _their_ baby makes her as upset as her sister had been.

Krycek sighs. "There was this little girl there at the facility that looks just like Emily. I had to be sure that she wasn't..."

"That she wasn't ours?" Missy supplies, feeling vaguely relieved.

"Exactly. She isn't. She's not even distantly related to you or me."

Her brow furrows. "And finding this out makes you unhappy? Did you want her to be ours, Alex?" They'd discussed only having two kids at length, and she'd thought he'd been happy with the decision, even if Emily is still talking about wanting a little sister "some day."

"No, I didn't hope that she was ours. That's not the problem. I'm unhappy because I'm worried still."

"What about?"

"Mulder and I had nothing better to do but talk a lot of the time. One of the things we discussed was him discovering Emily's surrogate and finding paper work on her and the other women."

"And?"

"And there were other kids born the same way she was. More than half a dozen of them, some of them older than her. I thought we'd find them in that facility, but none of the kids there was much more than two years old. What happened to them?"

Missy sits on the couch next to him, and picks up his good hand. "Hopefully, they are in safe, loving homes. Emily wasn't being held in a home like those little ones you and Mulder rescued, either. She seems to have pretty much forgotten her adoptive parents by now, but when she was small I asked her about them. The Sims loved her, and I'm sure they still would if they hadn't died they way they had. Even at three years old, it was clear that she was convinced of that. I don't know why those other kids you didn't find wouldn't have been given good homes too."

"Maybe they're dead," Krycek suggests in a low voice.

"It's possible. If they are, they're beyond worrying about now," Missy says, trying to sound reasonable rather than cold.

"Yeah."

"Oh, man!" They hear Emily's voice coming from the living room.

Missy moves to get up, but Krycek stops her. "I'll go."

* * *

"What's up?' Krycek asks Emily a moment later.

Emily points at the TV. "I was watching My Wife and Kids and the news came on. They keep talking about a fire."

"Why were you watching that? Did your mom say it was okay?" he asks before turning his gaze to the TV.

The screen is indeed filled with flames as a reporter talks about what happened in some distant location. He begins to pay attention to the reporter just soon enough to think he hears her say "the dead are a suspected cult who believed in aliens" which is enough to make him shiver. Reaching over, he pushes the power button.

"Hey!" Emily immediately pouts.

"Why don't you go get your coat?" Krycek suggests.

"How come?"

"I thought we might go look through that nice telescope your aunt Dana bought you for Christmas."

"Okay! I've been waiting to use it outside like **real** astronomers do. Mommy said it's too cold to bring Ryan outside, so I had to wait til you got home."

"Well, I'm home now," he tells her, smiling as she grabs her coat off the coat tree.

Krycek gives the blank TV screen a mistrustful look. The cult that has apparently just burned itself up believed in aliens. Were those people connected to the ones who thought there was a prophecy involving the family? He made a mental note to look into what exactly the cult believed. It was possible that they were harmless and deluded in an unrelated way like those poor people who though a comet was coming for them, but he didn't think it was possible to be too careful.

A few minutes later the worry slips from him as he helps his daughter look through the telescope and search for distant stars.

* * *

March 14th, 2002  
Afternoon

::The more things change, the more they stay the same.:: Mulder thinks as they arrive at Scully's doctor's appointment. The nurse greets them with a familiar smile, and doesn't bother to explain anything after telling them what exam room to go to.

"Ah, if it isn't one of my favorite patients," Doctor Hart says as he enters the room. "Favorite dads, too."

"Favorite because we keep you in business?" Mulder asks, grinning at the obstetrician.

"Favorite because you're comfortable with the whole experience, which isn't something I get with first-time moms. But big families are making something of a comeback, so I'm in the right business at the right time," Hart agrees. "Dana, how far long do you think you are?"

"Just over seven weeks," Scully says firmly.

Hart smiles. "You sound pretty sure about that."

"Mulder was gone on an assignment for months," Scully explains. "We saw each other on January twentieth." She spreads her hands. "Other than that, we're looking at November or yesterday."

Inexplicably, Mulder finds heat rushing to his cheeks. The doctor knows that they have sex. If there was ever any doubt of that, they have seven children to prove it. It still it embarrasses him slightly to be talking about their sex life with Scully's obstetrician.

The doctor doesn't miss a beat, though Mulder thinks he hears a faint chuckle. "Well, that'll make predicting your due date much easier. We're looking at October 18th or so. Why don't you get up on the table and we'll take a look."

After Scully climbs onto the table, she lifts her gown before he needs to ask her to. Hart squirts her belly with the medium for the ultrasound. Eventually a small squirming alien comes into view as Mulder watches. Not that he would ever tell her that he thinks that their babies look like aliens this early in pregnancy. Somehow, he doesn't think would have the sense of humor for that.

"Here we are!" Hart says as he too eyes the wiggling mass. He changes the screen's view slightly. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh doesn't sound good," Mulder says fretfully.

"Doctor Hart?" Scully starts to sit up but Hart holds out his hand to restrain her.

"Nothing bad," Hart says quickly. "Just mildly unexpected."

"What?" Mulder and Scully say as one.

"Did you ever find out if Jared and David are identical?" Hart asks, and Mulder wonders if he's lost his mind. How can you want to discuss such a trivial subject right then? Right before Mulder asks him to get back on the topic, please, Hart points a finger at the monitor. "Because _these_ _two_ are definitely identical."

All the blood drains from Scully's face. "Twins? Again?"

"Surprise?" Hart says, uncertain.

"Wow." Mulder squeezes Scully's hand reassuringly. "And yes, David and Jared are identical." He'd finally talked her into doing the zygosity test shortly before they left for their vacation over the summer. It came as no surprise that their sons were officially identical.

Hart looks mildly puzzled. "This is unusual. Fraternal twins tend to run in families. Identical twins don't. Which isn't to say that some women don't have more than one set of identicals, since it does happen."

"How do you know that they'll be identical?" Mulder asks, squinting at the monitor. All he sees is a couple of fluttery shapes on the screen.

Hurt uses his laser pointer to isolate a shape on the screen. "They share the same placenta. That only happens with identical twins." Before Scully can get alarmed the doctor quickly adds, "They have their own amniotic sacs though, so we won't have to worry about tangling cords or twin to twin transfusion."

"Good," Scully says faintly.

Hart looks uncomfortable about her lack of enthusiasm, and it's beginning to bother Mulder as well. "Well. Everybody looks healthy, so we'll have the front desk schedule your next appointment. I'll let you get dressed."

The doctor quickly makes his exit from the room. Mulder gives Scully a confused look. "Do you want me to leave the room while you get dressed too?"

"No."

"Okay... are you okay?"

She laughs briefly, and it's a brittle sound. "Carrying David and Jared wasn't easy, and that was almost four years ago."

Mulder tries a put his arm around her to comfort her. "It'll be okay. We'll make sure you take it easy."

She pulls away. "This is your fault!"

He blinks in confusion. "My fault? It's not _my_ egg that split in two." ::And I seem to recall being in the middle of asking you if you wanted a condom before you threw a leg around my waist.::

"No, but it's your fault that it did."

"How?" he asks defensively.

"There's this study. Identical twins seem to run in some families even though they're not supposed to. It concluded that there is an enzyme in some men's sperm that causes ova to split. You. Must. Have. It," Scully says, poking him in the chest.

"Sorry?"

This at least gets her to smile. "No, I'm sorry. It's actually both our faults. But this is going to change a lot."

"Sure. We'll be back on double diaper duty," Mulder says, wrinkling his nose at the memory of David and Jared's early months. "Hopefully we can get Christopher potty trained completely soon."

She shakes her head. "That's not I mean. I meant at work. Twins at my age is considered a high risk pregnancy. I'm not going to be spending a lot of time out in the field, this time."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. Fieldwork had pretty much directly resulted in David and Jared being born a month early. It wasn't something that either of them wanted to repeat, even though the boys had been healthy. "I guess we'll have to lay it out on the table for Kersh, and hope that he'll allow you to just do desk duty."

"Great. Writing reports for several months is what I always wanted."

"But you're so darn good at it." Mulder smiles.

She rolls her eyes.

"We won't be able to find out for a while yet if they're boys or girls, right?"

"Right. Not for several weeks yet, Mulder," she says, looking up from buttoning her blouse.

"Just think, we'll be able to have our own little league team soon," he enthuses.

"You're not helping me feel better."

"Sorry," he says again.

"This is the last time, you know," she says as they reach the lobby.

"Time for what?" he asks blankly.

She gestures to her belly. "This."

"Okay." Mulder smiles at her. "We both knew the time would come when we were done having new babies."

"Good. I'm glad we agree," she says firmly.

He thinks he sees a little sadness mixed in with her resolve, though.

"With two more we'll finally have a full house," he says, going for levity. This time she cracks a smile.

* * *

Meanwhile...  
Hoover Building

"Hello?"

Doggett looks up when he hears an uncertain voice addressing him from the doorway. A young blonde woman holding a folder stands there, giving him a curious look. "Yes?"

"Oh. I was hoping to find agent Mulder or agent Scully." Then as an afterthought the woman adds, "I'm Leyla Harrison."

"John Doggett," he replies out of politeness. "Unfortunately, agent Scully is gone for the afternoon. And agent Mulder's status is sort of undetermined at the moment. I don't know when he'll be back." Doggett explains. Mulder had called earlier in the day to complain that Kersh wouldn't give him a solid date to talk to him about reinstatement. "Agent Reyes and I are the only ones who are at the office for the rest of the day."

The woman looks disappointed. "Darn. There was something I was hoping they would look into."

"What's that?" Doggett asks, his curiosity aroused.

The woman looks hesitant. "I'm in the accounting department, but I've always followed Mulder and Scully's cases. I wanted to bring this to their attention because it was something I thought, uh, might be aligned with Mulder's... interests."

Doggett frowns. "What you're saying is you don't think that other agents would have the same sort of open mind that Mulder has a reputation for."

Harrison spreads her hands in defeat. "Basically."

"Agent Reyes and I've been investigating the paranormal alongside agent Scully for quite awhile," Doggett says, sounding slightly defensive. "Anything you could go to agent Mulder with, you could bring to us as well."

"Right." The woman's cheeks turn red. She hands him the folder. "I think I've stumbled onto an X-File."

"How?"

"It all started when I tracked down a mileage discrepancy in the bureau's vehicle fleet. It turns out a really nice secretary from our Baltimore field office had used a Ford Taurus without authorization."

"Unauthorized vehicle used is an X-File?" Doggett says, with a hint of a smile.

This only flusters the woman. "No, of course not. When I investigated her misconduct, I found out that she was desperate to go and check on her grandson. She's the one who told me about this case."

Though Doggett was becoming impatient, he tried not to let it show. Especially since his joke had gone over so poorly. "And the X-File is...?"

Harrison takes back the folder and removes a photo. It's a gruesome crime-scene photo of a dead woman. "This was her daughter." Harris removes another photo, this one blood-free. "Her son, Tommy, said that a monster killed her."

Doggett stares at her.

"I know. Why take the word of an eight-year-old? But the coroner concluded that she died of self-inflicted stab wounds."

"Why do you doubt his conclusion?"

"How could somebody stab themselves sixteen times?" Harrison asks with a bit of triumph in her voice.

"I think it's possible," Doggett says dismissively. "Some people have an unusually high tolerance for pain. Maybe that's what we're seeing here."

Harrison now looks frustrated. "I think there's more to it than that. Tommy's father has been acting strangely. He pulled him out of school, brought him to a remote mountain in Pennsylvania, and has cut off all contact with friends and family.

"His grandmother isn't even allowed to see him, which is why she stole a car try to go and to reason with to him. Then, he moved again after she tried to talk to him! If there's nothing wrong, why would he act like that?"

"There could be any number of reasons. The man's grieving for his lost wife. Maybe he and the mother-in-law have bad blood between them, and he doesn't want her influencing his son. So far, what you've shown me is a family issue following a suicide. I don't think there's anything here to investigate."

"Wait!" Harrison says desperately. "Tommy said that the same monster that killed his mother also killed the family cat, Spanky."

"Do you have the dead cat so that agent Scully could examine it?" Doggett says, wondering if agent Scully would even be willing to.

"No..."

"Then I don't think there's anything this office can do for you."

"But a little boy could be in danger!"

There are little boys in danger all the time, Doggett thinks but doesn't say. "I'm sorry, Ms Harrison."

She gives him a wounded look before gathering up the folder and stalking out of the room.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
7:30 p.m.

It's only been half an hour since Mulder took the kids to the theater, and just minutes since she put Christopher and William to bed, so the last thing Scully expects is to hear the front door being pounded on. Peering impatiently through the peep hole, she realizes it's no one she knows.

She opens the door a couple of inches. "Who are you? It better be an emergency if you're knocking on my door this late at night," she tells the stranger warningly. In the back of her mind she wonders if she might be scaring one of Michelle's friends since he's so young, but she doesn't really care. Michelle isn't home, anyway.

"It's not late," the young man sputters, confused.

"If you got up with a teething baby at four this morning, it's plenty late. Your name?"

"Uh, I'm Gabe Rotter. I have the thing you've been waiting for." He does have a box.

"Should I know you?" she asks impatiently. If he is one of Michelle's friends, he's dumber than the usual suspects. Most of the nanny's friends are bright, polite people in their twenties.

"Probably not. I'm a friend of Leyla Harrison. Agent Harrison," he adds when she gives him a blank look. "She knows agent Doggett?"

"Right. I haven't been waiting for anything from her, so-"

"Here." Gabe ignores her protests, and thrusts the box at her. It smells terrible.

"Jesus. What the hell is that?" she asks, pushing the box back into his hand.

"A dead cat."

"Why would an agent send me a dead cat?" Scully asks, taking a step backwards. "I don't want it!"

"You've got to take it. Leyla said your office is helping her out on a case and you needed it ASAP, so ... here, you're welcome."

"Get out. Get out now, before I go get my gun. And take that thing with you," Scully growls.

"I can't!" Gabe protests. "Do you have any idea what I went through to get this thing? I snuck onto the property where your perp used to live and I dug up the whole yard looking for it."

"Do I look like I care? Go away, now!"

"Uh-uh. Leyla said she'd go out with me only if I got you the cat, and damn it, I got it," he declares, flipping open the box.

The smell wafts up at them with an unmuffled vigor, and Scully turns and runs three steps before vomiting in the sink.

"Gee, didn't say anything about you having a weak stomach, sorry. You've done autopsies though, so how can this be enough to make you thr-"

She turns on tap to wash everything away and gropes for a glass so she can rinse out her mouth. Once she does, she fixes Gabe with a fiery gaze. "I don't have a weak stomach, you imbecile. I'm pregnant."

"Oh."

"I just found out I'm having twins again-"

Gabe's eyes widen. "Again?"

She ignores him and continues to speak. "-and they'll probably both be boys again. Thus bringing the grand total up to seven boys. The house barely survives the five I already have, and their two sisters, so what will I do with two more running around?"

"You've got seven kids?" His voice squeaks. "If a woman says she wants 'a lot' of kids, is that what she means? Because Leyla once said-"

"Four boys in a row already," she says, waving her water glass at him. "And you've brought me a dead cat." She glances down at the dead animal. "What happened to this thing?"

"Vet says he chewed a hole in himself."

Scully recoils slightly. "Why would he do that?"

Gabe shrugs. "Why did the kid's mother stab herself sixteen times in the stomach?"

"That's what this is about, an unusual suicide?" Scully asks sharply.

"I don't know, I guess. All I know is that some guy named agent Doggett said that they couldn't go forward with the case if you couldn't see the cat's body."

Wiping her mouth, Scully prepares herself to give the cat more than a cursory glance. After a moment she walks to the phone.

Gabe gives her a scared look. "And not calling the cops on me, are you? All I was trying to do was do a favor for Leyla so she'd like me!"

Ignoring him, she dials a number. "John, I'd really like to thank you for sending me an idiot and a dead cat." She listens for a moment as Doggett apologizes, and explains how the dead cat has arrived in her kitchen. After a moment, she says, "Maybe you do want to investigate this."

After she hangs up, she turns to Gabe. "Guess what, you're going to assist me with an autopsy."

He freezes. "What?"

"Your little friend wants to know what 'really' killed this cat, so we're going to find out for her."

"But-"

Scully gives his a flat look. "You want her to like you, don't you? This will give you a lot of mileage."

Gabe swallows hard.

Turning from her "assistant" Scully pulls things she thinks she'll need out of the cabinets. Noticing him fidgeting, she tells him, "Go down stairs through that door. The washer and dryer are at the foot of the stairs. Get me a plastic trap off the shelf to their right. Make sure you close the door tight when you come back up so my toddler doesn't get it open."

He nearly trips over himself in his hurry to comply. Scully uses his absence to go up and check on William and Christopher. Christopher is sleeping soundly, but William is wet, so it takes her a few minutes before she goes back to her guest and the cat carcass.

She takes the tarp from Gabe, and this snaps him out of his stunned silence. "You got to be freaking kidding me. I can't believe you're cutting up a dead cat on your kitchen table."

"This wasn't my idea, Gabe. My husband isn't home, and the nanny has the night off, so it's not as though I can do this anywhere else."

"It just seems...wrong. What's the big deal about the cat, anyway?"

"Because it would seem that poor Spanky here may have chewed a hole in his own stomach ... which you'll admit is unusual behavior."

"You mean he killed himself. Animals can commit suicide?" Gabe asks, wonder in his voice.

"Apparently. His owner Mrs. Conlon stabbed herself with a knife. The wounds are in the same place and if we figure out why ... well, then, you'll have something really good to share Ms. Harrison, won't you?

He nods, shuddering a little. "Tell me what to do."

"Hold the ribs open."

"She better go out with me after this," Gabe mutters. He turns his head away.

* * *

Meanwhile...  
Doggett's Home

After a brief conversation with agent Harrison to arrange to pick her up, Doggett hangs up the phone and goes to look for the boys to let them know that he'd be leaving. And he finds them with their coats on, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"The basket ball game, remember?" Luke answers warily. "You said we could go."

Doggett resists the urge to slap himself on the forehead – the boys had asked permission to go to their high school's game and he'd forgotten about it. Glancing at Hannah, he wonders if it's possible to get her a ticket to the game too. But he knows that she'll hate it and ruin their night.

"Oh yeah, I remember now. You'll be home by ten-thirty, right?" he asks, recalling the particulars of their agreement.

"Sure, Dad," Luke answers for both of them.

"Okay. I'm not sure if I'll be home then, but I'll give you a call if I'm not."

Gibson raises an eyebrow. "Checking up on us?"

"That's what dads do," he tells him blandly. "Have fun."

"Bye!"

Once they're gone, he looks over his shoulder at Hannah. She's sitting on the floor, coloring in her new coloring book. There is no monster, Doggett tells himself. From what Scully said, it might have been a parasite. Since the boy and his father seem to be okay from the grandmother's report, it's unlikely that there's any chance that they brought it with them when they moved, twice.

"Hey, Hannah, I've got some bad news for you."

"What, Daddy?"

"You're going to come with me while I talk to some people. It'll be boring, and you'll stay in the car."

"Do I have to?" Hannah complains.

"Sorry, kiddo, it's too late to get another babysitter." He wishes he could ship her over to Scully and Mulder's, but she's already put out with him over examining the cat's corpse.

"Aww."

"We'll do something fun this weekend to make up for it. I promise."

The girl grudgingly gets to her feet, and manages to give Reyes a smile when she arrives.

* * *

King's Acres  
8:30 p.m.

"Sweetie, you need to stay in the car," Harrison tells Hannah as they pull into the driveway of a large cabin.

The man at the gate had obviously been told to talk up the virtues of the place with all comers, because they'd been offered a great deal on a similar rental before they'd been allowed to identify themselves. Driving up to the cabin, it seems unlikely because there are no buildings anywhere along the two-mile road.

"Dad already told me," Hannah replies. "I brought my book and a reading light." Hannah holds up a copy of Bunnicula, recently inherited from Luke.

"Oh good, you already told her about the monster," Harrison says, then shrinks against her seat when both Doggett and Reyes give her outraged looks.

"A monster?" Hannah sounds scared.

"There is no monster," Reyes says quickly. "A little boy thought there was, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"Look," Doggett says to Harrison. "The only reason I agreed to come out here is because agent Scully said she was worried that this case might involve a parasite. It's not an X-File, but we owe it to them to inform them that they might need medical treatment. I could have done it over the phone if you weren't so hell bent on talking checking in on the boy. I don't need you filling _my_ kid's head with crap about monsters."

"All right," Harrison says in a small voice.

"Keep the doors locked, Hannah." Doggett bends over and kisses the girl's forehead. "We'll be back real soon."

By the time they reach the front door, a man is standing on the porch. Doggett gives the man a grim smile. "Jeffrey Conlon?"

"Yes. You are?"

Reyes flashes her badge. "Hi. I'm Agent Monica Reyes. This is Agent John Doggett and Agent Harrison. We're with the FBI." The others fumble for their badges as well.

Conlon sighs. "Let me guess, my mother-in-law sent you up here, right? I've told her repeatedly that Tommy is fine, but she won't let it drop-"

"You're right, she did speak to agent Harrison, but that's not why we're here." Doggett explains.

"Then why?"

"Your dead cat was brought to one of our colleagues, and she's concerned that he, and perhaps your late wife, had a stomach parasite."

"You think that's why she did it?" Conlon looks horrified.

"Maybe," Doggett agrees. "If so, it's a pretty nasty one. I think you and your boy ought to be examined at a hospital immediately. We'll escort you there, if you like."

"It can't wait until tomorrow?" Conlon asks irritably.

"I'm not sure that-"

The door creaks behind them, and a young boy dressed in pajamas stares out at them. "Dad? I heard voices, what are you doing? I got scared."

"Go back inside, Tommy."

Before the boy does, Harrison pushes forward. "Tommy, your grandmother works we me and told me that she was worried about you. Are you okay?"

"What right does she have to ask him something like that?" Conlon demands to know. Doggett shrugs.

Tommy looks confused. "I'm okay."

"But you told her you were afraid of a monster, remember?" Harrison asks excitedly.

Tommy glances up at his father before saying, "There's no such thing."

His father glares angrily at Harrison. "Tell Dorothy this is exactly why she's not allowed to visit anymore. Now, good night." He picks the boy up and slams the door behind them.

"Well, that went well," Doggett says sourly. "Who is going to call tomorrow to make sure they actually go to the doctor's?"

"I will," Harrison says with a guilty look. "I'm sorry I wasted your time tonight. Obviously I just got caught up in Dorothy's imagination gone into overdrive."

The three get into the car, and put on their seatbelts. Hannah glances up at them. "Are they sick?"

"I don't know. They didn't look sick, though," Doggett tells her. "Thank you for staying in the car."

"Welcome."

When Doggett turns the key in the ignition, the engine gives a few half-hearted attempts, and then goes silent. He is about to ask his daughter if she left the radio on, but then remembers that he'd kept his keys. Shrugging, he makes another attempt.

"Ewww!" Hannah and Harrison both scream when the entire car is coated in a thick wet liquid forced in through the vents. The worst of the mess gets on Doggett and Reyes. Calmer, Harrison picks up Doggett's roll of paper towels and hands it to him.

A moment later, they get out of the car and open the hood. The engine compartment is as splattered with what appears to be blood. Hannah starts to cry softly.

"I hope it was a possum." Reyes sounds sick to her stomach. "And not something nicer."

"Hannah, did you hear anything crawl into the engine?" Doggett asks.

"No. The only thing I heard was you talking to the man."

"What happened?" A voice asks over their shoulders.

"I'm not sure." Doggett admits. "Screwed up the engine, whatever it was."

Conlon sighs in frustration when he spots Hannah. "You should come inside while you wait for a tow-truck. It's too cold out here for a little kid."

* * *

Reyes and Harrison both try to call a tow-truck after borrowing a phone book, but neither woman can get any reception. They discuss it quietly with Doggett.

Hannah, huddling on the Conlon's couch, looks up when she hears Tommy whisper to his father, "The monster won't let them leave." She squeezes her eyes tightly, and reminds herself that her father said that the little boy thought there was a monster, but it wasn't real.

"The engine's shot. I don't know how long it will be before we can get a call out so someone can get the car and give us a ride home," Doggett says to Conlon. The other man nods briefly.

Harrison's eyes sparkle with too much enthusiasm for Doggett's taste. "Phones that won't work, cars that won't start. It reminds me of a case Mulder and Scully investigated. A teenager who was struck by lightning - his body affected the electrical workings of everything around him."

"I don't think that's what we're dealing with here, Leyla," Reyes objects.

"Agent Mulder wasted no time closing that case. I just try to think like him. What would Agents Mulder and Scully do if they were in this situation?"

"Agent Mulder is at the movie theater with five little kids, and agent Scully is at home with your dead cat. I don't think either of them is going to do anything that would help our situation." Doggett points out. "Not unless one of them can magically make cell phone reception happen. I know Mulder can't do crap with car repairs, so he wouldn't be much help there."

The declaration that Mulder isn't skilled at something seems to startle Harrison. "Well, maybe not, but-"

Her remark is cut short when Tommy begins to scream for his father. Doggett towards the boy's room, and is shocked to see that Conlon is holding the boy's door shut.

"Help, it's in here!" Tommy screams through the door. Conlon looks grim, but holds the door shut.

"What the hell are you doing?" Doggett demands to know.

He pushes Conlon out of the way, and the man protests that he shouldn't. "We can't let them get out!" He hisses.

Reyes joins them, and they both go into Tommy's bedroom. He's huddled on his bed, shying away from two giant insects. Reyes snags the boy off the bed, while Doggett heaves a heavy book at the closest one. It winks out of existence, but a moment later two more appear and scuttle under the bed.

* * *

After they bring Tommy out of his room, he and Hannah are sat at the small kitchen table and given crayons and paper. Watching them, Reyes finds herself a little surprised by the cool reception Hannah is giving the little boy. She adores Luke and Gibson, at least when she's not mad at Luke, and is good friends with Sammy too. But she is doing her level best to ignore Tommy. When she notices that her father's girlfriend is standing behind her, she smiles and holds up a picture of a mermaid.

Tommy's picture is set more in reality, and he diligently works on a portrait of two women.

"How are they?" a voice at her ear asks.

She looks up at Doggett. "Okay. He doesn't seem to be as traumatized as I feared that he'd be."

"His father and I looked everywhere, but we can't find hide nor hair of them."

Reyes shudders. "But that doesn't mean they're gone."

"I know," Doggett says grimly. "I was hoping to bring one of them to Dana-"

Her lips quirk into a grin. "Oh, she would have loved that."

"I know. I'm already on her list today."

"What sort of list?" She looks like she's about to laugh.

"You know very well what sort of list." Doggett glances down at the kids' drawings. "Nice mermaid, Hannah."

"Thanks. Can we watch The Little Mermaid this weekend?'

"I guess so." He tries not to let his dismay show - there are few movies he'd less like to watch, but he did drag her off into this. "Hey Tommy, who are you drawing?"

Tommy points a thumb at Leyla, who is across the room trying her phone again. "Her."

"Tommy, tell John what you told me about what we saw in your room tonight." Reyes encourages. The conversation had been brief, and like pulling teeth.

"Those are the monsters that hurt my mommy. But my dad says I'm not supposed to talk about it."

* * *

When he goes back to the boy's bedroom, his father is staring at another drawing the boy has done. Though he's young, Tommy has an eye for drawing, and it's easy to recognize things like his old home, his mother, his dead cat.

"I want to know what we're dealing with," Doggett says in his best no-arguments tone.

"What makes you think I know?" Conlon replies sullenly.

"Your kid said you told him not to talk about those things. And you trapped him in here with those things! What sort of parent does that sort of thing?"

Conlon sighs. "You have every right to think I'm a bastard, but I want to show you something. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and displays thick ropy scars. They're red, so they're recent. "Those things won't hurt him, but they got me. I thought they were going to kill me."

"What sort of animal is it?" Doggett asks, unable to pull his eyes away from the shiny scar tissue.

"I don't know what they are. All I know is that they keep following us, even after two moves. I think it's too late, now, though."

"Why is it too late?"

"They're going to kill us all." He glances at Doggett's face. "You've seen for yourself that they can't be killed. It just makes more of them."

"There's something you're not telling us." Doggett accuses. Conlon says nothing.

Doggett leaves him standing there, and runs into Harrison. "Did you find anything out?"

"I found out that there's something deeply wrong with that man," Doggett says shortly.

She shrugs, as if to say anyone could have told him that. "You know, one time Mulder and Scully discovered a sea creature that was living in a washing machine. Maybe these things are like that."

He'd like to correct her, but for all he knows, the two things could be related.

* * *

"Daddy!" Doggett runs towards the sound of his daughter's voice. When he gets there, she's standing on a chair and pointing at the floor. There are four more of the huge bugs. Doggett sweeps them aside with his shoe, and half a dozen scatter, headed under the stove. Tommy doesn't look up from his drawing as Hannah wraps her arms around Doggett's neck.

Apparently worried about the scream, Conlon appears a moment later.

"Get Tommy dressed and pack things you might need for the next few days."

"Why?" Conlon sounds listless.

"We're going to walk down to the guard's shed, and bum a phone."

Conlon moves as if to comply, but he says "Why bother? They're not going to let us get that far."

Before Doggett can tell him off, he's grabbed a backpack out of the closet, and gone to pack.

Glancing at the table, Doggett sees that Tommy has been busy drawing a cave, a woman with a stained shirt, and a couple of the ugly bugs. The boy hardly seems aware that there is anything going on.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
9 p.m.

"So, this is Johnny Fabulous, huh?" Gabe asks, playing with Mulder's badge while Scully makes a phone call. "He doesn't look like I expected. I thought he'd look more like Johnny Depp."

"Give me that," Scully hisses, holding the phone to her ear.

"I mean really... 'Mulder's so smart. Mulder's so dreamy. Scully is the best scientist ever, I wish I was just like her.' That's all Leyla ever talks about. Mulder and Scully, Scully and Mulder, blah, blah, blah. You'd think you two were Elvis or something."

Scully hangs up. "Damn. I can't reach Doggett or Reyes."

"So? You said you didn't find anything in the cat. What's the worry for?"

"That's the whole problem. There should have been something in the cat."

"Like what?"

"The thing it was trying to chew out. The bite marks make it seem like something in it was hurting it so much that chewing it out seemed like a good way of dealing with it."

"That sucks, but it was just a cat," Gabe objects.

"Which would be relevant if it didn't seem like the woman might have also been trying to cut something out of herself," Scully points out, and his face goes white.

"Could it be in my car? I drove the cat here." Gabe looks panicky.

Before she can reassure him that there's probably not something lurking in his car, the front door opens. "Mulder, don't let the kids come in here!" Scully calls.

To her relief, she hears a lot of small feet going up stairs. A moment later Mulder appears in the doorway saying, "God, that had better not be tomorrow's dinner." His smirk dissolves into shock when his eyes lit upon their guests, living and deceased.

"Don't take your coat off," Scully tells him. "You're going back out."

* * *

9:15 p.m.

A stiff wind is beginning to pick up as Doggett leads the way down the dark road the Conlons currently live upon. He holds Hannah's hand, but Tommy and his father walk apart somewhere behind Leyla and Reyes.

Bending his head towards Reyes, he asks quietly, "Do you think those things will stay back there at the house?"

She shivers. "I sure hope so."

Still fairly upbeat, Leyla looks almost cheerful as she starts to say, "You know, Mulder and Scully once investigated a case where – aaaaahhhhhh!"

Leyla's comment cuts off as a huge lumbering shape rises up beside her. Before anyone else can react, Leyla is running at full speed, a dark blur of fur close on her heels.

"It's a bear!" Reyes shouts to her. "Climb a tree! Climb a tree!"

Leyla shrieks, then scrambles up a tree with more speed than Doggett expects. Angry, the bear stands at the bottom of the tree, roaring and trying to swat at the lower branches. Screaming again, she scales higher, worrying everyone when she reaches thinner limbs.

"Holy sh*t, we need to help her!" Reyes cries. Hannah gives her a wide-eyed stare, but Reyes doesn't apologize for her language.

She begins to look around for a possible weapon to scare off the bear, but stops when Tommy's piping voice says, "Don't help her."

"Tommy, don't be silly," Reyes says, giving the boy a confused smile. "Of course we need to help her."

"You'll be sorry," Tommy promises.

Ignoring him, Reyes apparently decides that shooting the bear is probably the best option, because she pulls her gun and runs three steps towards Leyla's cries of dismay. After three steps she screams herself, and drops to the ground.

"Monica?" Doggett's voice is laced with panic as he pulls Hannah after him in his effort to reach the fallen agent's side. "What's wrong?"

"There's something in me!" she gasps, eyes tightly squeezed shut. Looking down at her, Hannah seems on the verge of tears.

"Hannah, hold her hand. It'll make her feel better," Doggett tells her. He doesn't think he's telling the truth, but it might offer Reyes some comfort as he unzips her jacket and pulls up her shirt.

Under the skin of her belly, something moves. The only other time he saw anything remotely like that was towards the middle of his ex's pregnancies with their two children. He knows for certain that Reyes isn't pregnant, and even if she were and hadn't told him yet, she wouldn't be far enough along to see anything moving. And no babies had limbs that pointed.

It's definitely something more sinister than a baby. Reyes howls in agony.

Turning to look behind him, Doggett sees the placid expression on Tommy's face, and the fright on his father's. "This has something to do with the boy. He's doing this somehow. His drawings." Doggett adds when he remembers the final trio the child had made before they left the house.

"You should have left before it was too late," Jeffery Conlon says flatly.

"You're his father, make him stop!"

Conlon's eyes are empty. "I can't. Do you think I'd be a widower now if I could make him stop? He doesn't mean to hurt anyone. Little boys don't hurt people on purpose."

Disgusted, Doggett tries to appeal to Tommy instead. "Tommy, this is wrong. Stop now!"

It's hard to hear Tommy's reply over Reyes' moans, and Leyla's yelps of fear as the bear finally gets a hold of a low branch and shakes the tree, but he says, "You can't stop me."

Grimly, Doggett takes a step towards the boy. A swarm of the bug creatures materialize out of thin air, and begin to crawl up his pants legs. Shouting in disgust, he swats at them, but they cling tenaciously, and a few begin to rip into his clothes.

Tommy is fascinated, and his eyes don't leave Doggett. Which is why he doesn't notice that Hannah has run up behind him with a rock in her hand until she shouts, "Leave them alone! You leave them alone!"

He turns, just in time to meet the down swing of her arm with his forehead. He doesn't even have time to throw up an arm in defense before her swing connects. His eyes roll back in their sockets before the blood from his cut forehead even has time to get in them.

As soon as he sways on his feet and passes out, everything stops. The bugs, both the ones clinging to Doggett and the one inside Reyes, disappear. The bear winks out of existence too.

And that's when Mulder pulls up in his mini-van. Sticking his head out the window, he looks over the scene for a moment. Agent Harrison is climbing down from a tree, and there's an unconscious child on the ground with three other adults staring at him.

Speaking to the only person paying attention to him, Mulder asks Hannah, "So... You up for some hot chocolate on the way home?"

The little girl nods. Then she bursts into tears.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
10:45 p.m.

To Mulder's relief, there is no longer a dead cat on the kitchen table when he gets home. Instead it's scrubbed clean, cleaner than he's seen it in at least a couple of years.

Scully yawns, and notices his gaze. "I made Gabe clean up. It was the least he could do. Is everyone okay?"

"I think Hannah's traumatized, and the little boy is still unconscious, but they seem okay otherwise."

Concerned, Scully asks "What happened?"

"The kid imagined bad things happening to people, and then they happened. He attacked everyone but Hannah and his dad with his monsters, and Hannah knocked him out to stop him."

"Hannah did?" Scully exclaims, surprised. "One of our most popular tea-party guests knocked another kid out?"

"Yeah. With a rock. She's shaken that she managed to hurt someone, but if not for her..." He glances at the spot where he'd last seen the cat. "They said the boy will probably wake up soon."

"Thanks for rescuing them," Scully says, snaking an arm around his waist.

"My white horse and shining armor were itching to save someone," he says wryly.

* * *

The Following Monday  
Hoover Building

Scully is looking up a report when she hears footsteps. Doggett grins at her, "Decided to get an early start, huh?"

"Yeah. William's teething, so I got woken up early again. I decided I might as well come in." She hasn't told Doggett that she'll soon be cutting back her hours, so explaining that she wanted to square a few things away wouldn't make sense. "Have you gotten an update on Tommy yet?"

"Monica and I went to see him last night. They don't know what to do with him at the pysch ward, but for now they've invented a stop-gap method of dealing with him. They've got dozens of TVs going, so he can't focus on anything long enough to think of hurting anyone." Doggett trails off with a deep sigh.

"How's Hannah?" Scully asks quietly.

"Okay. She's less upset now that she knows that she didn't cause Tommy any lasting harm."

"That's good."

"But I keep wondering why. Why did we get good kids, and Jeffery Conlon didn't?" Doggett asks.

"I don't know," Scully admits. "I'm just glad that we did."

"Me too."


	113. Jump The Shark

Mulder and Scully's Home  
March 24th, 2002

The Lone Gunmen are watching "Happy Days" reruns with Mulder and Scully's kids, since the happy couple is out on a "date" and it's the nanny's day off. Frohike is trying to teach the older boys how to snap their fingers like Fonzie (instant coolness and radios flipping on not guaranteed, however), while Langly and Page are laughing at the cheesiness of the show, while Byers finds himself in the unenviable position of having to care for the two much smaller children. Right now, they're watching the Hawaii special, and Page is, in the place of her mother, pointing out all sorts of inaccuracies, some of which can be explained away by the passage of time, others, well, the Gunmen's gotta chalk it up to Hollywood silliness, and the children accept this much easier.

And then the Fonz is dared to jump over a shark. "Frohike, is Fonzie gonna die?" Sammy asks the balding man, as if instinctively knowing that this uncle won't sugarcoat anything.

Frohike snorts. "Are you kidding? He's got a leather jacket, cool dudes never die."

Langly rolls his eyes. "Leather jackets don't automatically make short guys cool, Fro."

"Shut up, Blondie," the short man grumbles.

Of course, the stunt, completely silly and devoid of suspense, goes off without a hitch, and the kids cheer while the adults roll their eyes.

"Yaaaaay!" Sammy claps. "Hey, next time we go to Hawaii, I wanna do that!"

"I don't think so," Byers says, the voice of reason. "In real life, sharks are dangerous, and unlike TV shows, people have gotten killed just swimming near them."

The little redhead boy pouts, then says, "Then I'm gonna ask Santa to get me a leather jacket for Christmas."

"I want one, too," David chimes in.

"And me, too," Jared adds.

Langly groans. "Okay, we better change the channel before they get any more weird ideas about fashion."

"Speak for yourself, hippie," Frohike snaps, but changes the channel nonetheless. "Hey, look, you're wearing the same thing Shaggy is," he smirks.

"Shut up, MELVIN," the long-haired blond shoots back, even though his faded green Ozomatli shirt and dark loose slacks does give him an unfortunate resemblance.

The shorter man's head snaps up at the use of his first name. "Oh, now we're on," he growls, and for the rest of the afternoon, Mulder and Scully's children are more entertained by their uncles fighting (and one of them unsuccessfully trying to break it up) than the cartoons onscreen.

* * *

The offices of "The Lone Gunman"  
Takoma Park, Maryland

The Lone Gunmen are ready to hit the sack, after a long day of not only bickering with each other, but also having to explain to Scully why her elder sons want leather jackets and the woman being very displeased with the answers. Lucky to have escaped with their hides intact, Frohike's about ready to throw something at the buzzer when it keeps going off. Byers is making cocoa, while Langly changes his green shirt for a less Shaggy-looking one.

"Dammit, now what?" he grumbles, checking the monitor. He sees Reyes and Doggett, and while he would normally be happy to see the former, he's rather tired of the FBI right now. "What the hell do they want?" he mutters, as Doggett continues the audio assault by pounding on the door.

Tiredly, Frohike unlocks the four locks, then opens the door with a scowl. Ignoring the shorter man's expression, Doggett walks in, followed by Reyes. "Gentlemen," he says dryly.

Reyes, for her part, is shocked by the near-barrenness of the warehouse. "What happened here? Did you get robbed?"

"No," Langly says, offended.

Frohike stiffens. "We're upgrading everything," he waves at the barebones operation they've got going on.

"Yeah," Langly wrinkles his nose, "we gave away all our old crap to the Salvation Army. We're buying totally new stuff."

Byers blinks at them, then at the agents. "Well, what can we do for you, agents?"

"Well, we were hoping you could help us out," Doggett replies. "We were wondering if you know this woman."

Reyes hands them a photo. "Do you recognize her?"

"Well, yes," Byers says, and the other two glare at him. "What?"

Langly jumps in, "She's, uh... she's a fellow hacker. Damn fine one."

"She calls herself Yves Adele Harlow. Uh, it's not her real name," Byers adds.

Frohike sighs. "Well, we never learned her real name. She disappeared a year ago and nobody's seen her since. Why?"

"We have reason to believe that she's resurfaced," Doggett says gravely, "and that she's become a terrorist."

"What?" all three men look at him incredulously, then laugh. "Oh, man, that's a good one," Frohike wheezes. "Where the hell'd you get that stupid idea from?"

"You think these idiots would know?" a new voice says. "They can't even find their own asses."

* * *

"You son of a bitch," Frohike snarls at the newcomer, then grabs a golf putter, lunging at him. Doggett is surprised at the reaction, but grabs the putter.

"I'll hold him down!" Langly also races towards him, but Reyes blocks him.

"You've got some nerve coming here," Byers says between clenched teeth.

"Told you they wouldn't help," Morris Fletcher smirks, rubbing the bandaid on his cheek.

"All right, everybody just calm down," Doggett snaps. "What the hell is going on?"

"This man is a professional liar. Every word out of his mouth is a lie," Byers points at the smirking heavyset man.

"He's a scam artist," Langly joins in. "He used us to track Yves down a year ago."

"And then he abducted her," Frohike tightens his grip on the putter.

"Which is why I know what happened to her," Fletcher says, and everyone looks at him. Clearing his throat nervously, he goes on. "I facilitated a meeting, that's all. The man I was working for, I didn't know in advance what he was planning to do to her. Not my finest hour. I'll admit it."

"Every word out of his mouth," Byers repeats.

"Agents, I'm tellin' ya, you don't want these three involved. I mean, they don't even have their ridiculous tinker toy gizmos," Fletcher waves his hand at the mostly-empty place. "This place is like 'How The Grinch Stole Radio Shack'."

Doggett looks everyone, then says evenly, "All right, you three know this woman, I want your help. We need to track down this Yves Adele Harlow."

* * *

After much promises on both sides to play nice with each other, Doggett and Reyes leave Fletcher with the Lone Gunmen at their base, while they go back to do their own investigative work.

"Airline reservation database," Langly says in front of the computer while his compatriots flank him. "What name do we look under?"

"Try her old stand-by. Different anagrams of Lee Harvey Oswald," Byers suggests.

Fletcher, for his part, is bored, and picks up an old issue of "The Lone Gunman". " 'Area 51 Exposé!' Ooo! Where's your new issue? This one's a year old," he complains.

"Shut up, asswipe," Frohike mutters.

"You'll never find her that way," Fletcher smirks.

Langly sighs, his face dour. "He's right," he mutters when the search software running on his computer fails to give any results. "No anagrams for Yves Adele Harlow."

"So, who's Joey?" Fletcher jabs a thumb at Langly's current t-shirt.

"You don't know Joey Ramone? Leader of the greatest punk rock band in human history," he rolls his eyes. "Now shut up!" He can't concentrate, because Fletcher is leaning in a little too close for comfort. "What?"

Fletcher sighs exaggeratedly. "What are you, 34, 35? Why don't you cut your hair and grow up, huh?"

"Reminder, dickwad, Doggett and Reyes aren't here to save you," Langly mutters.

The erstwhile-MIB snorts. "Jeez, get yourself a real hero, okay? Not some dead teeny bopper."

Langly slams the keyboard down and stands up, glaring at Fletcher. "You want to know why Joey Ramone's my hero? 'Cause people like you," he shoves a finger at Fletcher's tie, "never managed to grind him down. They never stole his spirit. He never gave in, never gave up, and never sold out. Right till his last breath. And he's not dead." He sits back down, but his glare is still on the other blond man. "Guys like that? They live forever." Unlike you, his unspoken words are quite clear to everyone within earshot.

Morris sighs again. "Fine. Look, if we have to work together, let's work together."

"Let's see," Frohike pretends to think hard, "the last time that happened, you sold Yves up the river, you asshole!"

The heavyset man drops his smirk and steps back a little, holding up his hands. "Watching you three play pin the tail on the donkey is not my idea of a fun time. Now, wouldn't it be easier tracking Yves if you knew her real name?"

"You know her real name?" Byers raises his eyebrows.

Fletcher nods. "Lois Runtz."

"Lois Runtz," Byers repeats, laughing. "Sure."

"Hey, I'm telling you the truth, boys," Fletcher raises his hands again.

Frohike snorts. "Wow, I think hell just froze over," he comments.

A knocking comes from a distant wall, and all four men turn, surprised.

"Nobody knows about that door," Byers says, half-whispering. "That's our secret door."

Fletcher raises an eyebrow. "Does Lois know about it? Yves?" he amends when the Gunmen glare at him.

Frohike picks up the golf putter again, and the other three men follow behind him, with Fletcher in the back. As Byers unlocks the secret door, they look at each other, then back at the door. The door opens with a groan, not from the hinges, but from the person staggering into the room. All four men step back apprehensively before the intruder collapses to the floor.

* * *

"Jimmy?" Langly asks the large man lying on the couch, seeing his eyes open slowly. "How you feelin', man?"

Fletcher suddenly puts two and two together with the name. "Oh, right. The old errand boy. The guy used to intern for you losers, right?" he grins at the other two Gunmen. "I wondered what happened to you."

Jimmy Bond stares at Fletcher, then looks at Langly, confused. "Why is he here?" he asks, sounding not just confused, but also betrayed.

Byers sighs. "FBI business," he says, resigned. "It's a long story."

Frohike looks relieved the newbie's alive and back to his usual semi-coherent self. "Where the hell ya been, big guy?"

"Zurich," he answers slowly. "Then I was in Malta. And Yemen. And just now, New Jersey. It's been a rough geology lesson," he says, heartfelt, without irony. "I ran out of money, so I hitchhiked here. I snuck in the back, 'cause I didn't know if the place was being watched." Then he sits up, wide-eyed, startling them. "I just had to see you guys. It's about Lois. Lois Runtz, that's Yves' real name," he explains.

"I told ya so," Fletcher smirks, then stares at the big guy. "Hey, wait a minute. You tracked her all over the world? You? Mr. Intelligence here is lucky to be alive. Why did you send him? Were you tryin' to get him killed?" he exclaims.

"He sent himself to find Yves," Langly shakes his head. "We tried to talk him out of it."

"Now I almost wish you had," Jimmy says, looking like someone shot his puppy.

"Jimmy, what is it? Are you all right?" Byers asks, concerned.

He looks at Fletcher, then sighs. "Last night," he replies reluctantly, "I traced her to a little college in New Jersey. It's the closest I've been... been in a year of searching. I saw her. I actually laid my eyes on her. I called to her!" he says, his voice picking up with excitement at the memory. "But she ran. Later on, I... I found out."

"Found out what?" Frohike asks, even though he knows he won't like the answer.

Jimmy looks at one Gunman to the next, as if he doesn't want to believe what he saw. "I, I think she murdered somebody," he says, pained.

* * *

Hartwell College  
Kearny, New Jersey  
March 25th, 2002

Doggett and Reyes walk down a corridor, part of which contains a large fishtank with sharks swimming around. At the end of the corridor is the person they came to see, Professor Gillnitz, looking more than a little haggard as he sits on a bench against the wall.

"John Gillnitz?" Doggett asks to confirm, and the thin man nods. "I'm Agent Doggett and this is Agent Reyes. Is this the woman you saw last night?"

The professor looks at the photo the agent shows him, then looks up, frowning a little. "It was dark, uh... it could have been her. Do you have her in custody?" he asks, apprehensive.

Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Professor, what can you tell us about your friend? Do you have any reason why he may have been targeted?"

He looks shocked. "Absolutely none. Douglas was a wonderful teacher, and an even better researcher."

"What did he research?" she asks.

"Elasmo Bronchi. That is, sharks, rays and skates," he explains.

"He was a marine biologist?"

Gillnitz shakes his head, but it seems she's not the first to have that misconception. "An immunologist. Sharks have a remarkable immune system. Toxins that would kill nearly any other vertebrate pass right through them," he says, his face glowing with excitement as he shares this.

"So, he did medical research?" Doggett clarifies.

Gillnitz smiles at him as if the man got the answer to a question nearly right on a test. "Douglas wanted to save the world."

* * *

The Lone Gunmen HQ  
Takoma, Maryland

The sparse warehouse is becoming a little more populated with the addition of another, that is, fellow hacker Kimmy. "This is a computer, noob," he says to Fletcher once the introductions are done. "Com-pu-ter. Step away before you embarrass yourself."

Fletcher rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Kimmy flashes a smug grin at the other hackers. "So then, how do you wish to partake... of my hacking genius?" he asks, cracking his knuckles.

"Well, thanks to Jimmy, we know Yves' real name," Frohike says.

"Hey, I told ya before he did!" Fletcher protests.

Ignoring him, Langly adds, "Jimmy also told us what kind of car she's driving. Silver X5 with New York plates."

Kimmy looks at the hulking blond man with surprise. "Really? Way to go, Special Ed," he gives the big guy props.

"The New Jersey Turnpike has video cameras at every toll booth," Byers jumps in. "Langly hacked the system and spotted her southbound at Newark."

"Somewhat creative," Kimmy admits.

Langly reaches over and brings up a series of still short showing a tunnel and a car passing through it. "We spotted her again going through the Fort McHenry Tunnel. She passed through not 20 minutes ago."

"We're betting she's headed for DC We're going to try to intercept her, with your help..." Byers trails off meaningfully.

"Think you might find a military satellite you could piggy back? Give us a bird's-eye view of the beltway?" Frohike cuts to the punch.

Kimmy looks at them, then at the monitor. "Intriguing. Stand aside, ladies." After readjusting his glasses, he starts typing.

"We'll be on the cell," Frohike tells him as they get ready to leave.

"I got shotgun," Fletcher says.

"Psh," Langly shuts him down. "You're staying here."

Byers turns to Jimmy. "We need somebody we can trust keeping an eye on Fletcher."

Jimmy smiles at Byers, happy to be trusted in a familiar role. "You got it."

When the Lone Gunmen leave, Morris looks at Jimmy, since he's already figured Kimmy would be too wrapped up in computer stuff. "So, how'd you like Malta?"

* * *

It isn't long before Doggett and Reyes join the others at the Lone Gunmen's HQ, and telling the others about the medical examiner's discovery of the surgically-grafted cartilage and bioluminescent blood in the dead professor's body.

Fletcher, for his part, is sitting down, giving them his most wide-eyed look. "Wow, I had no clue," he chuckles. "Seriously, this is the first time hearing of it. Weird organs? I don't know what to tell you.

"You've never heard of the man? Professor Douglas Houghton?" Reyes asks.

"You're looking at me weird," he notes after a beat.

"Perhaps because you've been known to lie on occasion," Doggett deadpans.

When Jimmy stands over him, a nasty smile on his face, Fletcher looks worried. "Well, I'm not lying now. I've said from the start she was a terrorist!"

Then Kimmy yelps in frustration, banging the keyboard, startling them. "Dammit! Crashed again! I cannot make magic with sub-standard equipment," he folds his arms and glares at the computer with the disdain of a prima donna.

"What's the problem?" Doggett asks, his attention diverted.

"The problem is," Kimmy says slowly, as if to a child, "it's a freakin' piece of junk! I knew those guys were broke, but this is pathetic!"

Reyes and Doggett glance at each other before she asks, "The guys are broke?"

"Are you kidding? Look around this dump," he motions to the obviously-bare warehouse. "They had to hock all their stuff just to pay the rent."

"What about this?" Morris picks up the newsletter.

Kimmy scoffs. "Oh, their 'paper'?" he uses his skinny fingers as quotation marks. "Deader than disco. They haven't published in months."

Fletcher glances at the headline and tosses the paper on the table. "So saving the world doesn't pay the bills. There's a hot news flash for ya, huh?" he chuckles. "Idiots."

Now Jimmy is pissed off. "They were gettin' by all right, till you put 'em out of business!" he points at him.

"Oh?" Fletcher raises an eyebrow. "And how exactly did I do that?"

"When you took Yves," Jimmy says, his eyes narrow. "They spent every last dime trying to find her. They're loyal to their friends. Hilarious, huh?"

Reyes' cell phone rings, and she answers. "Reyes."

"You'd better get here quick," Byers says in a hushed, urgent voice.

"Where are you?" she frowns.

"The Hotel Farragut," he answers in the same hushed tone. "Hurry."

* * *

After the Lone Gunmen have dispatched their heroic duty at the Hotel Farragut, Jimmy join them in a room there to keep an eye on the woman known as Yves Adele Harlow. As the mystery woman wakes up, Jimmy asks her, "Lois? Should I call you that?"

She wrinkles her nose. "I prefer Yves."

"I can't believe you're a terrorist," Langly says, disappointed.

"What?" Yves looks at him, then at the others in the room.

"So, you weren't seriously gonna smoke that guy, were you?" Frohike asks.

She exhales. "I know you three mean well. But I can't begin to tell you how badly you've mucked things up," she says, serious.

Doggett and Reyes make their entrance. "So, this guy just up and bolted?" Doggett asks, locking the door behind him.

"He hit her, and then he took off," Langly says.

"Nobody's seen him. The room is registered to one Leonard Southhall of Darrian, Connecticut."

"It's an alias," Yves says sourly.

"It's a stolen ID. The real Leonard Southhall died in 1996. You want to tell me who that was?" Doggett faces her.

"His real name? I have no idea," she shrugs slightly.

"This is your bag, isn't it?" Doggett continues, picking up her bag and emptying it on the desk. "That was quite a party you got planned for him. Respirator. Surgical gloves. Scalpel." He holds up a dart gun. "Not to mention this little item here."

"You were planning to cut him open, Ms. Runtz, just like you did the professor. Why?" Reyes asks.

Jimmy looks at the agent in disbelief, then at the defiant woman on the bed. "It can't be true. Tell 'em it's not."

She looks at him evenly. "It is, Jimmy. Time is running short." Then she looks up at the FBI agents. "Unless you let me finish what I started, innocent people will die."

Doggett raises his eyebrows. "You want to elaborate on that?"

"First things first. Who was it that put you on to me?" she says sharply.

* * *

The Lone Gunmen HQ

Doggett shoves Fletcher's head onto the table, holding his arms in a painful holding position. "Okay, so she's not a terrorist. I made an honest mistake."

Yves pulls off Morris' bandaid, revealing a tiny piece of technology. She narrows her eyes at it, then the man, still firmly embedded in the table. "As I suspected. It's a tracking device. I'm sure he meant to activate it, once he knew you had me."

Doggett and Reyes look at each other, then releases Fletcher with a shove. "You've been wearin' that since Miami. You were runnin' a scam on us from the start." The other man's smirk returns, much to their disappointment. "That, and all the terrorist bull. All that was just to hook us."

"So that you two would, in turn, hook us," Byers says with disgust.

"And we'd track down Yves for this slimeball all over again," Frohike makes a face.

"Well, what can I tell you?" Fletcher says, grinning from ear to ear now. "You three always get the job done for me."

"Who do you work for, Fletcher?" Doggett snarls.

Morris nods to Yves, to their surprise. She answers flatly, "An international arms dealer. A billionaire. And scum of the earth."

"And he's also..." Fletcher prompts her.

"My father," she continues in the same flat tone. "My father is a murderer, and a supporter of terrorism. I hate everything he stands for."

"Yves? You're a murderer, too," Jimmy states quietly.

She looks at him. "The man I killed was a terrorist, Jimmy. A zealot whose research was funded by my father for its potential as a weapons system."

"Houghton was an immunologist, doing research on sharks," Reyes says.

"Yes. And he used his knowledge of their immune system to devise a vessel of sorts. One that kept him safe from an engineered virus that he carried within him," Yves states.

"He had shark cartilage." Reyes nods. "It contained something which you removed."

"That was this virus you're talkin' about?" Doggett adds.

"I destroyed it, but it was only one of two," Yves looks at them.

"Oh, man. The bald dude at the hotel. The one that got away," Langly groans.

She nods slightly. "Think of him as a human time bomb. He can pass by any sniff dog, any metal detector, and no one would ever suspect."

"What triggers this time bomb?" Byers asks, worried.

"Programmed cellular death," Yves answers precisely. "Genetically altered to a high degree of precision. The way the vessel is decaying inside of him is virtually clock-like. It will lose integrity and rupture at eight o'clock... tonight."

"Five hours from now?" Kimmy says, wide-eyed.

"This virus, once it's airborne, its kill radius is five or six miles, depending on the winds. Potentially, it could kill thousands. Tens of thousands."

"Fletcher, I knew you were a dirt bag, but still... how could you be a party to this?" Frohike looks at the other man with a measure of renewed loathing.

"Fletcher's a con-man, not a killer. He didn't know about it," Yves says, reluctantly clearing the MIB, who looks surprised at the gesture.

Doggett, however, is worried. "So how the hell do we track this man down?"

* * *

Mulder and Scully's Home

"So, that's the whole story," Doggett tells Mulder, who's holding a fussing William. "If we don't catch this Leonard Southhall, everything's gonna go to hell. Not that I don't have faith in your friends, but I just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Thanks," Mulder says, "but don't give up on them. In fact, if I were you, I'd keep a damn close eye on them. After all, they found Yves. They're gonna find this guy, and when they do, they're gonna need you and Reyes to take care of him. After all, they're hackers, not agents." He smiles wanly.

"Got that right," Doggett chuckles, then his phone rings. "Doggett." His face brightens. "They got the guy!" he tells Mulder, who nods encouragingly. "Wait, what?" he frowns. "No, tell 'em to check again," he says urgently. "I said, check again!" He hangs up with disgust.

"What's the matter?" Mulder asks, patting William's back as he starts into his hiccupping-before-crying thing.

"They got him," Doggett says glumly. "But Reyes says there's no sign of any virus or surgery on the guy."

"The fake Southhall, right?" Mulder raises his eyebrows.

Doggett nods. "Yeah. The Gunmen found him all right, guess he didn't get the notice that Houghton was dead, and went to the college."

"If the fake Southhall's part of the cell, that's not possible," Mulder murmurs.

"What do you mean?" Doggett frowns. "We got him."

"No, I mean, it's not possible that he doesn't know Houghton's dead," Mulder says. "You said Yves had intel on the guy, right? He's definitely in the know, then."

"Yeah," Doggett says glumly, but then his blue eyes sharpen. "Wait, you keep saying 'the fake Southhall'."

"You said the real one was dead," Mulder says reasonably, "and you don't know the guy's real name. What else should I call him?"

"The FAKE Southhall!" Doggett roars, and now William really starts crying, unappeased by Mulder's patting. "Sorry, Fox, I just realized we were chasing the wrong guy."

"Huh?" Mulder blinks, although he was glad the guy was finally picking up. "So you're not after the fake Southhall."

"No," Doggett says, running to his car and hitting speed dial on his cell. "See ya!"

"Where are you going?" Mulder shouts, bouncing William against his shoulder.

"Keepin' an eye on the Gunmen like you said!" he hollers before slamming his car door shut.

Once the other man's car disappears, Mulder smiles wanly. Much as he'd like be part of the chase, as opposed to the last time when he wasn't even in the picture, he knows he'd only be a red flag.

As he walks into his home with his wailing youngest son on his shoulder, he murmurs, "Shhhh, shhhh, don't worry, Uncle John will catch up with your other uncles and they'll get the bad guy in time, okay? And then they'll come home like the heroes they are, safe and sound, with more conspiracies than you can shake a stick at. Yeah." He smiles at his son's confused look, happy that he's distracted his son long enough to keep from disturbing his sleeping wife, "yeah, and then Uncle Frohike can tell you guys more stories, and Uncle Langly will probably get your brothers and sisters more junk food than they should, and Uncle Byers will take real good care of you like the old lady he is."

He chuckles, and William stares at him like he thinks his dad is nuts. Mulder chuckles again, and strokes his son's fine hair on his round head. "Everything's gonna be all right," he says softly and reassuringly, "don't worry."

* * *

International Bioethics Forum  
Evening Session  
7:55 p.m.

Outside the conference room, the Lone Gunmen are trying their best to get in, waving their press credentials madly at the security guard who is looking unimpressed. "Never heard of it," he mutters when Byers tells them the name of their paper.

"We're legit, man," Langly whines, looking the very opposite of legit with his long hair, t-shirt and jeans.

"Yeah," Jimmy says, as if that would help matters.

The guard glances at the press passes. "These expired last December," he states flatly.

"We've got five minutes," Yves says in an urgent undertone.

"Listen to me," Byers says. "We believe there's a dangerous man in that room."

"Folks, I need all of you to step away, right now," the guard says, having had enough of this ragtag group.

A thin, plain man in the conference glances at the noisy group, noticing a long-haired woman with them, and smirks. His smirk gets deeper when he sees the security guard pushing them away. "John Gillnitz?" a rough voice asks.

"Yes?" he turns and looks to his left, finding the FBI agent sitting next to him. The FBI man surprises him by handcuffing him. "What are you...?"

"Playin' three-card monty," Doggett says, as he hustles him out of the room towards the Lone Gunmen. Flashing his badge at the security guard, he grins. "Excuse us, but we've got a little world-savin' to do."

The Lone Gunmen cheer, then walk down the hallway. "Well, took you long enough," Frohike grumbles, "but where's the CDC?"

"Right here," Reyes says at the other end of the hall, in front of a pack of men in containment suits.

"No!" Gillnitz shouts, struggling in Doggett's grip. "It's not supposed to end like this!"

"Keep struggling, and they'll give you no anesthetic," Yves hisses as they head outside towards the hazmat vehicle. "Please, keep struggling."

He gives her a wild-eyed look. "You!"

She gives him a cold, pitiless look. "Know that you have failed, Gillnitz," she says as Doggett shoves him into the thick-walled vehicle. "Know that you will end your cowardly life having failed miserably."

"NO!" Gillnitz roars, and he starts banging his narrow chest against one of the shelves in the vehicle.

"Dammit!" Frohike shouts, and he and his two compatriots leap into the back to pin him down.

Doggett starts to join them, but one of the suited men push him back and with alarming alacrity, they slam the doors shut and peel out of there. "What the hell?"

"Are they gonna be okay?" Jimmy asks, worried.

"I think so," Reyes says, but she looks just as worried.

* * *

The Lone Gunmen HQ.  
March 27th, 2002

A couple dressed in black is standing in front of the warehouse door, their arms full and their faces pale. "This is gonna be weird," Doggett mutters, dressed in his full FBI suit and tie.

"Don't worry, they'll understand," Reyes says reassuringly, clad in a black leather jacket, knit top and slacks. "They're our friends."

He raises his eyebrows at her, but realizes she's right. After all this time, they're not just Mulder's crazy friends, the Gunmen are his friends, too. "Okay," he says, shifting the uncomfortable box in his arms. "Guess they'll always be watching from above, huh?" he says, looking up.

"I hope so," Reyes says, also looking up.

Then the door opens, startling them. "I'm glad you're here," Scully says warmly, letting them inside. "Everyone else is here."

They look at the room, filled with familiar faces. "Wow, I didn't know it would be this big," Reyes murmurs, as Scully leads them to the food-laden table.

"Look at you two," Mulder notes, "like it's a funeral or something."

"Mulder!" Scully scolds him. "They can't help it if they came straight from work."

"So did I, but I had time to change," Skinner says, wearing a dark blue long-sleeved knit shirt and black slacks.

"Thanks," Doggett sighs, long-suffering. "Anyone wanna jump in and make me feel better?"

"Nice suit," Byers remarks, taking the box from him.

"Never mind," Doggett groans. "I can't believe this is such a big deal."

"Hey, you FBI guys save people all the time, but we don't," Langly says, taking the flowers from Reyes. "I think that's a good enough reason to party."

"Hey, hey," Frohike says, clapping a hand on Doggett's shoulder, "welcome to the Saving the World Ball!"

Doggett shakes his head, chuckling. "Perhaps you shoulda told those guys, then," he jerks his head at Kimmy, who's arguing with Jimmy about something or other.

"Nah," he says, "they're okay. Jimmy just thinks it should've been called the Lone Gunmen Saves the World, while Kimmy wants his name up in lights." It's obvious which one the short man prefers, however.

"Cute," the agent mutters, excusing himself to join another crowd. "Hey, pretty lady."

"Daddy!" Hannah smiles and hugs him when he bends down. "Look!" Then she crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "Uncle Frohike says that's what the bad guy looked like."

"Looks like he got something right," Doggett says, amused. "Um, why's William tied up in all those balloons?"

"We're gonna make him fly," Sammy says proudly as he's adding more.

"I don't think so," Scully says, swooping in to untangle her youngest. "John, help yourself to the food, while I take care of the punch," she looks meaningfully at her eldest son.

"Uh-oh," Doggett says, picking his little girl up. "Come on, guys, let's get some food while your mommy talks to Sammy," he says to Scully's other offspring.

"Oh, she's not just gonna talk," Page sets him straight, "she's gonna get him good."

Doggett raises his eyebrows, but decides to refrain from commenting. He meets up with his sons, who have already making inroads on the food since bringing their sister to the party. "Jeez, save some for the rest of us," he groans good-naturedly.

"Sorry, Dad," they both say. "Jinx! Aw, come on! Jinx!" While they're distracted, Doggett starts helping the kids help themselves to food.

"Cups?" Reyes says in a loud voice. "Everyone got their cups filled?" Those who don't do so, and she waits until everyone's got a cup full of punch. Then she grins and pulls out a champagne bottle. "Three cheers!" Reyes shouts, popping the cork. "Whoo!" she yelps as the bubbles flow down the bottle's side and she catches as much of the spillover as she can into a plastic cup. "Hip hip, hooray!" she raises her cup.

"Hip hip, hooray!" everyone else shouts. They drink, cheer more, and drink more. Some of the adults join Reyes and get some champagne, like Mulder, while others refrain, like Scully.

Jimmy grins and tosses down champagne with the rest of them, and then sees a woman standing by herself. "Hey, what's the matter?" Jimmy asks, noticing how, well, unenthusiastic the female hacker is.

"He will try again," Yves says quietly. "He knows who's responsible, and he will retaliate, and he will try again."

"Hey, don't worry," he says positively, "we're the good guys. And good guys always win."

She smiles wanly. "I wish I could believe that. Notice that Fletcher isn't here to share in the festivities? He knows enough to protect himself. I just wish the rest of them did."

Jimmy looks at their friends, and the children. "Yves, these people know more than anyone else what it's like to face danger," he says, and she looks up at him, surprised at his serious tone. "But they also know that they can't live scared all the time, because that's not living. That's why they're my heroes, not just because they do the right and the dangerous things, but because they don't give up when everyone else says otherwise." Then he looks down at her, a sad smile on his face. "I don't know what you're planning to do, but remember you've got friends here to back you up, okay?"

She smiles, then looks at the others in their festive mood. "I keep forgetting you're more perceptive than you let on," she muses aloud. As he blinks, confused, she tiptoes and kisses him, then walks out, letting herself out through the secret door.

Only one other man notes her exit, and he shakes his head slightly. Mulder knows what it's like to have to fight not just your personal demons but also blood relatives, and he hopes she remembers that, like him, she's not alone.

He smiles as his wife and partner yanks on his ear to bring him back to earth, and smiles wider at his three friends, who once gave their lives in another lifetime to make sure no one else would have to die. Take care, Yves Adele Harlow, he thinks, stepping between Frohike and Doggett when the shorter man makes an ill-timed move on Reyes.


	114. Kevin

April 2002

"NOOOOOOO!" April's scream wakes not only her siblings, but her parents down the hall.

"Baby, Sweetie, what's the matter?" Scully is white-faced with worry, clasping her daughter in her arms, while her husband pulls out a gun in case the nightmare happened to be human.

"She's, she's," the little girl sobs, then buries her face in her mother's chest.

"Shhhh, shhh, it's okay," Scully murmurs, as Mulder lowers his weapon, then tucks it in the back of his sweatpants. "April, Sweetie, tell Mommy what's wrong, okay?"

The redheaded girl hiccups, then nods, sniffling, but her tears keep rolling down her cheeks. The sight just about breaks Mulder's heart, and he gets on his knees to hold his little girl's clammy hands. "It's okay, April, just tell us," Mulder says softly.

"The," April chokes on the word, "the bad man's hurting her again."

"Bad man? What bad man?" Scully wonders.

April shakes her head, shivering even though she's soaked in sweat. "He's hurting the little girl, Mommy," she says distantly, as if the nightmare is more real than her parents. "He used to just slap her, but now he's throwing her at the wall and mashing his sugarettes on her."

"You mean 'cigarettes'?" Scully asks, feeling a chill go down her spine.

Their daughter nods, and her parents look at each other, worried. "He's mad cuz of what Daddy and Uncle Alex did, and he's hurting her," and now the tears come back in a rush, and Scully hugs her again, patting her back as she does so.

Mulder looks at April, worried. This 'bad man' that April's dreaming of, he must have something to do with the conspiracy, but how? They've pretty much captured everyone. Or have they? Much as he'd like to tie Kersh and Follmer to the thing, they've managed to sever any obvious ties to either new or old conspiracies, keeping their jobs and asses safe.

Now that he knows there's one more child out there to save, one more person that needs to be taken down, he can almost feel his blood boiling. "I need to make a call," he says, and Scully watches him go, holding their still-sobbing daughter close.

* * *

The Basement Office  
Two Days Later

"What's up?" Doggett asks, as Reyes is sorting tabloid articles across the desk. "Please don't tell me we're doing an Elvis sighting."

Reyes looks up with a grin. "Nope, Mulder says that that's his jurisdiction," she replies while Doggett groans. "Sorry, you walked into that one. No, there was something that caught my eye, a string of homes displaying paranormal phenomena."

He gives her a look. "Haunted houses? Ain't it too early for Halloween?"

She laughs. "Hauntings aren't the only type of paranormal activity to occur in homes, but I suppose that would be a common conclusion."

Doggett raises an eyebrow. "That's a rare talent, to sound like you make sense when you don't."

Reyes gives him a superior look. "It's what separates the believers from the regular crazies," she retorts, and he cracks up. "Here, John, tell me what you think is the common denominator among the articles." And she turns them so he can read the headlines.

He scans them, his lips thinning by the time he gets to the final, tiny one. "You aren't serious, are you?"

"What?" she says. "Isn't that the provenance of the X-Files? To investigate the unexplained, the mysterious, the paranormal?"

He gives the articles a final glance, then he groans. "I can't believe you wanna look up the equivalent of Jesus on a pancake."

She shakes her head. "No, that would be an iconic manifestation," she says, "what I'm looking at are miracles."

"Uh-huh," he gives her his patented skeptical look.

And she gives him her patented believing look. "Hey, it'll be fun," she says, "the worst that can happen is that we come across termites."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

* * *

Doggett fights the urge to slouch in his chair, instead, he sits up straighter. God, he groans inwardly, this is ridiculous. Everything that the articles had claimed as irrefutable miracles could very easily be explained.

Like the family whose grandmother fell from the second floor balcony onto the cement patio and landed without a scratch. He's heard of people falling off higher heights, albeit not that old, and walk away with maybe a bruise or scratch, depending on how much drugs or alcohol were in their system.

Or the young son who was suffering from a debilitating disease who was able to not only move, but walk, even run, a few days after moving in. The tabloid writers obviously didn't take into account the new medical treatment the kid was getting at the nearby hospital.

Or the burglar who ran out of an empty house because he claimed to see what looked like an entire football team in the living room, and they were all glowing in the dark. That one, well, he pretty much chalked it up to the drugs in the guy's bloodstream, since crack never gave people clarity, the last time he checked.

Or the house that survived a hurricane, the only one to do so out of the entire neighborhood. Statistics shows that there are always a few homes that withstand natural disasters, due to their location, construction material and method, or a combination of the above.

Reyes is busy talking with the writers of the articles, while he's doing the responsible thing: fact-checking. Okay, he admits it, he's doing the boring thing. But it's better than what he's been doing lately, which is nothing. It still amazes him how Mulder managed to build cases out of complete crap, and Doggett allows his eyes to travel upwards, where the ceiling has been pierced with numerous pencils.

Okay, maybe he wasn't always out doing something constructive, Doggett snorts, then forces himself to look at the computer screen. The only other commonality he can pick up from all those different homes is that they were all built by Habitat of Humanity. Big whoop. So are a lot of other low-income homes. He sighs, takes a big gulp of now-cold coffee, and goes through the list of homes and facts.

"Mm-hm, okay." Reyes nods from her chair, tapping her pen with her free hand. "Okay, thanks." Then she looks over at her partner, who is staring intently at the computer screen, as if hitting the arrow-down key would make the answers appear faster. A ready smile forms on her face, and she walks over quietly behind him. Her smile turns evil as she jabs him in the back with her pointer fingers, and he jumps.

"What the hell?" he yells, spinning around.

She laughs unrepentantly. "Oh, God, John, you should see the look on your face," she chuckles.

He scowls at her. "Monica, tell me you've got something decent to go on."

The smile still on her face, she nods. "The tabloid writers are staunch atheists, but the people they were writing about are Christians, Catholic and Protestant. I guess miracles don't favor one branch or the other."

He rolls his eyes. "Please tell me there's more."

She sits on the desk, making herself comfortable. "According to a couple of the writers, it's always the same people who built the homes."

Doggett nods. "Habitat for Humanity."

She nods back. "And guess who's building a home for a pastor and his family in Charlottesville, Virginia?"

He gives her an incredulous look. "Please don't tell me you think Habitat for Humanity has turned into a bunch of miracle workers!"

Reyes shakes her head. "I don't think so," she says honestly. "But I do know that for some reason, combining Habitat with Christians in the house make for very interesting homes."

* * *

Charlottesville, Virginia

Doggett pulls up to the building site, which, like most building sites, looks like a disaster in the making. When he gets out, he squints against the sun while his partner scans the area behind her sunglasses. Smiling a little, he puts on his own pair of sunglasses, then walks towards what looks like the unofficial headquarters, with Reyes beside him. Then he spots a familiar face. Well, one he's seen in a casefile, that is. "Kevin Kryder?" he asks.

The teen looks startled. "Yeah?"

Doggett holds up his hands, then pulls off his shades. "I'm a friend of Agents Mulder and Scully," he says. "Me and Agent Reyes here work with them in the FBI."

"Oh," Kevin says, relaxing slightly. It's only when his father joins them that he allows himself to fully relax. "Hey, Dad, these are friends of those FBI agents from a few years back."

"Oh?" Mr. Kryder looks at them. "Well, we sure could use your help here."

"Oh?" Reyes echoes.

He nods. "Yeah, some of the guys had some bad pasta yesterday, so we're kinda short on hands. That is, if you don't mind doing some manual labor," he jerks his head at the unfinished building.

"We'd be happy to," Reyes smiles warmly. "John, why don't you catch up with Kevin while I sign us up, okay?"

Doggett nods, then looks at the boy who isn't much older than his own sons. "John Doggett," he says, holding out his hand. "Guess I'm going about introductions backwards."

* * *

Kevin grins, shaking it firmly. "Well, you know my name," the teen says. "Sorry, my dad likes roping anyone he can into this building thing. I don't mind, it's become kinda his hobby."

The agent nods, figuring it must be something like fishing or watching NASCAR. Then something strikes him. "So, your dad's training you to be a carpenter like Jesus, huh?" he asks with a grin.

Kevin grins back. "Actually, I tried volunteering at soup kitchens, but people don't like it when your hands spontaneously bleed into their meals," he shrugs, then cracks up at Doggett's expression. "Just kidding. No, I like helping out with my dad, now that he's on his medications. It's cool to just hang out with him, you know?"

Doggett nods. Recalling the contents of that casefile, he remembers the father being prescribed powerful anti-psychotics and anti-hallucinogens. That, and Scully eliminating the perceived threat posed by that Gates guy probably had a lot to do with Mr. Kryder's peace of mind, such as it was. Hell, he knows his own kids have saved his sanity in more ways than one.

Mr. Kryder comes back with Reyes and extra power tools. "Well, your friend here has offered to help us out on this," he nods at the woman, who nods back gamely, "and we could use an extra hand. How are you with a Makita?"

Doggett grins. "Better than I would with a pair of chopsticks," he quips, and the other man chuckles. "So, what are we working on?"

Mr. Kryder points to the lumber pile on the side. "We're gonna turn that," he says, then points at the frames stacked on the other side, "into that."

"Cool," Reyes remarks, walking over to the lumber pile.

"Yeah," Kevin nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Actually, I'm supposed to be doing paperwork or serving coffee, 'cause I'm not sixteen yet. But that's kinda boring," he makes a face and she smiles understandingly. "But my dad's been doing this for a while, so they made him a supervisor, and I'm just, um, observing."

"Uh-huh," Doggett shakes his head, but smiles. "So, Supervisor Kryder, mind telling us what goes where?"

Mr. Kryder goes over to the wood pile, then grabs five planks of the same length. "John, take these over there," he points to the workhorses, "Monica, you take these," and gives her four shorter planks, "and I'll be with you in a bit."

The agents agreeably shoulder their loads, and Mr. Kryder grabs planks of varying lengths. Then he tells them which lengths are for the outer frame, showing them how to join the planks together, and as they do that, he picks up more shorter lengths for windows and the inner frame.

After a few minutes of simply driving screws into the planks, the supervisor decides to break the relative silence. "So what brings you out here to Charlottesville?" Mr. Kryder asks.

"Well," Doggett hedges, not sure how to explain it, since he's not quite sure himself.

"Miracles," Reyes says simply.

And that's when Kevin falls from his workhorse.

* * *

"You're kidding, right?" Mr. Kryder looks from one agent to the other, before giving his son a concerned look. The teen, for his part, looks embarrassed about having fallen in the first place, and dusts himself off.

Doggett sighs, while Reyes nods, smiling. "I don't know if they told you," Doggett says, to break the uncomfortable silence, "but Agents Mulder and Scully, as well as Agent Reyes and I, work for a division called the X-Files. We specialize in cases dealing with the unexplained, paranormal, and stuff."

"That explains a lot," Kevin says. "At least, they weren't totally freaking out when crazy stuff happened."

Reyes nods. "Well, as FBI agents, we're not supposed to freak when crazy stuff happens." And God knows how much crazy stuff has happened since she joined the FBI.

"Well, people usually don't believe what's right in front of their face, sometimes," the teen says matter-of-factly.

"Tell me about it," Reyes shoots a look at her partner.

Doggett gives her a don't-start-with-me look right back, then says, "Don't worry, it's nothing serious. We just happened to run across some articles saying that some miracles happened in some homes Habitat for Humanity built, but I don't think it has anything to do with you."

Mr. Kryder looks at his son, who shrugs, then looks at the agents. "So this is just a coincidence, right?"

"Pretty much," Doggett says before his partner can say anything. "Anyways," he says, picking up the lumber the boy dropped, "last I checked, we were putting a frame together, right?"

The Kryders give each other another look that doesn't go unnoticed by either agent, but all Mr. Kryder says is, "Yeah," and they resume building the frame in silence.

* * *

After a couple of hours putting together frames and attaching them together in a skeletal house kind of way, they all take a break. The head of the building team, Joe Aikman, called in a favor from another restaurant to avoid more food poisoning, so there's quite a spread waiting for the hungry workers. "Pastor Carl, quick blessing," Joe says, and the workers, including Doggett and Reyes, pause in their plate-loading while the future owner of the house says a brief prayer. "Thanks."

"Next time, you're saying the prayer," the pastor claps a hand on Mr. Kryder's shoulder, grinning.

"I'm just a layman, Pastor," Mr. Kryder shakes his head ruefully, balancing his cup of soup next to his sandwich.

"Hey, in my book, all Christians can pray," Pastor Carl smiles, his teeth white against his tanned skin. "Next meal time, okay?"

"Fine," the other man shrugs, "but if I start throwing in Latin..."

"Nice try," the pastor chuckles, and nods at Doggett. "I don't think we've met, but thanks for helping out."

"No prob," the agent nods back, then sticks his hand out. "John Doggett. And my friend, Monica Reyes."

"Carl Moore, or as they call me, Pastor Carl," the younger man smiles, shaking both their hands. "Reyes? ¿De dónde es usted?"

"Mexico." She smiles back. "And you?"

He shakes his head. "Born in Hawaii, raised in California, but my mom's from Mexico. Cool meeting you, Senorita Reyes."

When the pastor leaves, Doggett shakes his head. "What's a surfer like him doing way out here?" he wonders before tucking into his turkey and mashed potatoes.

"God works in mysterious ways, apparently," Mr. Kryder comments after swallowing a fourth of his sandwich.

"Speaking of which, what kind of miracles?" Kevin asks before tearing into his sandwich.

Both Doggett and Mr. Kryder choke on their meals, while Reyes answers matter-of-factly, "Well, like John said, they all happened at homes Habitat for Humanity built, homes where Christian believers resided. My theory is that perhaps there's something about the combination of who's living in the homes and who's building those homes that make them, well, susceptible to this kind of positive paranormal experience. Miracles, if you will." She grins as the boy's eyes glaze over. "Sorry, I'm guessing you want specifics. Well, there was a grandmother who fell from a second story level onto concrete but walked away without even a scratch."

"A grandmother?" Kevin's eyes are wide. "Wow."

"Yeah," Reyes smiles. "And there was this one where a burglar broke into a home, but ran away because he saw a roomful of angels, or as he said, 'huge football players glowing in the dark'."

"Cool," Kevin says, his eyes shining. "Did the family living there ever see those angels?"

She shakes her head. "Not that I've heard, but they were thankful nothing was stolen. In fact, they were getting ready to sell a good deal of their valuables to pay for a missionary trip to Indonesia. Funny how things work out, huh?"

The teen nods, then resumes eating his sandwich. The men look at each other with raised eyebrows, but say nothing, while Reyes plows through her chicken wings.

* * *

Later that night, Reyes keeps Scully updated on things, more out of a desire to chat with a woman and a friend than a need to "report to superiors". "They said yesterday's pasta took out a lot of the workforce, but it was pretty weird being the only woman on the team. That's not including Jerry who screamed like a girl when he hammered his hand not once, but twice."

Scully chuckles, then turns serious. "Monica, I'm glad you're having fun, but I think you should come home."

"Why?" Reyes wonders.

"Remember the last time we were involved in Kevin's life? That Gates man found him because we led him to Kevin. And who knows what kind of weirdos might find him now that you've linked him to those miracles?"

"It's not definite that he's the cause," Reyes tries to argue. "After all, the families in the articles are believers. It could be that they brought the miracles on themselves."

"They brought it on themselves?" Scully repeats.

"Like a placebo effect," her friend says.

"Is he exhibiting stigmata again?" Scully asks.

"Huh? I don't think so," Reyes says, then pauses. "No, I saw his hands at lunch, and I didn't see any signs of injury."

"Well, good," Scully tells him. "But if you see it, then you know it's him. And then get the hell out, so nobody else hunts him down."

A thought occurs to her, and she decides to play devil's advocate. "What if Kevin gets into trouble and I'm not there?"

Scully sighs heavily. "Kevin's not alone. His father's there, and I'm sure those other volunteers would rather protect than harm a young boy."

Reyes sighs, then roots around her bag for her cigarettes. She finds her lighter first, then shrugs. "Okay," she sighs. "But if some seriously weird shit goes down, we're staying."

"Monica," Scully sighs, then laughs. "Why am I talking to you like you're my unruly teenager?"

Reyes laughs. "Practice, maybe?"

"Oh, please, don't jinx me like that!" Scully laughs. "But you know what I mean."

Reyes nods, smiling because she finally found her smokes. "Yeah, and you know what I mean."

Scully also nods. "Take care."

"You, too," Reyes replies before she hangs up. Then she walks out of the room, sitting on Doggett's car hood and lights up a cigarette. Breathing deeply, she closes her eyes, and says a silent prayer as smoke escapes her lips. Now she knows the kind of dilemma Mulder has, hoping for both the paranormal to make an appearance, and hoping that it won't for the sake of an innocent life. "Dammit."

* * *

"Hey, thought I'd find you out here," a voice says from behind her. Reyes turns and smiles, tapping the ash off the end her cigarette as she waves him over with the other hand. "You know that stuff's bad for you."

She nods. "So are a lot of things, but it doesn't stop me from living," she grins, taking another drag.

Doggett sighs, then joins her in leaning against the hood of his car. "What's on your mind?"

"Kevin," she says simply.

He looks at her face, half-lit by the neon streetlight. "What about?"

She takes another puff, then exhales. "I want the miracles to be from him, but at the same time, I don't want his life to get complicated again."

Doggett nods. "We all want easy answers to questions, supernatural or not, huh? But what if the kid isn't the answer?" He looks up. "I think when it comes to miracles, it's gotta be bigger than one person, otherwise anyone could do it."

"You really think so?" Reyes sounds surprised.

Folding his arms, he answers, "I may not have learned much from church as a kid, but I learned that once in a while, stuff happens that no one, not even Mulder, could explain. And that sometimes it's the hard answers, the ones that no one wants to hear, are the ones that count."

* * *

"Hey, John," Mr. Kryder nods at the other man early the next morning, both men heading to a different part of the house while Reyes and Kevin get their assignment from Aikman.

Doggett nods back. "Hey," he replies. "Gotta ask you something."

Now the supervisor looks wary. "What about?"

"Anything different happen around here? I don't mean like miracles, I mean anything." He adds in a lower voice, "I know my partner's got some crazy ideas, but you know, as soon as the rest of your team recovers, I got a feeling we'll probably be heading back to DC to work on regular cases."

"You don't believe anything special happened, either?" Mr. Kryder says, which surprises the agent. "Much as I'd like to think so, a lot of what your friend said sounds an awful lot like coincidence. I didn't want to say anything yesterday in front of Kevin, he's the one who still believes."

"And you don't?"

Mr. Kryder chuckles, but it's a mirthless laugh. "I take the medications not just because I'm supposed to, but because I want to. It's kinda scary living like there's demons behind every tree, like everyone's after your kid. Building these houses, it's something solid, something real, and it's something I can believe in that won't get me locked up."

Doggett can get behind that. "That doesn't negate the fact that there are regular predators who would be after your son, with or without the miracle-making. God knows, I tell my kids time and time again to be careful, especially these days."

Mr. Kryder nods, seeing a sympathetic figure. "So you know. But to answer your earlier question, no, nothing unusual. Aside from the bad pasta the other day, there's nothing strange around here, just the usual nicks and bruises that come with putting a house together."

"Gotcha," Doggett says. Then he waves at another member of their team. "Hey, Pastor Carl."

"Hey," the tan man flashes his white smile at the other two. "Don't tell me it's just gonna be just the three of us on this section."

"Nope, it's gonna be the four of us," a burly man joins in. "John, right?" he nods at Doggett.

Doggett nods back. "Jerry?" He smiles when the other man shakes his hand. "Guess we'll be done with this section in a snap, then."

"As long as we're all careful," Mr. Kryder gives Jerry a look. "Okay, let's get started."

The other men nod, and after Jerry makes a show of putting on his work gloves, they do, too. Mr. Kryder gives clear directions, is patient and competent in his dealings, and knows what the hell he's doing, in short, everything a professional could want in a supervisor, and not for the first time, Doggett is surprised the man isn't with a regular construction company, in spite of his mental history. Pastor Carl, who's obviously less familiar with power tools although athletic, is given simple drilling and hauling duties, while more experienced men like Jerry are assigned the more complex tasks.

Doggett, for his part, helps both men in their jobs, being familiar with fixing things around the house, but not quite up to building the house itself. And Mr. Kryder isn't letting the "underlings" do all the heavy lifting, either, he hauls frames, insulation sheets, and drills siding with the rest of them.

"Just want to say I appreciate it," Jerry tells them once they break for lunch.

"For what?" Doggett looks at him curiously.

"For not calling me Jerry the Jinx," the big man mumbles around his second chili burger.

"Hey, just 'cause you dropped your hammer doesn't mean you're a jinx," the agent shakes his head, taking a bite out of his first chili burger.

"Um, that's not it," Jerry says, "I'm the guy who poured concrete in the garden instead of the foundation area. And broke a handsaw. And hit McCrary's truck, but he was backing out, too, so that's kinda both our faults. And killed the third portapotty. I'm surprised they're keeping me here, but I guess these Christian guys got a lotta patience or something."

Doggett's eyebrows are all the way up to his hair, or at least, it feels like it. "Sounds like you're the accident-prone statistic they always quote for construction jobs," he says, trying to make light of the situation.

Jerry shrugs. "Well, when my brother's around, it's not so bad. He looks out for me, and things work out. But he had some of that weird spaghetti, and he's been feeling kinda crappy, you know?" He looks so miserable, and Doggett feels for the guy.

"Who's your brother?" Doggett asks, more out of politeness than anything else.

"Brad. Brad Turlington." Jerry grins. "People call him Big Brad, 'cause he's bigger than me."

Being that Jerry's easily the biggest man on the team he's seen so far, Doggett believes it. "Hope he feels better soon," he says, meaning it in more ways than one.

"Yeah." Jerry nods, tearing into what's left of his chili burger. Then he grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve before waving. "Hey, Pastor!"

The pastor waves back. "Hey, Jerry, how's Big Brad doing?"

Jerry makes a face. "He wasn't feeling too good. Maybe you can stop by the hotel later and check on him."

Pastor Carl nods. "Will do. Hey, John." He smiles and waves before moving on to the other workers.

Doggett's cell phone rings, and he says, "Sorry, gotta take this," to the big man, excusing himself. He's usually not this polite, but something tells him it's probably a good idea to be on the good side of this big guy, even if their acquaintance may only be for this one building project. "Doggett."

"Hey, John," a familiar voice says on the other end.

* * *

"Hey, Mon," Doggett says into his cell. "Don't tell me you're gonna sit this one out today?"

"Ha ha," Reyes makes a face. "No, Kevin was just telling me about the accidents that have been happening around here."

"Lemme guess," Doggett says, making sure he's out of earshot and eyesight of Jerry, "it's mostly Jerry's fault."

"Well, some," Reyes admits, "but there's some things happening around here that makes me suspect sabotage, or something like it going on."

"Sabotage? Really?" Doggett's forehead furrows. "Has there been any threats, or anyone claiming responsibility?"

"No," Reyes says, "mostly construction-related accidents, or missing supplies, which points a grudge more towards Habitat than to the pastor." Of course, she hasn't told him about the paranormal equipment she's been borrowing from the Lone Gunmen, now that they've got their operations back on board, nor about "poltergeist traps" she's laid out that's caught nothing but air so far. Then again, she hasn't given up hope that Kevin's a latent telekinetic with poltergeist potential, but she's not laying that out on her partner just yet.

"Have you talked to Aikman about it?"

"Yeah, but he shrugged it off, saying it went with the job, with some building projects more hazardous than others. I'm having Scully looking into Aikman's background, as well as everyone else on the crew," Reyes says, while Kevin's faxing papers.

"Um, how's she gonna do that when she's not here - oh, no," Doggett groans.

"Don't worry," Reyes smiles, "if this particular woman's intuition doesn't pan out, we don't have to write a report, right?"

Doggett sighs. "Just make sure you don't get into any trouble, okay?"

"Me?" she says, way too innocently.

"Ha ha," he mutters. "You and Kevin get your butts out here soon, lunch break's over in five."

"Will do, sir!" Reyes mock-salutes.

He sighs again and hangs up, then walks back to where Jerry's making inroads on a third chili burger. Speaking of job hazards, he mutters inwardly, maybe Monica and Kevin shouldn't join us just yet.

* * *

As the days pass, the house is looking more like, well, a house. This, in spite of the constant hassles that seem to hit this particular construction site. From what Scully could find, there was nothing shady or even semi-legal about this branch of Habitat, nothing about Joe Aikman except for about six speeding tickets, and nothing about the rest of the crew beyond the usual traffic violations and occasional bar brawl.

There was really nothing that could point to why exactly this place was having more problems than the usual. Mr. Kryder, at one point, even admits, "I don't know about the head boss, but I could almost swear this site's more accident-prone than the norm." This is only after the crane operator nearly drops a load of shingles onto Pastor Carl and Jerry putting in windows on that side of the building.

Doggett sends a warning look to his partner, who shoots back an innocent look. "You don't say," is all he replies, busy picking up shingles while Reyes and Kevin are sorting out the good from the damaged.

Kryder's eyes, however, are on the crane, since Aikman's busy reaming out the crane operator. "I figure it's because we've got a mostly-green crew, not used to working with certain equipment and each other," he finally comments when something about the machine catches his eye.

The agents look at each other again, but say nothing, watching Mr. Kryder. From what they can see, Kryder's pointing out that the fault wasn't just with the crane operator's inability to fasten the load properly, but also the bolts on the arm was loose enough to cause the same kind of accident, if not worse.

"What the fuck is going on here?" they can hear Aikman bellow from their position, and even some of the other crew members stop what they're doing. "If anyone's got a problem with me or someone here, have the fuckin' balls to say so to my face! Don't use my equipment to kill anyone, ya dumb shits!" Then he stomps into his makeshift office, presumably to cool down, but more likely to swear further and drink more coffee than was good for his blood pressure.

"Don't say anything," Doggett murmurs in a low voice.

"I think Aikman said it all," Reyes says, casting a worried look at Kevin.

* * *

The next day, the roof is finished, the windows installed, and people are working to install doors and paint walls. Doggett's on the door detail, while Reyes and Jerry are assigned to painting. She hadn't done this since college, while Jerry hadn't ever done it, but their general lack of experience is propped by fellow painters who have already covered windows, floors, and other things that shouldn't have paint on them. That, and everything is pretty much white, so the white paint isn't too much of a stretch.

"Thank God it's almost over," Reyes sighs behind her face mask, rotating her left shoulder. "It's starting to look like the real miracle is getting this house finished."

"Of course it'll get finished," Jerry chuckles behind his almost-inadequate face mask. "Houses like this get finished all the time."

"One would think so," she agrees, "except this has had more hang-ups than most. Let's hope all the accidents will stop once the Moores move in." She's tempted to do a little smudging around the doorposts, but she's got a feeling that the incoming family won't appreciate the sentiment or the dirty doorposts.

And as much as she'd like to pin the mishaps on the supernatural, nothing really stands out. From the equipment she's been able to sneak in past Doggett's and the rest of the crew's radar, there's no sign of poltergeist activity, nor any other spectral presence, nor any curse on either the grounds or the crew that she's been able to ascertain. But she knows that there's someone who wishes ill here, but she can't tell where it's coming from or to whom it's directed at, and that's what's frustrating her. Usually, her senses can give her a pretty good idea of at least a general suspect, but so far, there's nothing.

She doesn't realize she's stopped painting until Uncle Al, the old, tall guy with the moustache, taps her on the shoulder. "Hey, no daydreaming until this gets done," he says in his gruff voice, but he's smiling under his moustache and face mask.

Reyes smiles back. "Sorry. Um, okay," she says, remembering where she left off, and continues painting her section of the wall.

And then she hears a man yell, "Everyone, stop what you're doing!"

* * *

What the hell? is the thought that runs through Doggett's head as he's being held at gunpoint in the hallway. According to Scully, everyone here passed a criminal background check, and as far as he could tell, nobody'd issued threats, per se. And yet, here's this huge, wild-eyed guy waving a gun around, telling everyone to drop their power tools and step back.

He, Mr. Kryder, and Pastor Carl had obediently put their Makitas gently on the floor, then stepped back. Then the guy starts yelling into every open door to stop what they're doing.

"'Scuse me," Doggett says in as polite and nonthreatening a tone as possible, "but who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," the big guy glares at him, "this house won't get done!"

"Brad, you're okay!" a voice says from behind. Doggett whirls to see Jerry standing there, a huge grin on his face. Oh, boy. This is the Big Brad Jerry was talking about. This is not gonna end well.

"Jerry!" Brad yells at his brother as if Jerry's the one doing something dumb and crazy. "You idiot, get out of here!"

"Why do you have a gun?" Jerry asks, finally noticing it. "What's wrong?"

"Him!" Brad points with the muzzle of his gun. "HE'S what's wrong!"

"John?" Jerry follows the gun.

"No, stupid, the Mexican next to him!"

"Pastor Carl's not Mexican, he's 'Merican, like us," Jerry shakes his head.

"He's just saying that," Brad says, insanity clearly in his eyes and voice. "He's a freakin' wetback, just like the others."

"Brad, come on, he's okay," Jerry whines, getting closer to his brother.

"I said, shut up!" Brad shouts, and pistol-whips his brother, who falls to the ground with a stunned expression. Then he glares at the pastor, who's staring at the fallen man. "It's all your fault, you damn wetback."

Pastor Carl isn't paying him any attention, instead, he's dropped to his knees beside Jerry. "Oh man, that's gonna hurt when you wake up," he says, gingerly feeling the big guy's head. "Can I get him an icepack?"

"Get the hell away from him!" Brad's screams so that his voice cracks. "You, you don't touch him!"

"Sorry," the pastor puts his hands up.

Then everyone notices someone's mumbling, and they turn to the source of the noise. It's Mr. Kryder, who's also dropped to his knees, but his eyes are rolled to the back of his head, shaking his head and hands, muttering incoherently. "What the hell's wrong with him?" Brad shouts, waving his gun at the clearly oblivious man as if it would help.

"Stress," Doggett replies calmly, "you've officially freaked him out." He doesn't add that the guy used to be in a mental ward a few years back, since it looks like that's where the gunman's going, nor does he wonder when the last time Mr. Kryder took his meds was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reyes, but he warns her silently not to come near, since Brad's way too close to them and way over the edge. But she's not the only onlooker, since the other doors are filled with the curious, and now shocked, crew members.

"Dad!" Kevin shouts, in spite of himself. Everyone, including the crazed gunman, looks at him through the south doorway. As if that's his signal, the teen rushes towards his father, still babbling in tongues.

"NO!" Doggett shouts, running to throw himself between the boy and the gunman.

"Stop, dammit!" Brad hollers, shooting wildly.

And then Kevin crumples to the ground, followed by Doggett, then Brad, then Mr. Kryder.

* * *

St. Mary Medical Center  
Room 302

"Hey," Doggett waving from the bed when the door opens. Then he looks at the doctor. "Hey," he says, more surprised, and stands up.

Scully nods at him, followed by Mr. Kryder. "Hey," she replies, walking over. "So you're ready to get back to work?" Then she folds her arms over her already slightly rounded belly. "Then tell me why Kevin Kryder was in a gunfight?"

"I told you, Agent Scully, I didn't want that man to kill my dad," Kevin says from the bed, for what feels like the millionth time. "And I'm okay, they're just putting me under observation because my hands are bleeding again, that's all." He holds his bandaged hands up, but rather than a bright red, the stain looks faint and dark.

"That's all, you say," she gives him a mommy look that quickly quells him, then levels that same gaze at the other two agents. "Monica, you said once he started exhibiting stigmata again, you'd keep him safe."

"Well, everything was pretty much wrapped by then," Reyes replies from the chair, "and it was only at the end, when he bilocated to save his father's life, that his hands bled. Really."

"Really," Doggett adds, for lack of a better response.

Scully allows her head to fall back and her large pale eyes to search the ceiling. "Give me strength," she mutters. Earlier, she'd tried to ask Mr. Kryder about what happened, but it seems he lost consciousness not long after Jerry Turlington did, either through being in a trance and speaking in tongues like Reyes said, or flipped out from the stress and violence, like Doggett said. Either way, it didn't bode well for custody of his child, should it ever come to that.

Right now, however, the man is looking healthy, both mentally and physically. "So Kevin's all set, right?" he asks Scully, who nods.

"Yeah!" Kevin jumps out of bed eagerly and joins his father.

She gives him a look, then turns to Mr. Kryder. "Well, his hands appear to be healing quite well on their own," she admits, "and he's suffering no effects of blood loss. Just make sure you change the bandages regularly, okay?"

Both father and son nod, and then Kevin shakes her hand. "Thanks," he says, grinning at her surprise.

Scully smiles in spite of herself. "Take care of yourself," she says, "and don't always count on a miracle to save your hide."

"Okay," the teen says, hanging his head, but then looks directly at her. "You wouldn't hesitate to save someone, though, would you? Even though you or someone you love," he glances at her belly, "might get hurt. And someone said the worst evil is if a good man does nothing while evil exists. I don't want to be that, I want to do something about it."

"Then do it when you're an adult," Scully corrects him gently, "that's what my job is about." Then she looks at her friends and coworkers. "That's what *our* jobs are about." After a beat, she adds, "Mr. Kryder, take your son home before he turns into an FBI recruiting commercial, okay?"

The man chuckles, "I'm sure he'll make a fine agent someday, but in the meantime, I'll make sure he stays out of trouble. Right?" he gives his son a meaningful look.

Kevin shies away, but finally nods after looking straight at his father. As they leave, he pauses. "I told you I'd see you again, didn't I?" he says over his shoulder before disappearing with his father.

* * *

"What was that about?" Reyes asks her, seeing Scully's mildly stunned look.

Scully shakes her head, smiling a little. "Nothing," she says, then puts her hands on her hips. "If Kevin hadn't pulled off a literal miracle, I'd be talking to Agent Doggett behind a glass wall and Agent Reyes behind a bullet-resistant plastic one. Granted, the boy did run into the hall of his own volition, but the loss of life in a hostage situation, especially with a minor, could have grave consequences for all of us."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not in ICU," Doggett says wryly. "Trust me, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't've believed it."

Reyes nods, then stands to join the others as they head out. "According to everyone else, while I tackled Brad Turlington, Kevin threw himself in front of John from the south door. And while I was handcuffing Turlington, we find Kevin had somehow shoved John and his father out of the way from the east door. Nobody could quite explain the discrepancy, but they were all relieved there was no loss of life." Then she asks, "By the way, how's Jerry doing?"

"Physically, he's okay, save for the enormous goose egg on his head," Scully answers, her thick heels click-clacking on the hallway tiles, "but psychologically, he's still stunned that his brother did that to him."

Doggett nods. "I'm not surprised. It's not every day you find out you're your brother's instrument of revenge, and then you get knocked out for trying to do the right thing."

Reyes sighs, then her eyes catch sight of a sign. "You guys go on ahead, I'm gonna check on something," she says.

Scully and Doggett look back, then nod, figuring she'll look in on Jerry, and they head out through the sliding glass doors.

The tall brunette smiles a little, then turns back, heading into a room marked "CHAPEL".


	115. The Truth

Mulder-Scully Home  
May 10th, 2002

More than two dozen people mill through the house, making even it feel small. Most of the smaller people there are expressing their happiness in tones loud enough to be reminded by adults to use their "indoor voices." Not that many pay any attention.

Garbage bag already in hand, Mulder escapes the crowd in the living room and heads to the kitchen to begin his appointed chore. There are far too many people in the house, but the kitchen is entirely empty.

"But you said!" Mulder hears Emily protest in the next room even as he shakes open the bag. Her mother murmurs a reply, but he doesn't make it out. To his surprise, the small blonde stomps into the kitchen and wordlessly begins to help him throw away the paper plates and plastic forks left over from the babies' birthday party. A bag full of balled up wrapping paper is already patiently waiting by the back door.

Given that William and Ryan are only a few days apart in age, Missy and Scully decided to hold a joint party for the two young cousins. Privately, Mulder thinks they don't want to bear the full brunt of their mother's fussing over the little birthday boys.

Eventually, after they'd put the last plate in the bag, he turns towards Emily expectantly, and she finally speaks. "Uncle Fox, can I ask you a question?"

Mulder looks down into his niece's piercing blue eyes. "Sure."

Emily looks around until she spots her mother, out of earshot. "Did you ever get jealous of your sister when you was kids?"

::Were kids:: Mulder thinks, but he doesn't correct her because Missy chewed him out the one time she'd heard him do it in the past. "Sure, why do you ask?"

Emily sighs. "I asked Page, but she says she doesn't remember before Sammy was born. And I can't ask Mommy, because it's about her, kinda. Daddy doesn't even have any brothers or sisters, but I can't ask him either anyway."

"You feel guilty about being jealous of Ryan," Mulder guesses.

"Yeah!" Emily looks relieved. "I'm not supposed to, 'cause I'm a lot older than him and he needs a lot of attention, but..."

"But you still are, sometimes."

"Uh huh. He doesn't mean to mess anything up, but a lot of times they say we're going to do something, but then we can't. Because of him." This, Mulder decides, is probably something that has just happened again within the last few minutes.

"Yup, that sort of thing happened when Samantha was a baby too," Mulder tells her. "Babies have a way of changing people's plans on you."

"I know," she agrees glumly.

"But your brother is already a year old. In another year or so, he'll be able to run around and play too, just like Christopher did last year. I know a year seems like a long time, but it's not really. Once he's just a little bit bigger, he'll be able to join in on doing things instead of keeping you from doing them at all."

"Good. I like being a big sister, you know. I just didn't know it would be hard sometimes," she confesses.

Mulder forces himself to smile, and he hopes it's convincing. More, he hopes that she never finds the level of "hard" being a sibling that he did. Missy's kids aren't as cuddly as his, but Mulder hugs her anyway. "You're doing a good job so far, Emily. Keep it up."

She doesn't say anything, but she looks thrilled by his compliment.

* * *

Three Hours Later

Worn out, the birthday boy rests his cheek on his mother's shoulder. Scully slowly carries him up to his room, and seems surprised to see Mulder already there. He has a stack of William's birthday presents in his arms.

"You're organizing?" she asks dryly before settling William in his crib.

"I thought I'd give putting things away before they got all over the place a shot. See what a change of pace accomplished."

Her mouth quirks into a smile. "Good idea."

"Scully," he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts boxes on a shelf. "Have you ever thought about how lucky we've been in regards to sibling rivalry?"

"Why would we be competing with our siblings?" Scully looks confused. At least she doesn't ask him how he's supposed to compete with his.

"Not our siblings." Mulder smiles at her and points at their sleeping son. "His siblings."

"Oh. I guess we have lucked out. They all get along great."

"Knock on wood," Mulder says, and quietly raps on William's dresser.

"You don't really believe-"

Ignoring her, he says, "Your sister's going to have her hands full."

"Oh?"

"Emily's trying to put up a good front, but she's still not used to no longer being the center of attention. She is having some trouble dealing with Ryan's needs being put before plans."

"You know this how?" Scully asks curiously.

"She told me."

"Really? That's the sort of thing I would have only told a favorite aunt or uncle at that age."

"Jealous, Scully?" he teases.

"No. I'm glad she opened up to you."

"Me too. You're not going to squeal to Missy, are you?"

"Nope. I'll keep it in mind if she complains about them not getting along, though."

Mulder puts his hand on her slightly rounded belly. "I hope our luck with sibling rivalry continues to hold."

"God willing," she agrees.

* * *

Missy-Krycek Home  
May 12th, 2002

The last person that Krycek expects to be standing on his welcome mat is Marita. She gives him a slow smile, and he assumes it's because of the shocked look on his face rather than any pleasure at seeing him. "There's only one car in the driveway, Alex. Is it safe to assume Wifey is out with the kids?"

"My mother-in-law dragged them off to church," he says nervously.

"But she left you behind. A smart woman, if she's not trying to convert you." Marita says before pushing past him. Surprised, Alex gapes at her. "Don't just stand there, we have something important to talk about."

Krycek pulls the door open in an exaggerated fashion, and she stalks past him, finally coming to a rest at the kitchen table. He pulls up another chair. "Coffee, Marita?"

"If you already have some made."

"As much as I welcome a visit from you," Krycek says dryly, "please don't leave me in suspense about the nature of our meeting here."

Marita stirs sugar into her coffee with slim pale fingers. "I've had some disturbing pillow talk lately."

He grimaces. "I know I'll regret asking, but with whom?"

"Brad Follmer."

"Ah. And you thought you should tell me that you're sleeping with the enemy because..." He prompts.

"That's exactly it, Alex. I am sleeping with the enemy. It seemed prudent."

"I don't even want to know what you mean by that," Krycek mutters. He doesn't begrudge her finding a willing sexual partner, but he still can't figure out why she is telling him about it.

"Men, though not you Alex, are easy to manipulate. Grandmothers want girls to believe that the fastest way to a man's heart is though his stomach, but men like Follmer are led around by their dicks. Sleeping with him is the easiest way to get information, and considering who is left on the outside after you and Mulder cleaned house a few months ago, the least repulsive of the bunch."

"We would have gotten the rest of them if we could have, Marita," Krycek says defensively. "We're still working on ways to get them punished the way we did the men who worked for them."

"Work faster, Alex." Marita says coldly. "Or your wife will never forgive you."

Krycek freezes for a moment before giving her a startled glance. "Wouldn't forgive me for what?"

"Follmer thinks I'm trustworthy, the fool. Half-asleep and half-drunk, he decided to tell me that while the project is shattered, they have hope for the future. The plan is to groom 'Alex Krycek's daughter' to restart the project when she comes of age. That was last night."

"No!" Krycek stands so suddenly that his chair keels over and crashes to the floor. "They're never going to get their hands on Emily again!"

"That's what I thought you'd say," she replies smoothly. "Which is why I got up at this ungodly hour to tell you."

It's almost nine, but Krycek supposes that non-parents who no longer work weekends might keep different hours. "Did he say how they planned to get her, to mold her?"

Marita shakes her head. "I think he was just sober enough to realize he'd over-shared. After that he refused to talk about it any more. But he did say something else that made me think."

"What?"

"When we pushed the smoking bastard down the stairs, we should have paired it with a bullet to the brain."

Krycek shoots her an incredulous look. "You can't mean that Follmer thinks he's alive?"

"Alive and still pulling the strings."

"How could he be, the way we left him?"

"He's our personal Michael Myers," she says with the faintest of ironic smiles. "You know what they say, the good die young."

"Where is he?" Krycek demands to know.

She shrugs. "It doesn't matter where he is right now. Follmer said that are keeping him under wraps, and are going to move him soon anyway."

"Moving to where?"

"I don't know yet. But I intend to find out." Her smile is chilling.

"And then you'll tell me?"

"Yes. Then I'll tell you."

* * *

Loup De Mer Restaurant  
Later...

There's more to Mother's Day than presents and breakfast in bed for Scully with the kids. Whenever possible, Mulder likes to take his mother out for lunch, while Scully and her sister spend the afternoon with theirs. He hasn't been able to be with his mother every year, but he finds himself especially grateful that this year is one that he can.

Teena is still looking at her menu when a waiter appears at Mulder's elbow. "Mom, ready to order?" Mulder prompts.

His mother looks up and gives the waiter a charming smile before reeling off her order. Mulder follows, and the waiter ambles off, promising to be back soon with a basket of bread and their appetizers.

"How are the children?" Teena asks as she watches the server return to the kitchen.

"Good." Mulder gives her a genuine smile. "I think they're looking forward to summer vacation starting in a few weeks."

"You and your sister used to love summer, Fox. We couldn't get you in before dark most nights." Her good cheer fades. "I'm sure the children miss your father."

"Yeah. We all miss him," Mulder says softly.

She nods quickly. "There's something I've been keeping from you."

"There is?" Mulder immediately wonders which of his mother's skeletons she's referring to.

"I have a disease. It's called Paget's Carcinoma. I was told that it's incurable-"

He gives her an alarmed glance. "Mom, are you trying to say you're dying?"

"No, Dear. I was told that it's incurable, but I eventually found a specialist who could treat it. I'm in remission, and there's no reason to think it will return."

"Thank God."

"Forgive me, but I didn't want to say anything until I was sure that your children weren't going to be losing another grandparent."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." When Mulder looks up at her, he notices something for the first time. She's waiting to be included. "Dana and the kids ought to be done with church and their lunch by the time I get home. Would you like to come over after lunch? The kids ask after you too, Mom."

"Do they?" She looks so pleased that he feels ashamed that he just assumed that she wasn't particularly interested in her grandchildren.

"Sure," he says, hoping she won't ask him how often.

"I'd love to, Fox."

"Great."

When the waiter returns with their bread basket and tray of appetizers, he accidentally knocks the drink menu to the ground. "I'll get it." Mulder volunteers.

"Don't be silly." Teena bends down to pick it off the floor while the waiter apologizes. Mulder's face goes white when he glimpses her bent neck.

There's a tiny scar there, just like the one Scully had in their old life. ::Oh, Mom! What sort of "specialist" did you go to?::

* * *

Kersh's Home  
May 14th, 2002  
3 a.m.

The urgent need to urinate has Deputy Director Kersh reluctantly crawling out of bed hours before he needs to get up. He braces himself against the wall with one hand as his bladder slowly empties for the third time that night. Past experience has counseled him against bothering to turn on the light. The moon offers the required illumination to hit his mark, anyway.

"You might want to have your prostate checked out," a voice says behind him.

Kersh whirls around so fast that urine splashes his bare feet, and he grimaces in disgust. His desire to tuck himself back into his boxers evaporates when he realizes that for the second time in his life, he's got a gun pointed at him in his own home.

"Put that thing away," the gunman snaps waving the gun towards his privates, and Kersh is more than happy to oblige.

"I didn't have anything to do with the death of Mulder's father," he says steadily, wishing that he'd invested in a security system after the first time that this lunatic broke into his home.

"This isn't about Bill Mulder's suicide, though I guess that saying you have nothing to do with his death is debatable," the one-armed man tells him.

Kersh narrowly hangs onto his self-control and doesn't begin to scream at the home invader like all his instincts want him to. "Then why are you back?"

"Though you're a craven coward, you're a good source of information. I'll offer you the same deal as before – you tell me what I want to know, and I'll let you live."

"What is it that you think I know?" Kersh asks cautiously. He doesn't really trust the other man to keep his word.

To his surprise, the man dips his hand into a pocket and pulls out a small notepad and pen before flicking on the bathroom light. Kersh blinks owlishly, his eyes unused to the brightness. Before he can quite recover, the other man thrusts both objects into his hands.

"I want to know what happened to the children like my daughter Emily. The ones born in the eighties and nineties."

"What about them?"

"Are they dead?"

"No," Kersh admits. "They're not."

"Then I want addresses!" the other man demands.

"Why?"

"Your only concern is not having your brains splattered over your ugly bathroom wallpaper. Addresses, now."

His tone assures Kersh that he is not making an idle threat, so he opens the notepad with trembling fingers. "I don't know the addresses off the top of my head, but I've got them written down in my study."

"I hope you realize that I'm not in a game playing mood, Alvin." But he does allow Kersh to leave the bathroom. He follows three steps behind. Too close for a workable plan to escape his tormentor.

Defeated, Kersh goes to his desk and pulls out a file. His uninvited guest waits as he laboriously copies out the names, ages and addresses of the seven children who were in the same experiment series as Emily. Then, without comment, he pushes the notepad back at the other man.

"Are they sick?"

"They take the same sort of treatments as Emily," Kersh admits. "They seem pretty well."

"Are any of them with their biological parents?"

Kersh shakes his head. "No. Melissa Scully is the only mother whose ova weren't taken by force. The other mothers have all died by now."

"Like Penny Northern," the gunman growls.

"I guess. I never learned their names."

"What do you do with these children?"

"They're studied every summer. Their adoptive parents think that it's a summer camp."

"By 'study' you mean experiment on."

"I have nothing to do with it, personally," Kersh says defensively, and he thinks that it's more or less a true statement. All he's ever done to the children is observe them. "And nothing is done that actually hurts them. The scientists just needed to know what went wrong with the older kids, so there was no repeating the errors."

"So you could go on to create scores of younger children," the other man says flatly.

"It was necessary-" Kersh starts to say, but a suddenly cocked gun cuts him off.

"Now, tell me what the smoking man plans to do to my daughter."

"I don't know," Kersh states honestly. "I know they didn't include her in the summer studies because of your in-laws, but beyond that? No one has ever spoken to me about the girl."

"Where is he?"

"I have no idea."

"I'd better not find out otherwise," his captor growls and flips off the light in the office.

Then, less than a minute later, Kersh finds himself alone in his dark house.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
May 14th, 2002  
9 a.m.

Although he realizes that time is short before he and Scully need to leave for her OB appointment, Mulder is still in the middle of a phone conversation three minutes before they have to leave. He's mostly listening.

"Thank you," Mulder says sourly. "Yes, I know it's not up to you."

He's just hanging up the phone when Scully comes towards him with her purse in her hand. "Are you almost ready to go?"

"Sure. Let me put on my shoes, and I'll be all set."

"Who were you talking to? You didn't look very happy when I came around the corner."

He sighs. "Kersh's secretary. He's out for the day, but apparently he left her a message in case I called when he was out of the office."

"It wasn't good news?" She looks concerned and sympathetic.

"Not really. I do have a date for my rescheduled reinstatement meeting, though. After the new fiscal year."

"Ouch."

"From her tone, apparently I should consider myself lucky that he's willing to reschedule at all. I get the impression that Skinner put his neck out for me on that one," Mulder theorizes. "I'm sure he'll use the time to outline all the reasons he's going to recommend that I never return to the FBI."

Scully puts her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Mulder."

"Me too. But it's not as though I didn't know this was going to happen. As soon as I blew off that meeting to go and look for my father, I knew that I was severely reducing my chances of ever returning to the X-Files."

"What else could you have done?" Scully looks outraged on his behalf. "I'm sure he would have done the exact same thing in your position, so how can he punish you for it?"

"Do you really think Kersh has parents, Scully? I got the idea that he hatched."

She smirks at him before looking over his shoulder at the clock. "Come on, we're going to be late."

"So what if we are? Doctors are never ready to see you when you arrive."

"Unless you're late," Scully counters. "That's the only time they're ready for you."

Smiling at her cynicism, Mulder grabs the keys to her car off the hook by the door, and ushers her out.

As they pass by the minivan that he's glad they don't need today, he stops and gives it a speculative look. Scully slows to a stop herself when she notices that he's not beside her any longer. "Mulder? What are you doing?"

"Thinking."

"About?" Scully is beginning to get frustrated.

"We're never going to get two more car seats in this thing."

"Of course we -" she starts to say, but gives the minivan a critical look herself. "Oh, crap."

"I think we're going to need to stop by a van dealership this summer," he says, finally walking to the car.

"A van?"

"Something that will hold twelve passengers."

"I thought we agreed that we're not having any more kids after this set of twins." Scully gives him a nervous look.

"They don't make eleven passenger vehicles, Scully."

"Oh."

"But if the van fills you with lust, and we need to christen it, well, things happen." He attempts a seductive smile.

"Brother."

* * *

Despite Scully's worry, they arrive at Doctor Hart's office with five minutes to spare. Half an hour later, they're still waiting to see him.

"We should have been late, Scully. After apologizing we could have seen him twenty minutes ago."

Hart doesn't offer any excuses when he finally enters the room. Instead he immediately launches into questioning Scully, and Mulder tunes out, thinking about buying a van and finally being rid of the soccermom-ish minivan. He finally looks up when he hears Hart ask, "Have you given much thought to names yet?"

"Not really," Scully tells him. "We don't know if we should be thinking of boys or girls names yet." She is careful to give no indication as to which she'd prefer.

Mulder himself is torn. While he'd love to have another pair of sons, he's pretty sure that Scully wants the babies to be girls, so it seems selfish to hope for boys. ::Whichever, as long as they're healthy.:: He thinks, hoping that God is listening in to his thoughts.

"If they're feeling cooperative, we might be able to solve that mystery today," Hart says with a smile.

It takes a few minutes to set things up, but before long the babies are wriggling on the screen. "They look great, Dana." Hart smiles.

"I'm glad we've got two healthy little...um...little..." Mulder peers studiously at the screen, but he can't make much out.

"Little girls," Hart tells them.

Scully's face lights up, and Mulder lets the thought of more sons go with almost no pain. ::With nine kids, I'm sure to have some grandsons in the future. All is good.::

"Girls?" Scully asks, sounding awestruck. "I didn't think we'd have another girl, not after four boys in a row."

::Not exactly in a row,:: Mulder finds himself thinking sadly, but he doesn't bring it up. "Do you want to paint the nursery pink or purple?" he asks instead.

"We've got a few more months to figure that out," Scully tells him, but her eyes are still on the image of their unborn daughters.

* * *

Victory Hill High School  
Eaton, California  
May 16th, 2002

Tenth grader Mark Cross is in the middle of handing in his English paper when the secretary announces over the PA that he's supposed to report to the principal's office immediately. Startled, Mark drops his paper and turns to the classroom door.

"What are you getting busted for, Mark?" one of the jocks in the class jeers as he shuts the door.

As he hurries down the hallway, Mark furiously tries to think of a reason he'd be called down to the office. He's pretty sure that he hasn't done anything to get in trouble, so it leaves him with the queasy worry that there's some sort of emergency at home. His hands are practically shaking as he turns the knob.

Principal Lancaster looks up at him with a slight smile. "Mark. This is FBI agent Alex Krycek. He needs to ask you a few questions."

"FBI?" Mark gives his badge an astonished look.

"I'm going to get a cup of coffee," Principal Lancaster says nervously, and Mark realizes that she just doesn't want to be involved in the conversation. "If you need anything, the secretary is right next door."

"Thank you," the fed says with a bright smile, and both males watch the principal scurry off. He then turns to Mark. "You haven't done anything wrong. I want to make it clear that you're not the one in trouble. Okay?"

"Okay." Mark relaxes a little. "But don't my parents need to be here when you talk to me?"

The man shakes his head. "They only need to be present if you've done something wrong, and like I said, you haven't."

"Right. So..." Could his parents have screwed up on their taxes? They said taxes are complicated on a home business, but wouldn't that involve the IRS, not the FBI?

"The reason I want to speak to you is because we're investigating a group who has done illegal experimentation on children."

"What does that have to do with me?" Mark asks automatically.

"Mark. I know. I know all about you and the seven other kids like you," the agent says softly.

For some reason, Mark believes him. "You do?" Even as he asks, he wonders what happened to the eighth child, given there's only seven of them at "camp" each year. It doesn't seem wise to ask, however.

"I know that you were all given to adoptive families after your births. I'm hoping that you know that as well, because this would be a terrible way to tell you that you're adopted."

"Oh, I've known I'm adopted since I was little."

"Good. I also know that they've brought you back to their labs every summer. What I don't know is what they did to you while you were there."

"Nothing bad," Mark says too quickly.

"I want to show you something." The man opens a folder, and for one second Mark is afraid that he's going to show him gruesome crime scene photos. Instead it's a group photo of dozens of toddlers. "This winter and spring my partner and I spent months recovering these children and finding them good homes."

"What do they have to do with me?"

"These little guys were created after they studied you and the other kids. I've come to you because you're the oldest, Mark. They're far too little to tell me what was done to them, though we know it wasn't good. Since they're little more than babies, they're counting on you to help get justice for what was done to them."

"And if I can't tell you anything?"

"Then the bad guys get away with everything," the FBI agent says grimly.

"I guess that would suck."

"You're what, sixteen?"

"Yeah, since a couple of months ago."

"That's practically grown up," he says evenly. "Maybe next they'll decide to see what they can do with your children."

"They wouldn't!"

"Are you sure?"

He isn't. Mark sighs. "What do you need me to do?"

Though the idea of possibly testifying in court makes Mark nervous, the possibility that his own hypothetical children could someday be the doctors' victims worries him even more. In the end he gives the FBI agent as much information as he possibly can, and then the two of them discuss the plan with his parents.

* * *

The Basement Office  
May 17th, 2002

When Doggett and Reyes arrive at the office still laughing, they notice that Scully has beat them in. There's a box of donuts on her desk, and a trio of paper coffee cups.

"Are you trying to butter us up for something, agent Scully?" Doggett asks flippantly as she hands him a coffee.

"Well..."

He looks down at her, surprised. "I was joking."

"I know," she says, handing Reyes one of the other coffee. "We need to talk."

"About?" Reyes asks nervously.

"We haven't told the kids yet, so please don't let this slip – Mulder and I are having a second set of twins, not the single baby everyone thought."

"Congratulations!"

"That's great, do you know the sexes yet?"

She gives them a small smile. "Thank you. We just found out that they're girls. Mulder and I have talked extensively and Skinner is backing up our decision... After next month, I'm not going to be doing any fieldwork."

"That's probably for the best," Doggett says supportively.

"Oh." Reyes looks disappointed.

Scully reminds herself that Reyes doesn't know about her last twin pregnancy as well as Doggett does, so she tries to explain: "David and Jared were a month premature due to my involvement with the X-Files, and that was close to four years ago. Factoring in my age, and the fact that there are two babies, this is considered a high risk pregnancy. I'm not going to repeat my mistake and put these babies at risk the same way."

"But David and Jared are fine," Reyes blurts out.

"And thank God for that," Doggett says sharply before turning to stare at her.

"Right..." Reyes blushes. "Will you be starting maternity leave early?"

"No. I'll be here in the office, riding a desk."

"We'll try to make sure that the case files you'll be writing up will be interesting," Doggett tells her with a grin.

"Speaking of which, are we going to get to check out that banshee case before you're grounded?"

"If we get a jump on it," Scully tells her.

* * *

Walla Walla, Washington  
May 19th, 2002  
7:30 p.m.

The TV is on, and Krycek has his feet up on the worn hotel room comforter. He has a phone to his ear.

"I'm flying home tonight, Babe," he promises his wife. "Yeah, I found all seven of them... I know, but Mulder and I warned you and Dana that we still needed to find those last kids. Can't you at least be glad it's taken me just a few of days to do it?"

He reaches for the remote and flips to the news. "They're all with nice families, like the Sims were. They look happy and healthy. Now that we know, we can rest easy. Yeah, I love you too."

When he hangs up, he feels emotionally drained. Most of the kids were very young, right around Emily's age, so he didn't want to get them involved if there were any legal dealings to come in the days ahead. Two of the kids, a girl name Jessie and a boy named Alan were also in high school, so he spoke to them too. Then he faxed their statements, along with Mark's to the FBI tip line last night.

To his relief, the news offered him the glimpse he'd been praying for since the night before - footage of a raid on Knowle Rohrer's house. He turns up the volume, and listens to the very earnest news anchor. "In an unexpected move, FBI agents raided the home of a department of defense worker this afternoon. Shocking allegations link him other men with ties to the FBI, to the horrific human rights violations we reported on back in February and March. Dozens of young children were held captive and experimented upon. The FBI has had their eye on this trio for months, but until some older victims came forward, they weren't able to make arrests-"

Krycek smiles to himself. Like some of the very small children he and Mulder rescued, and as Krycek suspects of Mulder's second daughter, the girl, Jessie, is a telepath. She'd given him more than enough ammunition to nail Follmer, Kersh, and Rohrer to the wall for their parts in the medical torture of those little children.

And she'd given him the location of the Smoking Man.

Krycek once told Mulder that being a bad man had paid well, but Krycek has never let on how well that was. He picks up the phone, determined to get rid of the scourge in all their lives.

* * *

Meanwhile...

When Marita Covarrubias drives by Alex Krycek's house for the second day in a row, she growls with frustration. His wife's little silver car is parked in the driveway, but the sleek black one that belongs to Krycek isn't there.

"Dammit, Alex," she whispers, pounding her fist on the steering wheel. Inside the house, she can see his wife talking to their daughter, and his little son is staring out the window from his high chair. It makes her wonder if the boy can see her, not that she's worried about it one way or the other.

Not being able to talk to him yesterday was just annoying, but today is another story entirely. Just an hour before they hauled Follmer out of his bed in the middle of the night, he'd finally given up the location of the smoking man. They'd been shuffling the old bastard from place to place, and she was unsure how long the information might be good for.

She was supposed to take one for the team so they could get information, and Alex was supposed to act on it when she did. She'd kept up her end of the bargain, but he was falling down on his end.

There is only one alternative, and she hates to take it, but she doesn't see what other choice she has. Grimacing, she heads for a different part of DC.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Forty Minutes Later

Scully notices the woman walking up the driveway before Mulder does. "Mulder?"

He joins her, wondering what she's looking at. "Oh. It's Marita Covarrubias. You remember her, don't you, Scully?"

"Uh, I guess so. What do you think she wants?"

"I guess we're about to find out," Mulder says, swinging the door open.

Marita gives them a brittle smile. "I'll be brief. I've discovered something that's very valuable to all of us."

"What's that?" Mulder asks cautiously.

"The location of the smoking man."

"Give it to me!" Mulder demands.

She shakes her head lightly. "Only if I can trust you to act on it."

"Act on it?" Scully asks suspiciously.

"I want him gone. Out of our lives. Unable to manipulate us further," Marita barks.

"We want that too."

She sighs. "I'm sure that you do, but I have a feeling that you'll just have him arrested."

"What would you prefer?" Scully asks.

The other woman just gives her a piercing look.


	116. The Truth II

Texas/New Mexico Border  
May 20th,2002

The thick clay buildings all look the same to Scully as Mulder pulls the car to a stop in front of one of them.

"How did you decide?" she asks curiously. "Which one to pick?"

"Pick what?"

"Which house to stop at."

Mulder points and her eyes follow his finger. He's spotted something she overlooked- there's a thin ribbon of smoke coming from the top of one of the pueblos.

"Maybe this is the place," she says, thinking. There doesn't seem to be any sign that the other homes are habited, so if the smoking man is anywhere. "But what if it's not? I don't want to go busting into someone else's home."

"So why don't we wait for a few minutes?" Mulder suggests. "It's been a while since we've done a stakeout."

"Yet somehow, I haven't missed it," Scully says dryly.

"You haven't?" Mulder does his best to look shocked and disappointed. "You, me, half a sandwich and ice tea. The good old days."

"It was root beer, Mulder."

"I know. I still loved you anyway."

She smirks at him as he hands her a pair of binoculars. Even before she focuses, she can see that there are people moving about inside the building. When she turns the wheel to sharpen the image, their nemesis comes into view. To her surprise, the old man waves from the window.

Mulder is already opening the door before she has a chance to ask him if he'd seen the man too.

"Mulder, don't you want to call the police to let them know where he is?" Scully asks, putting a restraining hand on his forearm. "They've been arresting people all week. They'll take him in too."

"Scully, I need to talk to him," Mulder insists. "We'll have him arrested after that, but I need to speak to him right now."

"Why, to tell him off?"

"Isn't that a good enough reason?" He looks at her. "This might be my last chance. Old men don't last long in prison."

She sighs, but follows him.

* * *

Inside the pueblo it is still shadowed despite the bright sun outside. There are no lights, and no candles or lamps, either. It is clear that the building doesn't benefit from electricity, and Mulder assumes that there is also no running water.

An old woman feeds small logs into a fire, and though she's doing her best to ignore them, the way her back tenses tells Mulder that she's acutely aware that they're there.

"Where is he?" Mulder demands to know before stopping to wonder if the woman speaks English. She hadn't spoken to him the last time, so he still didn't know. "The old man, where is he?"

She does seem to understand him, because she points at a cloth curtain pulled across the door.

Grateful that he can communicate with her, he says, "You should leave. It isn't safe here."

Stubbornly, she turns back to her fire.

* * *

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," Mulder mutters to himself as he gathers the black cloth in one fist. "I am the great and powerful Oz."

"What did you say, Mulder?" Scully peers up at him, looking faintly concerned.

"Nothing important." They step into the next room.

"The prodigal son," the smoking man taunts as soon as Mulder sets eyes on him. "Coming to gloat, I take it."

"I'm not gloating," Mulder says firmly. "I'm not standing over your grave yet."

"At least I've denied you that."

"At least?" Scully asks coldly.

He grimaces at her. "You are not a gracious winner, Dana Scully."

"How have we won?" Mulder demands to know.

"How haven't you?" There's a bitter light in the old man's eyes. "I should have smothered you in your crib, no matter what joy your mother took in your then insignificant self. Or, failing that, I shouldn't have protected you from your betters when they wanted to eliminate you as a threat."

"Protected me," Mulder says scornfully. "You never protected me."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself," the old man says dismissively. "What does it matter now that you've destroyed the plans that men gave decades, and some their very lives, to? You've managed to ruin everything!"

"Ruined what?" Scully asks, and Mulder admires her detached curiosity.

"It's a scary story. You should sit on my lap," the smoking man says with a tired leer. Scully doesn't react. Sighing, he says, "There was a plan in place. The invasion was to start when the Mayan calendar ran out. It seemed like too good a joke to pass up on, fulfilling a witless prophecy centuries after the makers fell to invaders themselves. But you-" He thrusts a gnarled finger at Mulder's chest. "-and that idiot Alex Krycek have undone all our plans."

"Which plans are those?" Mulder wants to know. His mind is going a mile a minute, trying to figure out how he's managed, if the old man is to be believed, to put off an alien invasion with just Krycek's help.

"Those children you stole from us were going to be out liaisons. And the men that you've imprisoned were going to give the invaders all the help they needed. But now that most of them are dead..." He trails off, noting the shocked look on Mulder's face. "You don't realize how busy Alex has been the last few days, do you? No matter, most of them are dead in their cells. Without our leaders, liaisons and good soldiers, the invasion won't happen when it should. That's your fault."

"You blame me for not bringing about the end of the world. Gee, I'm terribly sorry about that."

"As you should be," the old man says, as if he takes Mulder's sarcasm as an actual apology. "Because of you, the world is denied a new genesis."

"A genesis that involves being enslaved by aliens!" Mulder retorts.

The old man shakes his head sadly. "I knew you'd never understand."

"I'm glad he doesn't," Scully says fiercely. "I'm glad he can't relate you at all."

Mulder is about to open his mouth and demand to know if this man is responsible for the chip embedded in the flesh of his mother's neck, but a small movement in the gloom behind Mulder's bastard father seems to catch Scully's attention. It catches the smoking man's too. He waves behind him, a come-here motion, and someone does.

For a moment Mulder is convinced that it's Emily, but his confusion abates slightly, and he knows that it isn't. Emily is seven and this child is so much younger than that. Still, she looks something like the Emily they first met, then barely more than a baby.

"Angel?" Scully whispers beside him, but then shakes her head.

The smoking man's lip curve into a smile, one that more looks like the rictus of a skull, and he reaches out to pat the blonde child on the head. The little girl flinches away. "A comfort in my old age, this child. Of course, she dies too now that you've condemned me."

"Who is she?" Scully asks sharply.

The old man raises what's left of his eyebrows. "I should think it would be obvious." He pauses for a moment. "No? Alex Krycek and your sister are the parents of more than one little girl. This one _he_ doesn't know about."

"Why? What would you want with my niece?" Scully demands to know.

Meanwhile, Mulder thinks he's pulled some of the pieces together. "This is the baby Diana insisted was mine."

::and the little girl April's been dreaming about?:: He finds himself wondering. The child doesn't have any readily noticeable injuries, but it was hard to know how much of April's dream was real, or how much was just a dream.

"Yes. She tried to steal her from me, but I got her back. Diana paid for that." CSM then turns to Scully. "She was going to be my pupil. I was going to train her to be every bit as ruthless as her father was before your sister got her clutches on him. This is the child who was going to rule after me." Fixing his accusing stare on Mulder he says, "Or was, up until you destroyed my kingdom. Now she's worth nothing."

"You wouldn't have lived long enough to raise her," Scully insists.

Glee fills the old man's face. "Ask your sister about the trip we took. I would have lived long enough, if there weren't people on their way here to murder me." Then, horribly, he laughs. "Can't you hear it? They're coming for you now too!"

Mulder freezes, and strains his ears to hear the sound that the old man means. A sinking feeling fills him as he hears the distant shush of helicopter blades. In the past he'd believed that the black copters had been sent after him and Scully, to punish him from escaping the kangaroo court. Darting his eyes towards the old man who continues to cackle like Rumpelstiltskin before his big fall, Mulder wonders now if he and Scully hadn't been the primary target after all.

"Scully, go!" Mulder shouts, and shoves her lightly towards the door when she hesitates.

The old man doesn't even reach out to stop Mulder when he bends down and pulls the little girl off her feet. She doesn't seem wary of him, and wraps her small arms around his neck.

Still laughing, the smoking man remarks, "Still the noble fool, my boy. A lot of good it will do you too. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends..."

Not waiting to hear the crazy man finish his quote of T.S. Elliot, Mulder slings his free arm around Scully's waist, and they run for their lives. Behind them a delighted cackling continues to emanate from deeper inside the structure. This time Mulder pauses long enough to push the old woman out of the pueblo too.

The old woman wails in fear as Mulder continues to prod her away from the pueblo. Then, with surprising speed, she darts down the road, heading towards a distant building. He hopes that it's enough.

"Get in!" Mulder shouts, looking up. The copter is still a distant speck, but it is growing larger as the volume increases.

Mulder wenches the SUV's door open and deposits the little girl on the rear seat. Without waiting for any of them to be buckled in, he throws the car into drive and roars down the road in the direction that the old woman took. She's no longer in sight.

* * *

Nearly a mile away, Mulder finally stops the SUV on a hill. They can see the pueblo they'd just come from clearly. Just as clearly they can see a helicopter rise above and in front of the building where the old bastard is probably still laughing. A moment later a missile fires directly at the clay walls.

For a moment, with the binoculars held to his eyes, Mulder sees at laughing face. Then walls cave in around the old man when a second missile follows the first, and the man is hidden from sight. After that he loses track of how many projectiles are wasted on a dead man.

At least he hopes that he's dead.

Five minutes later the copter reverses its course and heads back to wherever it came from. It's only as the din made by its blades fades that Mulder realizes that there's whimpering coming from the backseat.

He turns to see that their forgotten passenger has her fist in her mouth and tears streaking her face. Sighing, Mulder twists so he can reach into the backseat and pulls the girl onto his lap. "Hey, it's okay," he soothes. "What's your name?" Looking at Scully over the girl's head, he starts to ask, "He never said, so what if she d-"

"Addy," The girl says after taking her fist out of her mouth.

"Is your name Adelaide?" Scully asks gently.

After a moment's contemplation, the toddler nods. "Sometimes he say me that."

There's a lot Mulder would like to ask her, but the girl won't even be three years old until the end of the summer, so he's not sure that there's any point to it. The flip side of this, he decides, is that at least she's not likely to remember the old man, either.

"Mulder, look!" Scully hisses, and he realizes that she's looking through her binoculars again.

Trying to look in the same spot, he focuses on the ruins. The old woman has returned, and he can see that she's in distress, throwing out her arms in dismay as she examines the ruins. Then her mouth opens in what looks like a silent scream, though he realizes that it's just distance making her mute. She bends down and reaches out, her mouth still open, and stands clutching a bloody prize. Even at that distance, he can see that her wrinkled hands hold a wet skull smeared with clay.

"Scully?" He drops his binoculars and looks at her. "I think the devil has gone back to hell."

"It's over," she says, acid in her tone. "It's finally over. Good."

Mulder nods and puts Addy back on the rear seat. She doesn't struggle as he buckles her in. "Now what?"

"Now we bring Addy to the emergency room," Scully tells him. "We need to know what sort of shape she's in."

* * *

Saint Anthony's Hospital

"How long have we been here?" Mulder whispers to Scully.

She looks over Addy's head. "Close to two hours."

"She's being good." Except for the fact that she won't sit on their laps and tenses if anyone touches her goes unsaid.

"I know."

"I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Where are you going?"

"Gift shop."

He gingerly skirts around a woman holding an obviously broken wrist, and looks for the hospital directory. The gift shop is just down the hall, and it only takes Mulder two minutes to make his way there.

Most people in the hospital are adults, as is evidence by the small room being jammed full of flowers and magazines. And half of the small toy selection is imprinted with things like "it's a girl!" or "it's a boy!" While he thinks that's not entirely inappropriate, he thinks, for her parents who don't even know that she exists yet, they're not a good fit for the child herself. Eventually he finds a small blue kitten, and pulls it off the shelf. Then he stops to look at the candy shelf.

* * *

"Chocolate, Mulder?" Scully asks, looking amused. "Trying to buy her affection?"

"Not just for her. I thought we could all use a treat," he tells her before handing Addy a chocolate bar. The little girl stares at it like she doesn't know what it is. Maybe she doesn't.

"You still like Three Musketeers, don't you?" he asks his wife.

"Love them."

Mulder pulls out the Snickers that he bought for himself and notices that Addy is looking at his shirt pocket. Smiling, he pulls the stuffed animal out and dangles it by one furry paw. "Addy, what animal is this?"

"Kitty."

"That's right. Would you like this kitty, Addy?"

She doesn't say anything, though it's clear from the longing look on her face that she wants the toy despite being scared to ask for it. Mulder sighs and puts the kitten on the seat next to her.

A nurse holding a clipboard wanders into the waiting room, peering about. "Addy Mulder?"

"You gave her last name as Mulder?" Scully whispers.

He shrugs.

* * *

"What's your name, Sweetheart?" the young doctor asks as he picks the girl up and sets her on the examine table.

When she doesn't reply, Scully supplies it for her. "Her name is Addy."

"Why, that's a pretty name," he says, and the girl responds by covering her face.

"What did you say your concern was?" the doctor asks, looking up from listening to Addy's heart.

"Her older sister has a rare, severe sort of anemia," Mulder tells him. "Their younger brother doesn't, but we don't know Addy's medical history."

"Why is that?" the doctor asks. "She's your wife's niece, isn't she?"

"Custody battle," Mulder improvises. "Their parents each got one of the girls when they divorced a year and a half ago, and the boy arrived a few months later. Their father just got arrested, and we volunteered to go get the girl for my sister-in-law."

"I figured it was something like that." The doctor looks satisfied by the story. "So far she looks healthy, but we'll do some blood tests to be sure. I'm afraid that even with a rush order we're looking at a few hours' wait for the results."

Mulder nods, but his eyes are on the needle the doctor is already pressing against Addy's skin.

"This is going to pinch a little, Sweetie," the doctor tells little girl.

To Mulder's relief, the blood that begins to fill the syringe is as red as his own.

The doctor continues his examination of the toddler, and when he looks at her feet, his expression becomes grim. "What?" Scully asks.

"Was your brother-in-law a smoker?" The doctor's voice is tight with anger. Mulder looks over his shoulder, and spots a scattering small round scars on the child's soles. ::God,:: Mulder finds himself thinking furiously. ::April's dreams about a child being burned with cigarettes weren't just bad dreams.::

"Yes," Scully replies. She looks like she might cry.

"I think we should do some x-rays," the doctor tells them. "Being able to document the abuse should help your sister if he gets out of jail and tries to regain custody."

"Right. Whatever you think is necessary," Mulder agrees.

To their relief, it doesn't seem as though Addy was abused badly enough to break any bones, but the doctor's parting words are a warning that the little one might need therapy someday soon.

* * *

Later

Mulder is slightly disappointed to discover that the Holiday Inn Express does not allow a patron to pay by the hour like he always assumed. The image of happy hookers and their Johns blithely paying $10 for the hour's use of a room dissolves as soon as he is handed a room key. It's too bad, he decides. For once, it actually would be more convenient to pay by the hour. He and Scully only plan to wait around as long as it takes to get the results of Addy's blood tests.

They are barely in the room when Scully decides that it is her job to arrange for a flight home. Since she is busy on the phone, Mulder finds himself in charge of Addy.

He has always thought that April and Christopher gave him experience with quiet children, but Addy puts them both to shame. While his children are quiet because they are introverts, Addy seems quiet for an entirely different reason. She seems afraid of them now that her sheer relief to be out of the old man's clutches is fading.

Because he does not want to scare her, Mulder sits on the floor next the bed where she is huddled. She has her arms wrapped around her knees, and is doing her best to ignore him. The stuffed kitten is tucked under one of her arms.

"Hey," he says gently. "I bet you wonder what's going on."

The child gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"Well, I'm your uncle Fox," Mulder says with an internal sigh. Emily calls him Fox. Even baby Ryan is beginning to attempt to call him Fox. "And my wife is your aunt Dana. Your real mommy is her sister." He gives the child a moment to absorb this, wondering if the terms aunt and uncle mean anything to her.

It's hard to hear around her arms, but Addy asks, "What about the mean man?"

This makes Mulder wince. April refers to him as "the mean man" too. "You're never going to see him again. Never ever."

Her small shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the first time she lifts her head to look him in the face. "He's all gone?"

"Yes. He's gone away and he'll never come back," Mulder says firmly. It's not the time to discuss what death is with the child, but he wants her to know that he is very certain that his father will never bother her again.

"Now what?"

That is a very good question he decides. "Now we're going to take a nap. And when we wake up, we're going to go on an airplane. Do you know what that is?"

Addy nods. "In the sky."

"Exactly." He waits to see if she has any questions about what happens after that, but she takes her shoes off, apparently more interested in the idea of taking a nap.

All of a sudden the weight of the past few days catches up to him, and a nap seems like a very good idea. As soon as Addy's eyes close, he kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the other double bed.

Scully closes her phone with a gentle click. "We have a 10 p.m. flight."

"Hmmm." He doesn't open his eyes.

As he starts to doze off he hears her punch in numbers on her travel alarm clock, and then the bed shifts as she lies down beside him. It takes a huge amount of effort, but he cracks open one eyelid, and checks to make sure that both the door is locked, and that Addy is sleeping too.

* * *

Las Cruces International Airport

Mulder parks the rental SUV and glances over at Scully. "Thank God this is not an international flight."

"Why do you say that?" Scully asks with a yawn. Although the three of them took a long nap, it is clear that she is still exhausted. He supposes that carrying around two other people in your belly does that to a person.

"We won't need a passport for her. She looks enough like you that no one will ever ask us any questions about our relationship to her," Mulder says indicating the toddler bouncing on the backseat.

Scully gives him a startled look. "I guess we should be thankful that he didn't take her out of the country."

"Yes, we should be," Mulder agrees. "It may well be the only thing we have to be grateful for, when it comes to him."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, and when she does begin to speak, she's very hesitant. "Mulder... and he called you a prodigal son, was he just being metaphoric... about the son part?"

"I wish," he says heavily.

"Oh Mulder..."

"It's okay, Scully. Bill was my father in every way that counts."

"Yes. He was."

After a moment, Mulder smiles at her. "Come on. We don't want to miss our flight." He slides out of the SUV and goes around to open Addy's door. "Addy, were going home."

Addy looks surprised. "Home?"

"Home," Mulder repeats firmly as he puts her on his hip.

* * *

Washington, DC  
Later

After an uneventful flight, Mulder rents another car, and the three of them pile into it gratefully. This time there is even a car seat, because they actually knew in advance that they would have a small child with them. Addy nods off again immediately.

Mulder inclines his head toward the sleeping toddler in the backseat. "What are we going to do with her?"

"Obviously, we need to give her to Missy and Alex."

"I meant tonight."

"So did I," Scully says sharply.

"Don't you think it'd be a bit of a shock being woken up and handed a kid you didn't even know you had?" ::You sure seemed surprised once when Emily was dropped into your lap:: He thinks but doesn't say.

"Mulder, it's not going to be any less a shock after breakfast!"

When he thinks about it for a moment, he finds that he cannot disagree with this. It must be quite a startling revelation to find that you have a kid you didn't know you had at any time of the day.

"Right," he agrees.

The drive to Missy's is largely silent after that.

* * *

Kersh's Home  
Meanwhile...

A resounding crash startles Kersh from a sound sleep, and he practically jumps out of bed. His first thought is that his lunatic home invader is up to his old tricks again, but his sleepy brain reminds him that the idiot has done no damage before.

He's still looking for his service weapon when he hears more than one pair of feet stomping up his stairs. Sighing, he puts his hands behind his head even before the men burst into his bedroom.

When over a day passed since Follmer and Rohrer's arrests, he'd allowed himself to complacently believe that he himself was somehow spared.

Apparently not.

* * *

Missy and Alex's Home  
3 a.m.

Scully asks Mulder to wait in the car with Addy, so he does. There's no immediate response to her knock, which gives her more time to get nervous. Eventually the door opens, revealing her robe-clad sister and brother-in-law. They blink at her sleepily for a moment, but then Missy looks both alert and concerned.

"Dana, it's three in the morning. What's wrong?"

All the ways she's rehearsed breaking the news evaporate. "I don't know how to tell you this-" she says in a strangled voice.

Missy gasps, so Scully looks over her shoulder. Mulder is carrying the sleeping child up the walk. Eventually he comes to stand beside her.

"Is she..." Krycek starts to ask before trailing off.

"Yours?" Mulder supplies. "As far as we know. I'm sorry that my father was wrong," Mulder adds, thinking of their conversation just after Bill Mulder's death.

"No." Missy's hands cover her mouth before she flees back into the house. "It isn't fair! This can't happen again! They can't keep creating children and keeping them from us like this!" She moves deeper into the house, and they hear something break.

Krycek winces. "Let me take her."

Mulder hands her over, and the child barely stirs.

"She looks so much like Emily," Mulder says quietly. "You can't tell now, but her eyes are the same blue."

"Her name, do you know?"

"Adelaide. She answers to Addy."

"Is she sick?"

"Not as far as we can tell. We had examined at the e.r. but I'm sure you'll want to have Emily's doctor look her over." Emily's doctors had seen Ryan as a newborn, too. "You should know, there are a few scars from cigarette burns on her feet."

"Bastards!" Krycek exclaims, but shock has robbed a lot of the heat from the invective. "Do you know how old she is?" he asks carefully.

"The same age as Christopher, give or take a week," Mulder explains.

This is when Scully begins to cry. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault you didn't get her much sooner. Before anyone could hurt her."

"How is it your fault?" Mulder asks confused.

"When Fowley pretended she was yours, I only had the baby's DNA tested against yours and hers. If I tested it against mine too, we would have known she was related to me!"

"Scully..."

"You couldn't have known," Krycek says. "In your place I wouldn't have thought to see if my spouse's supposed love child related to me, either."

"But..."

"The important thing is we have her now," he says firmly. "How did you get her? Who had her?"

Krycek's face goes pale when Mulder explains that they found the smoking man and took the girl from him. "But he's dead now. Thank God."

For some reason, Krycek doesn't look very relieved. "How...how did the smoking man die?"

"There was this black helicopter," Scully tells him. "It came out of nowhere and shot missiles at pueblo he was hiding out in."

To Scully's surprise, the little girl is thrust into her arms, and Krycek sags against the door. He looks bleak when he stares up at them. "I swear to God I didn't know that you'd be going after him today. I swear it!"

"What-" Mulder breaks off with a look of comprehension. "You sent the helicopter?"

"I thought I was protecting Emily!" Krycek looks anguished. "Marita told me that they planned to use my daughter to restart the consortium one day. We both thought that they meant Emily. I'm sure she didn't know about Addy either."

"Marita?" Scully asks. "She's the one who told us where the smoking man was. Did she know what you had planned?"

"No. I haven't talked to her in about a week. She was going to tell me where to find him if she found out, but we didn't talk again. It was one of the kids that I found who told me where the smoking bastard was hiding out, not her."

"So it was a case of one hand not knowing what the other was doing," Mulder says.

"I could have killed my daughter!" Krycek wails. "And the two of you too," he adds as an after-thought.

"But you didn't," Scully says evenly, yanking on his good arm until he stands and she can give Addy back to him. "She's fine. We're fine. Dwelling on near misses has never done anyone any good."

"But-"

"She's right. You're going to have your hands full with the child in your arms. Worry about that instead of what could have gone wrong," Mulder tells him. They can hear another crash inside the house, and Mulder wonders how Emily and Ryan are sleeping through the din. "With Missy's meltdown going on, I don't envy you."

He winches when his wife elbows him in the ribs. "Mulder!"

"No, he's right," Krycek tells her. "Your sister is pissed."

"At least she's not pissed at you," Scully says with a smile. "I'm sure you know by now that she holds grudges."

"Do I ever," Krycek mutters.

"Are you going to tell my mother about Addy, or should I warn her?"

"Um..." He looks like a lost puppy. "Do you think you could? It'd going to be hard enough when Emily wakes up..."

"Fine. Goodnight, Alex," Scully says, linking her arm through her husband's.

"Good luck," Mulder says, being more practical.

As they walk back to the car, Mulder can't help but watch Krycek carry his new daughter into the house. ::Once upon a time, I would have immediately thought the worst of him. I would have assumed that he purposely tried to harm us. I guess he's proof that a person can change.::

"What are you think about, Mulder?" Scully asks, and he notices how tired she looks.

"I'm glad we're going home to _our_ kids. And that they're the only ones we have."

"Yeah, me too."

* * *

The Next Morning

"Mom..." Scully twists the phone in her hand. "I have some news for you."

"What?" Maggie immediately sounds alarmed, and it makes Scully cringe. "Is there something wrong with your pregnancy?"

"No, the babies and I are just fine. This actually has to do with Missy and Alex."

"Well?"

As quickly as she can, Scully explains to her mother about the events from the day before. "...and while we were there, we discovered that he had a toddler with him."

"Dana, what does any of this have to do with your sister?" Maggie asks, sounding frustrated. Then after a pause, she says, "Oh no. Is this child theirs? Like Emily?"

Scully starts for a moment, but then realizes that her sister must have finally told their mother the truth about Emily. "Yes, Mom. She is. Her name is Addy."

"Oh, God. How are they taking it?"

"Alex is being stoic. Missy is furious."

"Do you blame her?" Maggie wants to know. "Neither of us can possibly know how she feels, and to have it happen twice!"

"I don't blame her at all. I think she's going to need both of us to be there for her, is all."

"This isn't going to happen again someday, is it?"

"I hope not. Alex said he tracked down all the kids made with Emily and none of them are theirs," Scully tells her. "And he and Mulder arranged to have DNA tests on all the babies and toddlers they recovered this winter, too. None of those kids were theirs, either."

It seems as though Maggie is no longer in the dark because she says, "Good. I'm not sure how many times she could go through with this without going insane."

"Me neither. On the bright side, at least Emily will stop asking for a little sister," Scully says wryly.

"Don't make jokes," Maggie chides her. "Maybe later it'll be funny, but not now."

"Are you going to go see them today?"

"Of course. I was planning on visiting this week anyway. Maybe I can take all three kids out or something, so she and Alex can discuss things alone."

"That's brave of you, Mom."

"Knowing your sister, it might be giving her time to break things without the kids seeing."

"More things," Scully says under her breath. "I'm glad you're taking this as well as you are, by the way."

"I'm the grandmother. What do I have to angst about? I'm not the one who has to raise the surprise baby."

"That's true. Love you, Mom."

As she hangs up, Scully shakes her head. What would it be like to unexpectedly learn you have a child out in the wild world? And not once, but twice?

* * *

"Scully!"

She's barely hung up the phone when her husband's cry startles her.

When she gets to the den, Mulder's eyes are fastened to the seldom used TV screen. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says excitedly. "Everything's great."

"I'm not following," Scully tells him impatiently.

"Kersh was arrested this morning. The smoking man is dead, Rohrer, Follmer, and Kersh are behind bars. It's over, Scully!"

She watches their boss, erstwhile boss she corrects herself, being lead out of his house cuffed and in his pajamas. "It sure looks like it."

"We have to call Krycek."

"Don't you think he's got enough on his plate right now, Mulder?" she asks, amused that his second thought, the one after sharing the news with her, is to inform her brother-in-law.

"Right. I'll tell him later."

"We should celebrate. Let's go out to dinner tonight, you and me."

"And toast the consortium's defeat?" she asks with a smile.

"May they all burn in hell," he says cheerfully.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
June 1st, 2002

When Scully yawns her way into the kitchen one Saturday morning, she notices that Sammy is sitting at the table with his head bent down. She can't tell what he's looking at, so she asks, "What are you up to?"

"Thinking."

Resisting the urge to tell him he's just like his father, she asks, "Thinking about what?"

"This picture," Sammy says, and she finally realizes that he's looking at her ultrasound photo. "This is the new baby, right?"

"That's right, Sammy."

He points at one rounded shape. "This is the head, right?" Then he points at another. "Then what's this?"

"You know, that's a good question. We'll talk about that later today, okay?"

"Okay."

"Why don't you go see if your sisters and brothers are ready for breakfast, huh?"

"Sure," he says, scrambling out of his seat.

"Sammy, slow down!" Mulder scolds. Sammy has just smacked into him with a glancing blow. "You almost made me drop William."

"Sorry, Daddy." Sammy does look contrite. For two seconds.

After she's sure Sammy is up stairs, Scully hands Mulder the photo. "We need to tell them it's going to be twins."

"I thought we were going to wait a few more weeks," Mulder protests. He hands her back the photo so he can put William in his high chair. "We said we were going to wait until you're five months along."

"We were going to wait," she agrees. "But that was before Sammy started quizzing me this morning about my ultrasound. He wanted to know why it looked like there was more than one head in the picture."

Mulder is surprised. "He can understand it? I can't even understand these things."

"Obviously he can. It'll only be a matter of time before he puts two and two together, so we should probably just tell them."

"Right."

* * *

"So what's the family meeting about?" Page asks, looking uncomfortable. "Is someone in trouble?"

"No one's in trouble," Mulder reassures her.

She doesn't look comforted. "Is someone going away?"

"I don't want anyone to go away," David says quickly.

"Me neither!" his twin exclaims.

"No one's going anywhere," Scully says firmly before they start asking questions. "Daddy and I have some good news we wanted to tell you."

"Oh."

Scully looks at Sammy. "Remember what you asked me this morning?"

"Uh huh."

"Sammy was looking at the picture that the baby doctor gave me," Scully explains to the other kids. "Well, the reason you saw two shapes in that ultrasound picture that looks like heads is that there _are_ two heads in the picture," Scully tells him.

To everyone's surprise, April wails, "I don't want a brother or sister with two heads!"

"Me neither!" Page declares.

"Daddy, can we have one of the heads taken off so he's normal?" Sammy wants to know. "I know a kid who had six fingers when she was born, and they tooked one off."

Trying not to laugh, Mulder gives Scully a helpless look. After a second he composes himself. "Guys! The baby isn't going to have two heads! Think about it. What else has two heads?"

The older kids look puzzled, but Jared's face lights up. "David and I have got two heads!" He gives his mother's belly a speculative look. "You gonna have two babies like we ordered?"

"Like they ordered?" Scully looks confused, and Mulder decides to explain the comment to her later. He never did get around to telling her about how they "waited and waited" for William to be "two" like them...

"Twins!" April exclaims in relief. "No wonder there's two heads."

"That's right," Mulder agrees. "Mommy is going to have a second set of twins."

"Two more brothers, just like us," David says happily.

Over his head, his parents exchange a look. "Actually..." Scully says. "The doctor thinks that the babies are going to be girls."

"Aww man!" the twins and Sammy groan.

"Finally!" April and Page exclaim excitedly.

After a moment Sammy sighs, and says grudgingly, "I guess it's fair. We've got a lot more boys than girls."

"No kidding," April tells him, and rolls her eyes. Just like her mommy and older sister.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
June 3rd, 2002

After a brief knock, Page's voice calls out, "Mom, there's someone here to talk to you and Dad!"

"Thanks," Mulder tells her. Turning to Scully he says, "I hope it's not an unfriendly."

Opening the door, they find a grinning man. "Wow, the kids are getting big, huh? That's your oldest, right? How old is she now?"

"Seven, going on eight," Scully says, staring at him in surprise. "We didn't expect you, Wayne."

Wayne Federman graciously takes the seat he's offered. "You know, the movie just came out on DVD. The sales are beyond our wildest expectations."

"You're not here hoping for material for a sequel, are you Wayne?" Mulder asks suspiciously.

"Nope. There's going to be a sequel, it's true, but I'm not here to pester you about that." Wayne looks around. "This is a really lovely house. I guess with your family you need a big house. How many kids do you have now?"

"We're working on eight and nine," Scully admits.

"That's wonderful." Wayne beams at her. She can see him mentally adding more little actors and dollar signs to the concept of the second movie.

"Wayne, you were going to tell us why you're here?" Mulder prompts, remembering the man's attention deficit problems.

He spreads his hands. "What would it take to convince you to walk away from the FBI?"

For a moment Mulder is frozen by the frightening idea that Wayne Federman might somehow be involved with the consortium, but he dismisses that as ridiculous. The consortium isn't scientology, they don't recruit from Hollywood. "Why do you ask?" Mulder responds cautiously.

"I've been told that you knew Jose Chung, is that true?" They both nod, remembering the stubborn old writer. "As you may know, he died three years ago, much to the scientific and literary communities' dismay. Awful tragedy."

"You're here because of Chung's murder?" Scully asks, confused.

Wayne shakes his head. "No. I'm here because we're finally getting the chance to properly memorialize the old coot."

"You want us to give a eulogy at a memorial service or something?" Mulder wants to know. He knows from talking with Maggie that some religions hold memorial services on the anniversaries of loved ones deaths.

This makes Wayne laugh. "He's already been both buried and celebrated in the manner befitting someone like him. No, what we're doing is creating a television program to honor him, and all the things he wrote about."

"A TV show?"

"Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There," Wayne enthuses. "And we want the two of you to be on it."

"What?" Mulder and Scully exchange a look.

"Wayne, we're not actors," Mulder protests.

"I know," Wayne agrees. "But it's not that sort of show."

"What sort of show is it, then?" Scully asks.

"The thing we're looking to do is to put together a panel of credible show hosts. You've seen political shows where they have a democrat and a republican host together, and debate issues, right? That's what we're hoping to do, with a new paranormal topic each episode." Wayne explains. "We've got a scientist and Carl Sagan's son Nick lined up to represent the anti-paranormal side. What we want is the two of you to be the pro side."

"That sounds great, but I'm pregnant with twins, Wayne. I'm due in October," Scully tells him, and Mulder can tell that it's her way of putting the man off.

"No problem. We'll tape a lot of episodes all at once, so we can air them while you're off with the new babies. And Mulder here could probably defeat two people in a debate if he had to, couldn't you?"

"Probably," Mulder finds himself agreeing, but then his wife glares at him. "Um..."

"I should mention that we plan to do the taping right here in DC, so you don't have to worry about uprooting the family if you do this. Look, I know this is a big decision." Wayne says sympathetically. "What I'm going to do is leave you with the show's prospectus and give you a few days to think it over and discuss it. You can get in touch with me later in the week, okay?"

"Okay," Scully agrees, but Mulder doesn't think she's seriously going to consider the offer.

Wayne hands Mulder the paperwork. "I'm glad that you're willing to think about it. You're the best possible people for the job."

"Who else have you considered?" Mulder asks, knowing that the producer must have backups in mind.

"Did you ever watch Star Trek the Next Generation? Remember the guy who played Picard's second?"

"Your back up plan is to use an actor from a scifi show?" Scully looks shocked.

"He wouldn't lend the same credibility as you, that's for sure," Wayne agrees. "So you can see why I'm so hopeful that you'll consider it."

"Bye, Wayne," Mulder says firmly. The other man takes the hint and leaves jauntily, obviously convinced that he has done an adequate job selling the show to them.

* * *

When they get in the house, they go up to their room to talk.

"Can you believe him?" Scully asks the second he closes the door.

"I can."

"What?" She shoots him a confused look.

"It sounds like an interesting offer."

"You can't be serious, Mulder."

"Why can't I be?" he demands to know. "Once upon a time you asked me if I was tired of working on the X-Files. Don't you still feel that way?"

"Of course I do, sometimes," she agrees. "But I didn't think you'd ever walk away."

"Up until now, neither did I."

"This TV show offer has changed your mind?"

Mulder shakes his head. "The fact that the consortium has been destroyed once and for all might change my mind. I've been gone for two years, Scully. And for the first time I don't feel like I need to get back there to keep us safe."

"I know that it's a big part of why you've been trying to get reinstated, but you are really okay with giving it up for something else now?" She looks surprised.

"I think I am. There is still unknown to investigate, but it doesn't need to be investigated by us. John and Monica are more than capable of doing the job."

"So...you want us to do this show?" she asks, giving him a dubious look.

Mulder puts one hand over hers. "All I want is for you to think about this. I think we should both give the idea serious thought."

"All right. We'll think about it."


	117. Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There

The Krycek Home  
June 4th, 2002

It's another peaceful morning in the neighborhood, with Alex Krycek still fast asleep in bed, and likewise for the Krycek daughters. As for Melissa, her son woke her up with his crying, so here she is, maintaining the peace by bottle-feeding Ryan. It isn't long before another person joins the awake crowd, however.

"Mommy, what's wrong with her?" Emily asks with a frown, looking like a misplaced princess in her pink nightgown and loosely-braided blonde hair.

"What do you mean?" Melissa turns her attention away from feeding Ryan. "You mean Addy?"

Emily nods. "I wanted to play with her, but when I went to her room, she woke up crying."

Now Melissa frowns, and she stands up. "Emily, can you be a good sister and feed Ryan? I'm going to check on Addy." She waits until her eldest daughter is seated before handing over the baby and the bottle, then heads to the guest room, which has now become Addy's room.

"Addy?" she says, automatically softening her voice before entering the room.

These past few days has been a learning experience for all of them, most of all for the newest Krycek addition, she's sure. The girl had to be introduced to emotions other than fear and anger, which caused unintended amusement for her older sister. Her eating and bathroom habits were more like that of a wild animal's, and she was even more restless than Ryan when it came to sleep, probably due to being woken at odd hours by the unpredictable and irrational smoking man.

Already, Melissa's on her knees and lifting the blanket from the side of the bed, knowing that the girl will be hiding underneath. And like the aforementioned wild animal, Addy's blue eyes are wide with fear, but those same eyes snap shut before she curls into a ball and covers herself with her thin arms.

And again, Melissa Krycek feels her heart break. Like the wild, stray animals she used to meet on her sojourning, Addy continues to fear, rather than welcome, human contact. She knows, from her husband, sister, and brother-in-law, that the little girl has had a harsh life up until now. Still, her daughter has to learn what normal human interaction is, and she pulls the tightly-curled child out from under the bed.

Sighing, she wraps her arms around her, then sits heavily on the bed, the girl still in her arms. "Oof," she grunts, then shakes her head as the little blonde girl shudders. "It's okay," she says in a low voice, her arms still wrapped around her daughter, rocking her gently.

"Shhhhh, it's okay," she continues to croon, stroking Addy's hair. "Nobody's gonna hurt you, Baby, we love you. Mommy loves you, Daddy loves you, Emily loves you, Ryan loves you."

As she continues to rock her younger daughter, Melissa looks up at the ceiling. 'Dear God,' she thinks, 'if you're out there, thank you for giving Addy back to us. But I hope you help her become a normal little girl, full of love and life, not fear and sadness. Please, just... just please.' As she bends her head, she's unaware that tears are falling down her face, until she feels her nose clogging and she sniffles. Then she wipes away her tears hastily, still rocking her tense child.

She doesn't see her elder daughter peeking in from the side of the doorway, Emily's face wearing a mixture of sadness and jealousy, nor can she see her husband, watching Emily from his doorway with a weary, understanding expression.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Later That Morning

Addy is taking up so much of her sister's energy, that for once Scully is glad that Missy doesn't have a "real" job; though Missy argues with anyone who disparages her livelihood. Since moving back east years earlier, Missy has been making decent money selling new age crystals to people who should know better on eBay and through her own online store as well, but it's not as though that takes her out of the house and away from her small children. This is part of the reason Scully doesn't balk when Missy makes a surprising request.

"Dana, she's having enough trouble coping. We need to put that off for a while," Missy had stated flatly when Scully had brought up the idea of introducing Addy to hers and Mulder's children the morning after they'd given the girl to her and Krycek. "Just a couple of weeks, okay? I'll make sure that Mom and Emily don't say anything either."

In a surprising fit of sibling diplomacy, Scully agreed to keep Addy a secret from her own children, at first. Promptly at the two week mark, Scully calls to ask if it's okay to let the cat out of the proverbial bag, and Missy agrees, though she's not sure that she'll be introducing the girl to the rest of the family any time in the immediate future.

Which is why the five oldest of Mulder and Scully's children have been gathered to talk about something "important." Each child is nervously exchanging looks, making it clear that someone should be in trouble, but isn't yet. Scully sighs and decides to ignore that, figuring they'll find out what was broken later.

"Daddy and I have something important to talk to you about. It has to do with Aunt Missy and Uncle Alex," Scully tells them, and their postures immediately relax. This makes her doubly suspicious of her offspring.

"What?" April asks immediately.

It was easier when Emily entered their lives, Scully finds herself thinking. Brandon had been the only child in the entire Scully family over the age of three at the time, so the rest had been able to accept "this is your new cousin" without any explanations necessary. When she'd called him earlier in the morning, Charlie had said Brandon hadn't much of a reaction because he rarely saw his aunts anyway...

Mulder squeezes her hand. "When Mommy and I were in New Mexico two weeks ago, we found a bad man. He was someone who we've wanted to put in jail for a long time."

"Is he in jail now?" Sammy wants to know.

"No. He died," Mulder tells him. "But before he died, we found something out. It's hard to explain, but Emily and Ryan have a sister. You have a new cousin, we mean. Her name is Addy."

"How old is she?"  
"Where is she?"  
"Is she okay?"

Mulder holds up his hand to stem the stream of questions before David and Jared add their own. The twins pout. "Addy is two. She'll turn three in August the same week as Christopher. Before the man died, we took Addy from him, and she's at your Aunt Missy's house. We brought her there before we came home that night."

"She's been there for two weeks?" Sammy looks surprised. "How come we only know now?"

"Because she's not okay, Sammy," Scully tells him softly.

"She's not?" Sammy suddenly looks very upset, and for some reason this reminds Scully of the day she'd told them Mulder had died. "Not okay how?"

His parents sigh. "The man who had her treated her very badly. He hurt her some, and worse, made her afraid of people."

"Why is making her afraid worse?" Page asks.

"Well, Sweetie, her hurts have healed up, but it's going to take a long time before she's not scared of people," Mulder explains.

"Of us too?" David asks.

"She's pretty scared of Emily right now, Buddy," Mulder tells him. "We don't think she ever got to see other kids when the bad man had her."

"We're not going to see her for a while, huh?" April asks, and Scully notices that there are a couple of tears on her daughter's cheeks.

"No, not yet. Aunt Missy thinks it will be overwhelming to meet the rest of the family before she's more comfortable around people. Daddy and I think she's probably right. So far she's seen Grandma once, but we're not going to see her for a while yet, and your uncles and other cousins won't either," Scully tells her.

"But we'll love her, Mommy," Jared promises earnestly.

"I know you will, Baby." Scully gathers him into her arms and kisses his cheek. "We just need to give her some more time."

"Mommy?" Sammy says, and she looks up. "I think the kitties broke a glass."

"Did they?"

"Yeah." But he doesn't look her in the eyes.

Mystery solved.

* * *

The Next Day

"I'm sure it will get better soon, Missy," Scully says as she wraps up her conversation with her sister. "Love you."

Page has been sitting nearby, drawing a picture of the beach. Suddenly, she looks up at her mother. "Mom, is Addy the little girl?"

"What?" Scully asks, confused by the question.

Page tries again. "The bad dreams April had. Is Addy the little girl in April's dreams? The one who was being hurt?"

"Your cousin was abused, Page. It's going to take a while before she understands that she's okay now," Scully repeats what she and Mulder already told the kids.

"I know. But is she the girl April dreamed about?" Page persists.

"I think so," Scully admits reluctantly.

"How could April dream about her, when no one even knew that we had a girl cousin besides Emily?"

"We don't know," Scully tells her. "But sometimes, your sister knows things." Scully cringes internally, wondering if she's somehow setting April up to be considered different by her siblings. Missy has already expressed similar fears, wondering if Ryan will one day taunted his sisters for having been the only one carried by their mother.

"How come Sammy and I don't know things like that?" Page asks. "Or David and Jared?"

Scully shrugs. "There are a lot of times when your grandma and Aunt Missy seem to just know things too. I don't know why I don't, and why Uncle Charlie and Uncle Bill don't either. I guess it's like how not all of you have the same hair colors as Daddy or I do - not everyone inherits the same things."

"'fore he died, Bumpa said he thought that someday Christopher and I will have brown hair like Daddy."

"You might," Scully acknowledges. "Or it could stay blonde like your other grandfather's. We'll have to wait until you're in high school and see then."

"It's okay if it stays blonde," Page tells her in a way that suggests that she hopes it does. "And it's okay that April gets to know things we don't."

"Yup. Both those things are fine." Scully feels a wave of relief. Maybe April's special-ness won't be an issue at all.

She thinks Page is through with the subject, but the girl looks up at her. "I wish we'd listened to April's dreams sooner."

"Me too."

* * *

The Home of Edna Pierce  
June 10th, 2002

Although there hadn't been any mourners at the house since the day before, there was evidence of them in the Pierce home. A lent casserole dish sat in the dish drainer, and it sparkled cleanly. Scully found it easier to look at it than at Mrs. Pierce's face.

Reyes, however, is looking at the woman. Mrs. Pierce has her gray hair drawn back into a loose bun, and her shoulders sag in her floral dress. The woman is trying to keep up a brave face, but you can see how defeated she is. "You said you saw black dogs before both deaths?" Reyes asks gently.

"Yes, though they were such big beasts that it's hard to believe that they were dogs."

"When did you see them?" Doggett asks a little less carefully.

Mrs. Pierce raises her hand and dabs at her eyes with a mostly concealed tissue. "The first time I saw one was two days before Seymour's death." Seymour Pierce, her husband of fifty years, had died ten days earlier. "I'd gotten up in the middle of the night to get myself something for a sour stomach, and saw it through the kitchen window. I can't tell you why I did it, but I threw open the back door and rushed outside, yelling at it to get.

"It turned its great shaggy head in my direction, and then it stared at me with two eyes that glowed red. It was live coals right inside its head." Mrs. Pierce shakes her head. "That's when I knew that it was evil."

Scully still can't look her in the eyes, but she asks, "How did you know it was evil?"

"My grandmother told me that there were dogs like this in England and Wales when she was a girl. I never thought I was the suspicious type, but when Seymour died..." Mrs. Pierce takes a shivery breath. "Then I found myself thinking about black dogs. I laughed at myself, telling myself that I'd grown to be quite the superstitious old woman to think a stray dog could cause my husband to have a massive heart attack. But when Billy...when Billy..."

Billy Pierce had been thirty-eight years old when he'd died three days ago, but he'd never grown up. Sweet and gentle, Billy had been a happy person who seemed to love life despite his intellectual limitations. The Pierces had known that their son would live with them his whole life, and had long since made peace with the idea.

"The car just seemed to come out of nowhere," the elderly woman says in a quavering voice. "He liked to get the mail, so we let him. There didn't seem to be any harm in it. And now...Now he's gone."

"I'm sorry for you loss."

"That's not why I wanted to talk to you," she tells them, straightening in her seat. "I saw one again, the night before last. I need to know who is going to die next, me or my daughter Christine. She's Billy's older sister."

A sort of hopeless horror squeezes Scully's heart. She gets to her feet and mutters "excuse me" before walking out the door.

Outside, she leans against the car and takes several deep breaths. It isn't fair. Even if there isn't a death omen stalking the Pierce family, how can it be fair for a woman to lose her husband and son within days of each other and then worry about herself and her only surviving child?

Neither Doggett nor Reyes remark on her defection when they finish talking to Edna Pierce.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
5:30 p.m.

"Christopher, what's this one?" Mulder asks, holding a flash card up. A six inch high letter is printed on the front.

The little boy studies the card for a moment before grinning at his father. "J!"

"Good job!" Mulder flips to the next one. "And this one?"

"C!" Christopher tilts his head. "C for Christopher?"

"That's right. Boy, are you smart." Mulder grins, and shifts his gaze to the unlocking front door.

The second he sees the look on Scully's face, Mulder pats Christopher on the shoulder. "Why don't you go play with David and Jared?"

"OK, Daddy," The towheaded toddler says before racing up to the twins' bedroom.

"Flash cards, Mulder?" Scully asks as she drops her bag onto the hall table. "Don't you think he's a little young for the ABCs?"

"Since he's already memorized eighty percent of them, apparently not."

"Eighty? How long have you been drilling him?"

"Ten minutes a day for the past four days. He's so smart, Scully," Mulder says with a trace of pride. "If only he'd talk a little more about what he's thinking about."

"I'm sure he will, eventually. Look at how much sooner he began speaking than April," Scully says, but he notices how tired she looks.

"Long day?"

"Yes." She sits on the couch and folds her hands across her growing belly. "Mulder...we need to talk."

"Sure, what about?" Mulder asks, looking around the living room to see if there are any kids that need to be shooed off. The room is deserted.

"That silly show that Wayne Federman pitched to us," Scully says and he gives her his full attention. "I think we should do it."

"You what?" Mulder squeaks, shocked.

It hasn't crossed his mind that she'd be interested in doing a TV show, especially since she's never brought it up again after agreeing to think about it. He's been convinced that her agreement was just a way of humoring him.

"I want to do that TV show," Scully repeats.

"You want to leave the FBI?"

"Yes, Mulder. I don't think there's anything left to accomplish there, do you? You said that yourself a few days ago."

"Well, I didn't say that exactly, but I agree that nothing that still needs to be accomplished necessarily needs us doing the accomplishing."

"So let's do this," Scully says eagerly.

Mulder gives her a long look. "Did something bad happen at work today, Scully?"

Her happy expression wilts. "We've been investigating a series of banshee sightings. Nothing's come of most of them, but someone heard about what we've been doing and sent an elderly woman to us. She hasn't seen any banshees, but big black dogs-"

He looks up. "Someone's been seeing black dogs in DC?"

"No. Virginia. Mulder, she saw the dog before her husband died last week. And before her son died this week. And she saw it again. Now she's worried about whether it's coming for her this time, or her daughter."

"That's awful."

"I don't want to keep doing this," Scully tells him, and her eyes are wet. "These things need to be looked into still, but...they don't need to be investigated by us. I think we've put in our time and given enough."

"It'd be good for the kids if we're here more often," Mulder says.

"Yeah. Let it be someone else's turn to save the world for a while."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Really."

Eagerness begins to bubble up in Mulder, but reality steps in to temper his emotions. "What if we leave the FBI and the show never happens? Or if it's canceled after a season?"

"We have other skills, Mulder. I don't think we'd spend a lot of time moping around the house in our pajamas while looking in the want ads."

"All right. Let's do this."

* * *

The Next Day

When Wayne Federman arrives the next afternoon, the house is practically empty. Michelle has taken every one of the kids with her, except for William. He plays at his parents' feet as his parents talk to Mr. Hollywood.

Wayne is so keyed up that he practically vibrates. "Cute little guy here, he looks just like you," he says, giving Scully a quick glance. Mulder wonders how often he's used kids in the past to get on their parents' good sides. "So, I think I know why you asked me to come over today."

"Do you?" Mulder asks, keeping his voice even because he can't wait to hear his theory.

"You're waiting for me to give you the hard sell," Wayne tells him. "I'm willing to do that, if that's what it will take to get you to sign the contract. Which speech do you want to hear - 'it's better for your kids if you travel less' or 'you've done so much for the public, don't you deserve a less dangerous job now?'?"

Scully stares at him. "You're joking, right? Tell me you haven't committed two speeches to memory."

Wayne sighs. "People think working in the movie and TV industry is thrilling. Sometimes you need to memorize persuasive speeches as part of the job. But hey, you won't have to worry about memorizing anything, Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There isn't scripted. So, which speech?"

"Wayne, it's awfully nice of you to give us a choice like this, but we don't think we'll need to hear either," Mulder says, trying not to laugh at the idea of prepared monologues to convince them.

"Are you sure?" He looks disappointed. "I should have known that you wouldn't even hear me out."

Wayne starts to stand, but Scully holds up her hand to stop him. "You don't need to give us your spiel because we've already made up our minds. We want to do it."

"What?" The look he gives her is dumbfounded. "You're serious?"

"No Wayne, we just called you over to screw with you," Mulder says cheerfully. "Of course we're serious. If we weren't interested we would have ignored your messages for a few weeks, and hoped that you'd soon give up on the idea."

"A lot of people take that approach." Wayne mutters before brightening. "I've got the contracts in the car, so just wait here-"

Mulder smiles to himself as he watches the other man practically trip over his own feet in his rush to get outside. He reappears, out of breath, less than two minutes later. "Here. Just so you know, Nick Sagan backed out because his publisher has him on the hook for a new book. We've replaced him with Aldous Reed."

"Aldous Reed?" Scully asks.

"You've heard of the book series Debunked! haven't you? He writes them."

"I think I saw one of those books in..." Mulder almost says Morris' study, but bites his tongue. "Barnes and Noble."

"He's a real intense guy. You should find him interesting to debate," Wayne enthuses, but he fails to look Mulder in the eye.

Mulder shrugs. Debate shows are supposed to have sparks, and from Wayne's demeanor, it seems likely that this one will too.

* * *

Signing their new contracts takes them into the dinner hour, so Scully unaccustomedly orders a few pizzas for dinner right before the kids get home. Wayne is invited to eat with them too.

Sammy is the one who finally asks why his parents' "friend" is eating with them. "How come you're still here?"

"Sammy, that's rude," Mulder scolds as he helps William get his special toddler dinner into himself instead of on himself.

"Well, Sport," Wayne tells the little boy, "I'm here because your folks are getting a new job. They're going to be on a TV show."

Mulder cringes, wondering how the kids will react to this news.

Page tilts her head to one side before asking, "Instead of being FBI people, or and being 'em?"

"Mostly instead," Mulder admits. "Mister Skinner might ask us to help out Uncle John and Aunt Monica when they need it, though."

This has the girl turning to Wayne. "Where's the TV show going to be? Like, when there's a camera to make it?"

"Right here in DC," Wayne says, looking like he's more than a little nervous to be included in the interrogation by a seven-year-old.

"So Mom and Dad won't have to go away a lot any more?"

"Not too often," Wayne agrees, before smiling. "Why, were you planning a party you'll have to cancel now?"

None of the kids seems to understand the joke, but Sammy and April are beginning to look as excited as their older sister.

"I can't wait to see you on TV!" Sammy says, bouncing in his seat. "Tommy and Jack are gonna be so jealous."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder notices that Michelle hasn't touched her current slice of pizza since Wayne blurted out the news. "Michelle, Dana and I want you to know that the lack of frequent travel doesn't affect our need for your services." He hopes that reassures the younger woman. "We wouldn't spring a change of employment status on you."

"Oh, good," she mumbles, and starts to eat again.

The kids take the news better than Mulder expected, but he wonders how much of that has to do with Page and Sammy already being excluded from their school-year cases, and April's knowledge that she'll be the next one told that they're too old to miss much school. He shrugs it off. Whatever the reason, the change promises to be smoother than he's hoped.

At least with the kids. The hard part might still be ahead.

* * *

The Hoover Building  
June 14th, 2002  
8 a.m.

When Mulder and Scully arrive in Skinner's office, he gives the couple a long-suffering look. Before they even take seats in front of his desk, he says, "I think I have an idea about what you want."

"Sir-" Scully starts to say, but he cuts her off, and looks at Mulder instead.

"I know that you're anxious to get back in the office, and I don't blame you for being frustrated by all the delays, but if you think I have any influence with the Deputy Director, I'm sorry to say that you over-estimate me. I can ask him to move up your meeting, but I honestly don't think that he'll see you any sooner than Kersh had planned to."

"I'm not coming back," Mulder tells him.

Skinner blinks. "You're not?"

"No. I've accomplished almost everything I've set out to here at the FBI."

"Actually..." Scully reaches for Mulder's hand. "We both have."

"What are you trying to say, Agent Scully?" Skinner demands to know.

She takes an envelope out of her bag and hands it to him. "I'm tendering my resignation."

"You're leaving, just like that?" Skinner looks incredulous at first, but his look softens. "I guess it's not just like that, is it."

"No, it's not," Scully agrees, and it's obvious that everyone in the room is thinking about everything that has happened over the past three years. "It's just...time."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed to lose you both, but I won't fight you," Skinner says with a sigh. "If the new Deputy Director is agreeable, would you at least consider retaining consultant status?"

"Of course, Sir," Mulder says immediately, having expected the offer.

"I guess you don't need to call me 'Sir' any more."

"Maybe not, but I don't think I can call you Walter."

"So, what are you going to be doing instead?" Skinner asks.

"Oh, we'll be keeping a hand in the industry, after a fashion..." Mulder says before beginning to explain the new career he and Scully are embarking on.

* * *

Basement Office  
8:25 a.m.

The first thing Reyes sees when she returns to the office with a folder is Mulder sitting at a desk, holding his nameplate. She gives him a welcoming look. "Does this mean you're back?" she asks, then notices that Scully is in the room too.

"No. I just came to collect the junk cluttering up your office," he says. "I thought I'd put this on my desk at home."

"You're not coming back?" Reyes turns and sees that over her shoulder Doggett is staring at Mulder. His face is creased with concern. "Your health hasn't headed downhill again, has it?"

"He's fine," Scully says quickly. "We both are. But we're both leaving."

"Why?" Reyes plaintively demands to know. "Everything that was a danger is gone, so why are you running away?"

"We've not running from something," Scully corrects her. "We're running to something. An opportunity has come up, and we've decided to accept it."

"Besides, we're getting too old for this stuff." Mulder smirks at Doggett, knowing that the other man is a handful of years older than he is. "We'll leave this to you kids."

"So, this is it? You're out the door?" Doggett asks Scully.

"I've given my two weeks notice," she replies. "But that doesn't mean we have to be strangers, you know. We value both of you as friends, beyond mere colleagues, and our not coming into the office any more isn't going to change that."

"Nope, it just means that you're in charge of The X-Files," Mulder agrees. "We know we're leaving it in the best of hands."

"You'll be seeing us anyway." Scully's lips quirk. "Unless you've sworn off TV."

"TV?"

Mulder is delighted by their expressions as his wife explains their new job yet again. He's tiring of the dissemination of news, having already explained to his mother and Scully's family. At least he's consoled by the fact that, as Sammy said about his friends, the Gunmen will "be so jealous" when they explain the situation yet again later on.

* * *

After the couple has left, Doggett and Reyes stare at each other.

"This is ours now," Doggett says, making a sweeping gesture.

She nods. "We'd better not screw it up."

"Of course not, Mon. We already do a good job. We'll just have to...keep doing that." Doggett concludes, feeling a little lost.

"I never thought that they'd leave," Reyes confesses.

"Me neither. I pictured Mulder still here when he's as old and gray as that Arthur Dale fellow he's told us about."

A quiet falls after that, and they return to the task of staring at each other.

* * *

Doggett's Home  
That Evening

"...so, that's it," Doggett tells the kids that night.

"We can still play with Page an' April an' them, right?" Hannah asks.

Reyes nods, smiling. "Of course. They're just leaving the office, not us."

"Oh, okay," the little girl nods back.

"Wow, I thought they'd never leave," Luke comments, and Gibson nods, unconsciously echoing his elders. "But they're still gonna be checking out weird stuff, so I guess it's kinda the same thing."

"Let's hope that Wayne Federman guy isn't totally in charge, or it could turn out like that movie," Gibson adds.

Reyes and Doggett look at each other and then they both grimace. They'd seen the movie on a lark, but they'd all had to eat lots of junk food and play mind-numbing videogames to take the bad taste from their brains. Even Hannah was yelling at the TV screen, and Doggett had a mind to put some bullet holes into the rented DVD so no one else had to watch it.

"Uh, yeah," Doggett agrees. "From what Scully said, though, he's just pretty much bringing everyone together and filming stuff, so if there's any bias, it's gonna come from Mulder, Scully and whoever they're debating, not Federman."

"Thank God," Luke sighs, "but that better be on their contract."

"Mulder wouldn't sign anything dubious," Reyes says.

Doggett gives her a look. "He might, but Scully wouldn't," he corrects her. "Besides, if Federman pulled that kinda crap he did with the movie for the new TV show, neither Mulder nor Scully would let him live for long."

"What do you mean?" Hannah wonders.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," Reyes interjects swiftly, picking up the little girl, giving Doggett a look. "Now, what do you say we attempt that chicken masala recipe, hm?"

"Cool!" the girl beams. "If you guys wanna eat, you hafta help, too."

The Doggett boys look at each other, then at her. "Where'd you hear that from?" Doggett asks, with a brief glance at Reyes.

"Page," Hannah replies simply. "'Cause otherwise, Sammy an' them would just pig out and not leave nothin' behind."

Doggett starts to correct her grammar, but there's so much amiss that he gives up, shaking his head at Gibson's smirk. "'Course we'll help out, honey," he says, "won't we?" And he grabs his eldest child by the scruff of his t-shirt.

"Uh, yeah," Luke says, shrugging his father's hold off and trying to look as nonchalant and cooperative as possible while glaring at his father at the same time.

Reyes laughs. "The more, the merrier," she smiles, leading the willing and unwilling chefs into the kitchen.

* * *

July 1st, 2002  
7 a.m.

The recording studio does not meet Mulder's expectations. If he'd given it much thought, he would have assumed that the parking lot would be full of people bustling back and forth, most of them lowly errand boys or girls, and that it would be difficult to find a place to park their car. The reality is that the lot is mostly empty, and he and Scully are able to park near the front of the building. And a more nondescript building would be difficult for him to imagine.

Apparently he is not the only one to have this opinion, because Scully nudges him, and says "this looks like the type of building you'd find a bomb shelter in the basement of."

Before he can open his mouth to answer her, a person bursts out of the front door, and makes a beeline for them. "There you are. Come with me." They try to keep pace with the nervous little man, and eventually he looks over his shoulder at them. "I'm Larry. I'm bringing you to makeup."

Mulder gives him a puzzled smile. "Are we late? I thought that we were supposed to start taping at nine."

Larry shakes his head. "You're not late. It's just they get nervous about makeup the first time. And you arrived early, actually, so it will make things easier."

"We're just talking about standard make up, right?" Scully asks, looking slightly apprehensive herself. "We never actually did discuss with Wayne what sort of outfits that the show wants us to wear. I'm hoping it's nothing too outlandish."

Larry actually slows down his stride a little bit, and looks pleased. "I wouldn't be worried about that. Mr. Federman and the show's producers were very specific about creating an image that would commandeer respect. You don't have to worry about being asked to wear a Star Trek uniform, and the other side won't be wearing lab coats or anything."

"Good to know," Mulder says, taking Scully's elbow.

* * *

As soon as they get inside with Larry, the two of them are separated. Mulder is shown where the men are being prepped for the show, and Scully is taken off in an entirely different direction.

Mulder watches her go, and mutters to himself, "So much for my imaginations of a his n' hers dressing room. He says goodbye to several small fantasies as he is directed to a makeup chair.

No sooner have his buttocks met the vinyl seat, does a smiling middle-aged woman with teased blond hair approaches him. "Oh my gosh. Your hair is wonderful. Anyone ever told you that?" she asks, speaking more quickly than most people Mulder has ever met.

"My wife's partial to it."

"That pretty little redhead who's pregnant, right? You guys already got any kids?"

"Several."

"That's so nice to hear. Most these days just want two, mostly a boy and a girl, but you know I grew up with twelve brothers and sisters, and I miss seeing big families like that."

"Twelve?"

"So not that many for you two, hmmm?"

"No. We're keeping it to a single digit, but just barely."

"Still, that's not bad. I have eight myself." Bette smiles. "Have you ever heard of Jim Bob Duggar? He's running for state in Arkansas. He and his wife Michelle are expecting baby number fourteen this November. Now _that's_ a respectably sized family."

Mulder looks up at the woman, fascinated. He's never actually met someone who approved of having a large family before. There were those who are careful not to judge, but quiet disapproval is far more common. "What did you say your name is?"

"Bette."

"Well, Bette, it is really nice to meet you."

* * *

Over on the other side of the hallway, Scully is having a different sort of conversation.

"Okay, hold your arms out," A brunette, who had introduced herself as Trish, tells Scully as she approaches her with a cloth measuring tape. "Wow, how far along did you say you are?"

"I didn't," Scully says, trying not to feel impatient. "But I'm just past five months."

Trish's eyes widened in surprise. "Going to be a big baby, I guess then."

"No," Scully says, shaking her head. "Two probably slightly smaller than average ones."

"Right!" Trish says before turning back to the wardrobe rack. She pulls out an emerald green, short-sleeve silk blouse and holds it to Scully. "I think this one would do, what you think?"

"It's lovely," Scully says, and she's relieved that Larry did not seem to be just telling them what they wanted to hear.

"So, let's try this on, and I think will pair this with a black skirt-" Trish's eyes have begun to wander back over the clothing on the rack. "Maybe...that one!"

"Sounds good," Scully says as she strips off the shirt she came into the building with. She has never been fond of undressing in front of people that she's not intimate with, but she knew before she and Mulder signed their contracts that getting dressed with an audience was going to be a part of the deal.

"So," Trish looks her up and down with a speculative eye. "I don't suppose you've ever had twins before, so you'd know how big you're gonna get..."

"Actually, my husband and I have twins boys who are almost four."

"Cool. You don't have any maternity clothes from way back then, do you? It would just be helpful for ordering wardrobe stuff."

"I'll see what I can find." Scully promises.

"Great," Trish says, looking at her again. "Looks like I was right about that blouse and skirt huh?"

Scully finally looks at herself in the mirror. She does look good.

* * *

::Aldous Reed looks exactly like you'd expect a man with that name to look::, Mulder decides as they are introduced to the opposition. Reed is probably in his early fifties, but he's never lost the air of hipster pretension so common to folks less than half his age. From his pointed Vandyke to his small framed glasses, it's clear that he's cultivated an image that he's proud of.

Perhaps Mulder's negative opinion of the man also stems from the withering look he gives them as they join him. "I see that the true believers have finally joined us," Reed remarks to Doctor Mary Greene.

Greene immediately shoots them an apologetic look.

"Is it true that you wasted our tax dollars for years whilst tilting at windmills?" Reed asks.

Neither Mulder nor Scully dignify the question with a response. Instead they begin a polite conversation with Greene while ignoring Reed's bellows at the hapless gopher in charge of providing them with coffee.

* * *

Mulder and Scully's Home  
Two Weeks Later  
7:57 p.m.

The brand new big screen TV is surrounded by a crush of small bodies, as all the kids insist they want to sit on the floor to watch the big show. Missy has decided to keep Ryan and Addy home, but Krycek has brought Emily over. She, Page, April, and Hannah beat the boys to the floor space directly in front of the TV, but Sammy and the twins are taking it well since someone had brought out every bean bag chair from the playroom and they've only been told to stop smacking people with them once.

Doggett and Reyes are sitting on the floor as well despite there being folding chairs in the offering; Krycek is the only one besides Michelle to actually deign to sit on one. Luke and Gibson are sitting with Byers, Langly, Frohike, and to everyone's surprise, Mrs. Scully who keeps up a cheerful conversation with the hackers and the teenagers. Mrs. Mulder doesn't seem to want to talk to the other guests, so she is unusually attentive to her two youngest grandsons, both of whom are sitting on her lap. Skinner and Kimberly aren't even sitting, though they occasionally move towards chairs before being distracted by conversations in the room.

"Who still needs popcorn?" Mulder asks, balancing a tray in his hands. Several of the kids say that they're "good" but some of the adults reach for the bowls.

Teliko and Piper hang around the humans with a hopeful air, until they stalk off in disgust when they realize that despite there being more than twenty people in the house, no one is going to fill their food dishes.

Bottles of soda and plastic cups make the rounds before Page loudly shushes the rest of the under-ten crowd in front of the TV. The older folks hush up too when the show's logo appears on the screen with a ringing noise. A woman's voice whispers "Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There" before the scene changes to reveal the quartet of panelists and their host.

Looking calmer than anyone has ever believed possible, Wayne Federman introduces the show. "I'd like to welcome you to the first episode of Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There. Jose Chung is no longer with us, but he is the pioneer of the non-fiction science fiction genre, and we've created this television show to honor the spirit of his work."

"Wow, he must have taken his Ritalin before the show," Skinner mutters, and most of the adults smile. "Did you know he was going to be the host?"

Both Mulder and Scully shake their heads, hard.

"I'd like to introduce our panel," Wayne says on screen. "Our experts in the paranormal, Fox Mulder and his lovely wife and former partner at the FBI, doctor Dana Scully." He then points at the other two, "And our professional skeptics, writer Aldous Reed and doctor Mary Greene."

The four thank him for his introductions, and he then goes on. "Tonight our topic of discussion is ghosts. Aldous Reed has volunteered to discuss the issue first."

Shooting Mulder and Scully a nasty look, he flatly states. "Anyone who believes in ghosts is a moron who shouldn't be allowed to live on their own."

Greene looks alarmed, and quickly says, "That's a rather dismissive attitude, Aldous. There are probably good reasons that so many people have reported seeing ghosts-"

"Because we have seen them," Mulder states, and on-screen Scully cringes.

"Sure. In the house," Sammy says before refocusing on the screen.

Reed leans forward. "And were you drinking at the time, Fox?"

"Of course not," Mulder snaps. He looks as if he's about to say something insulting, but the expression on Scully's face reigns him in.

In the living room, however, Luke gets outraged on his behalf. "What a tool."

"Luke," Doggett says warningly.

"Dad, he's right," Gibson pipes up. "That guy is a tool."

"Boys," Reyes attempts to back her boyfriend up, but it's clear that she's trying not to smile.

"Daddy, what's it mean when someone's a tool?" David asks, and half the adults groan.

"Oh, great," Doggett mutters. "You're teaching insults to preschoolers."

"I'll explain later," Mulder tells his little boy, hoping that he'll forget the question.

"Then perhaps you have some sort of mental illness?" Reed asks acidly.

On screen Mulder turns an amusing color, but it's his wife who responses to the writer. "New research suggests that inflexibility of thought can also be a sign of mental illness." Reed blinks, apparently shocked. "What I'd like to know is how you explain cases like the one my former partner John and I took a couple of years ago.

"We were called in because a boy who had disappeared ten years earlier had shown up at a playground, and looked like he did before he'd been kidnapped. Hundreds of people saw this boy, and we were even able to do some medical tests on him, before his body was discovered in the woods. How do you explain hundreds of people having identical hallucinations at different times? This couldn't be a case of mass hysteria, mind you, because people who were strangers to each other saw him at various times over the course of several days."

Reed sputters something in reply, and Greene admits that the case is unusual. But then Reed makes another snotty comment and they continue to argue until the closing credits are shown at the end of the hour.

"You guys sure won that one," Langly says before catching the trash bag that Frohike tosses him.

"No doubt," Byers agrees. "This was great, we'll definitely be watching you every week," he says as the trio departs after throwing away all the trash. Skinner and Kimberly are out the door seconds later.

"Yeah, what kind of idiot thinks that there aren't any such thing as ghosts?" Luke asks.

"Uh, you?" Gibson reminds him. "Don't you remember the camp-in?"

"Ha. I obviously was convinced that night, okay?" Luke smirks at him over the bean bag chairs he's gathered in his arms.

"Bed time!" Scully announces, and most of her children groan. Still on her mother-in-law's lap, the two youngest of the Mulder children are already asleep. Since the twins are nearly asleep on their feet as well despite their protests, Maggie and Michelle gather them up and follow Scully up the stairs.

Krycek and Doggett look at each other. "Yeah, we'd better be going soon too." Hannah and Emily both pout when the adults hasten the process by helping Luke and Gibson haul the bean bag chairs back into the other room.

* * *

Eventually Mulder and his mother are the only people in the room besides the sleeping toddlers. "Hey, Mom, let me take them," he says, reaching for his smallest sons.

"Not quite yet," Teena disagrees. "You know, I think your Dad and your uncle Saul would both be very proud of you, Fox."

"Uncle Saul would be too?" Mulder asks, surprised. "I never even got to meet him."

Teena shakes her head. "Yes you did, you just don't remember it."

"Really?"

"You know that your father and I lived here in DC up until I was expecting your sister, don't you?"

"Well, I know we moved when I was really little, but did we live anywhere near this neighborhood?"

"Not exactly. They tore it down decades ago but your preschool was just down the street from here. I didn't tell your father since I knew there was bad blood between them, but we used to stop by here once in a while and see your uncle. He asked me to bring you by, and I didn't have the heart not to."

"Wow."

"He thought you hung the moon, Fox. I just wish your father hadn't found out when you were almost four, because that put the end to the visits. It hardly came as a surprise to me that Saul left you this house, considering you were the only one of his nieces and nephews to spend any time here," Teena concludes.

"I always wondered why he did that. Thanks for clearing that up for me, Mom." Mulder bends and kisses her cheek.

"I probably should have told you sooner, but I didn't think of it until tonight," she says, and passes him Christopher. "Why don't we bring these two upstairs now?"

"Sure."

* * *

Later on, after everyone including Scully is in bed, Mulder goes back down stairs and stands in the dark. He looks around, but none of the ghosts seems interested in making a nocturnal appearance. Sighing, he whispers, "Uncle Saul, if you're still here, I'm sorry I forgot about you. And I hope Mom's right about you being proud of me too."

He thinks he catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look, nothing is there.


	118. The Salvatore File

August 10, 2002

"You've gotta help me," the pasty-faced man tells the agents. "I think somebody's gonna kill me."

Doggett merely raises his eyebrows at his partner, who gives him a wide-eyed look. "Who'd do somethin' like that?" he asks.

The man looks around, then hisses, "Is it safe?"

The FBI agent gives him a level look. "You're in a basement office with two fully armed agents. What's going on?"

Reyes says, "According to the lobby, this is Fitch Roberts, a toy company head."

"And founder," Roberts adds quickly.

She gives him a look, then holds up a small, generic memo paper with scribbles on both sides. "Who tried to sue the CIA for using his factory as a front to pay for weapons. He lost, and he brought his case to a local congressman in Florida, who recently died in a freak accident."

"It wasn't an accident!" Roberts says, exasperated. "You gotta believe me!"

It seems he's said this before, Doggett notes. "So who was the congressman?"

Reyes turns to him. "You might recognize him. Former '70s pop star turned politician State Senator Phil Salvatore." She nods at Doggett's expression. "Yeah, him."

Roberts pulls out a manila envelope from his jacket. "Here, everything I got is in here."

"I thought all the nuts rolled to California," Doggett mutters under his breath, opening the large envelope. There are a lot of accounting documents he could probably unload on Agent Harrison, copies of letters he sent to Salvatore and letters sent back, notes from the trial, and others that look like the ramblings of a madman. Thanks, Mulder, he thinks.

"Okay, Mr. Roberts," he says, "we'll take a look at this, but there's something I wanna know." The pasty man looks at him eagerly. "Who else died?"

Roberts blinks. "Nobody, just Mr. Salvatore."

"No attempts on your life, no threats," Doggett looks back at the papers, but he already knows there's nothing written, "nobody at your company in cahoots or killed?"

"N-no," Roberts says, "why?"

"What you're suggesting is a conspiracy involving a government agency using a seemingly benign company as a front for weapons armament and drug smuggling," he says seriously, "pretty heavy charges. And you're suggesting this same agency killed off a political figure, a somewhat prominent one at that, to silence you. According to your paperwork, you were allowed to go to trial, although the charges were dismissed at the end."

"It's because of them!" Roberts points his finger in the air.

"Uh-huh," Doggett comments, nonplussed. "You also appealed to a local politician, who seemed genuinely concerned about your plight, but you also raised the issue to the local media, who covered the story briefly." He holds up a taped-together article. "Why weren't any reporters killed?"

"They were bought off!" Roberts is shaking, not with fear, but anger. "They caved in to the wiles of the CIA!"

"Okay," Doggett says, "but like I said, you haven't been threatened personally. So far, you've been telling this story to everyone, but nobody's even sent you a death threat. I don't see a connection between Salvatore's death and your story."

The pale man looks stricken, then turns to Reyes, who shrugs a little. "He's right," Reyes says gently. "According to the reports, Salvatore's death was ruled accidental, caused by his head hitting a pole while water-skiing."

"They're wrong!" Roberts practically bawls, running out the door. "I'll show you!"

The door slams, and Reyes looks at Doggett. "I think you could've handled it a little better," she says.

"Look at this," he says, holding out a stack of handwritten notes. "Mulder makes more sense than this. Not by much, but he does."

Reyes takes the notes from him and frowns a little while reading it. "I could do a check on this," she says, "it's not every day we get to investigate a pop star's death."

"Former pop star," Doggett corrects her, "and are you serious?"

She smiles, tapping a pile of folders in the "out" box. "These all washed out, maybe this one could be an X-File," she says.

He rolls his eyes, but she's right. At least, it'll give him something to do to justify hanging out with Reyes.

* * *

A couple hours later, Doggett and Reyes are at the Mulder-Scully home, making their case to former agent Dana Scully. "We've even got your tickets, Dana," Reyes adds hopefully.

"You want me to do what?" Scully raises her eyebrows. "Look, I'm retired from the FBI, I'm pregnant with twins, and I really don't want to leave the kids," she ticks off her reasons on her fingers.

Reyes smiles and puts her hands over Scully's. "Yeah, but how often would you get to autopsy a politician and pop star, huh?" she says, her dark eyes bright.

Scully looks at Doggett, who shrugs. "We got a court order and everything," he says, "but if you can't make it, we could always bring in someone else." Reyes elbows him sharply. "Ow, what?" he asks, looking like his recalcitrant son at the moment while Reyes shakes her head.

"We could," she says smoothly, "but I'm afraid someone might leak this to the press. I trust you more than anyone else currently in forensics."

"Because I'm the only one you know from forensics," Scully snorts. "Monica, nice try, but I don't think so."

"What's up?" Mulder asks, coming into the living room with Christopher and April, who are both wanting to watch a certain cartoon for the ten thousandth time. "Let me guess, we're on babysitting duty."

"Not quite," Scully gives the FBI pair a look, "they want me to autopsy Phil Salvatore."

Mulder looks surprised. "The former '70s pop star?"

"And former politician," Scully nods. "Mulder, do we have to hang the word 'retired' on our door?"

He grins. "Actually, that sounds pretty cool. Like getting to autopsy JFK, if I remember the conspiracy theory about Salvatore," making his wife roll her eyes.

"Oh no, not you, too," Doggett groans. "It figures."

"Hey, it's good to keep your fingers on the pulse," Mulder shrugs and grins, then nods at his son pulling at his pant leg. "Okay, okay, hold your horses. Let's see, which one is it?" he teases.

"Daddyyyyy," Christopher whines and April fidgets impatiently.

"Sorry," he grins, then pulls out the videotape. "So, when's your flight?" he asks, looking at Doggett and Reyes, but not his wife.

"In the morning," Reyes says. "Dana? Are you in?"

Scully looks at her husband, who is being surrounded by more of their brood, and looking slightly surprised. Then she smiles at the nanny, who is walking in with the twins. "Michelle, keep an eye on things here," she says, "I'm going with John and Monica to Florida for a case."

"Cool," Mulder grins, "make sure to bring sunscreen."

"Shut up, Mulder," she makes a face, "you're helping me pack."

"Aye-aye," he salutes her smartly, then raises his eyebrows at Doggett and Reyes before following his wife.

Doggett looks at the children before looking at Reyes. "Do you think it's a good idea we leave the kids by themselves?" he asks her.

She shrugs. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He sighs, leading her out of there. "Please don't ask questions like that," he says, "you'll never like the answer."

* * *

Uncle Fitch's Fun Factory  
Jacksonville, Florida

The FBI agents have their sunglasses and sunscreen on, Doggett in a suit and tie, Reyes in a dark red blouse and black slacks. They walk into the factory, earning curious looks as they flash their badges to the security guard and get a map. "Can I get a copy of all your employees' names and addresses?" Reyes asks the human resources manager.

The guy, grinning at her with a bad sunburn, says, "Sure thing."

Doggett rolls his eyes while the guy opens a file and prints out the information. "Thanks," he says, taking it from Mr. Sunburn.

"Uh, yeah," the guy says, looking at Reyes. "Say, if you're free after..."

"I'm on duty," Reyes says crisply, smiling, "and I'm taken."

"Oh, sorry," the sunburnt man finally subsides.

As they walk down the hallway, Doggett groans. "I hope the other people here are more professional," he sighs.

Reyes smiles at him, more heartfelt this time. "I'm sure they are," she says, and makes a right turn through a hallway marked 'Accounting.' "John?"

"Yeah?" he says, his sharp blue eyes more aware of the various names on the doors than his partner.

"Ever get the feeling like we're being watched?" she says lightly.

"Once in a while," he replies, just as lightly as they walk into a brightly-lit room. They get the accounting ledgers from a dour-faced man, aware of the similarly pasty-faced workers in there. "Maybe they're friendlier on the floor," he comments as they head that way.

"It's too bad Roberts isn't here," Reyes says, "but then, I wonder what his employees think of him."

"They think he's a nutcase," a man says.

They spin around, their eyebrows raised at a hefty man in a blue jumpsuit and grey t-shirt. "Who are you?" Doggett asks.

"Floor manager, who're you?" the man responds, his arms crossed.

Doggett pulls out his badge. "FBI, John Doggett."

The man looks at the badge, then at the agent. His eyes flicker over to Reyes, who also has her badge out. "Nice. Looks like we got all types here."

"What do you mean?" Reyes asks, putting her badge away.

The floor manager shrugs. "Crazy guy's our boss, undercover cops working as plant workers, and now FBI. I'm surprised we got as many regular folks as we do."

"You have undercover here?" Doggett raises his eyebrows again, looking skeptical.

"Sid Holstein," the guy says, putting out a hand. "Yeah. Roberts thinks the CIA's up to something here, but the cops think it's the local mafia."

"And what do you think, Mr. Holstein?" Reyes asks him.

Holstein shrugs. "Damned if I know," he says, "we do pretty good, but that's only because we're busting our humps for a paycheck. Let them think what they want, I run a clean operation." He leads them into the factory, giving them hard hats.

There are workers everywhere, some inspecting the large machines' output, others with small tools working on fine details. "We do damn good work and we do it fairly," he says, a note of pride in his voice.

Doggett looks up at the sign on the wall displaying how many days gone without injuries. "Eight months," he remarks, "nice."

The floor manager raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, like I said, we do damn good work."

Reyes hands over the list of names. In a low voice, she says, "Can you note which ones are here?"

Holstein gives her an understanding look, then walks outside. "Some of them are my best workers," he says, taking out a red pen and underlining a few names. "You'd be surprised."

Knowing that a lot of the undercovers in the FBI have varied backgrounds, Reyes isn't surprised. "Thanks," she smiles warmly.

* * *

Meanwhile, Fitch Roberts, owner and founder of Uncle Fitch's Fun Factory, is running for his life in a darkened warehouse not too far from his factory. "Please," he begs, tripping as he goes around a corner, "don't!"

Two men are chasing him, but not very urgently. In fact, the way they go after him is less like professionals after a kill and more like cats playing with a mouse before they destroy it. "Take the side," one man in a suit and tie says to another similarly dressed. The second man nods, then covers the side, pointing his gun at the hapless Roberts who comes out with an almost comical surprised expression. The first man is suddenly at Roberts' side when he tries to run. "Don't," he tells the sweating prey. "It makes more of a mess."

Roberts looks from one sunglassed man to the other. "No, no!" the pasty-faced man gasps. "You can't do this!" he says, holding his hands up. "I'm innocent!"

The first man snorts a little. "You're funny," he says, and shoots Roberts point blank in the head, followed by the second man shooting him in the torso. Then he pulls out a cell phone and dials out while Roberts bleeds out. "Yeah, we need cleanup," he says, and hangs up. He jerks his head at the second man, and they leave as unnoticed as they came.

* * *

Back at the motel, the two agents are on the bed, doing their investigating horizontally. "Oh, my God," Reyes sighs, running a hand through her long dark hair, "this is too much." She wipes the sweat off her face and looks at her partner, who is similarly drenched.

"I can't believe it," Doggett groans between his laptop and his half of the employees list, "Mr. Sunburn is an undercover, too." He finally gives in, unbuttoning the first three buttons and pulls off his long-sleeved shirt, revealing the sweat-stained wife-beater underneath.

"I can," Reyes says, smiling in her tank top and shorts. The A/C conked out half an hour ago, and in spite of opening the windows and fanning themselves with papers, they're still sweating like crazy. Pulling her hair up, she grabs an elastic band and ties it up in a loose bun. "They have all sorts of people doing undercover."

"Yeah, well, I think he wanted to go undercover with you, if you know what I mean," he grumbles.

She laughs and throws her arms around him. "Baby, you know you're the only one I wanna be with," she says in a high-pitched voice, rocking him in her arms.

Doggett chuckles. "Okay, okay," he says, but doesn't make her let go, even though he's hotter than ever. "What say you we finish this list," he waves the papers, "and then we do something crazy?"

Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Crazy? Like what?"

"Eating ice cream in a freezer," he says, "I've been dreaming about that for the last ten minutes."

She laughs. "You're on," she smiles, and after they finish their respective lists, they go out and get some mostly-cold soda from the machine down the hall.

Doggett's cell phone rings as they head back to their room, and he raises his eyebrows at the number, then answers, "Doggett." He listens, and says, "Sure, we'll be right there." When he hangs up, he answers Reyes' unspoken question. "They found Roberts shot in a warehouse near his factory. Looks like a professional hit," he sighs, picking up the pace.

Reyes takes a large gulp of her Coke before opening the motel door. "You wanna call Scully, or should I?"

"You do it," Doggett nods his thanks before walking to the bed and grabbing his shirt, tie and jacket. "I gotta get dressed."

"Why?" Reyes says. "I like that look." She smiles and raises an eyebrow suggestively.

He rolls his eyes before heading to the bathroom. He's gotta at least wipe the sweat off before he puts on his work clothes.

* * *

"Sorry, Dana," Reyes says as they walk about the crime scene, "we've got another body for you." Doggett is on the side, talking to some of the local police while a couple of forensic techs are snapping photos of the dead man, who's lying on his side in a very uncomfortable position. Well, it would be uncomfortable if the man were still alive.

"Are you kidding?" Scully asks on the other line, looking at the open body on the autopsy table in front of her. She's thankful that there's no one attending, especially the original coroner who signed off on the first autopsy, because the rather-ripe corpse is starting to get to her rather-sensitive nose. The only good thing about this place is that it's nicely air-conditioned, as opposed to the rest of the state, it seems.

"Wish I were," the dark-haired woman sighs, lifting her sunglasses and putting them on the top of her head, "it's Fitch Roberts, the guy we started this case for." She wipes the sweat from her forehead, her mouth thinning a little as she looks down at the dead man.

"Wow," Scully says dryly, "how low-profile do you think this will stay?" So far, there's nothing that jumps out at her, since the head trauma is consistent with a water-skiing accident, or any sort of high-velocity impact, really.

"Fairly low, actually," Reyes answers, "conspiracy theories aside, Roberts wasn't high-profile. In fact, this body might've stayed undiscovered longer, except that a delivery company trucker drove to the wrong warehouse by mistake."

"Huh," Scully makes a monosyllabic comment, now looking at the former Salvatore with a more settled stomach. The skin discoloration's consistent with natural decay exacerbated by time spent in the water, but it could mask any sort of bruising. She picks up a prophylactic glove and pokes the left arm, noting the strange rubberiness of a formerly-bloated corpse.

Too bad there's no sign of any foul play, that would really make Mulder's day, she thinks flippantly, or make Roberts' death worthwhile. "What does the local PD have to say about Roberts' death?"

"They're saying it was a mob hit, but John's getting more details," Reyes replies. "I think they're also trying to get more information out of their undercovers, because nothing like this was supposed to happen on their watch."

"Or ours," Scully notes, her large eyes narrowing as she tilts her head to examine Salvatore's right shoulder. There's something about it that bugs her. "Sorry to cut this short, but I'm going to need both hands to turn Salvatore over," she tells Reyes, "I'm checking something out."

"Okay," Reyes says, "see you."

Scully hangs up, then pulls on a pair of gloves before turning the body over. Grunting, she does the best she can without breaking anything, and sighs with relief when the job is done. Then she grabs a camera and starts taking photos, then gets the original autopsy report and compares the photos with the body she sees before her.

Turning the recorder back on, she says, "According to the photos from the original report, there are no bruises or dislocation of the right shoulder." Then she squints hard at the photo in the report, then looks at the body again. "But neither is there a mole on the right shoulder on the body detailed in the report, and there is a mole on the body of Phil Salvatore before me. This coroner will consult with Mrs. Salvatore and confirm if this is her husband's body, and will also take x-rays of the body lying here. This coroner will also do a DNA test to reconfirm the identity of this corpse." She flips the body again, this time with more effort so as not to disturb the joints, and takes more photos.

* * *

"So, what's up?" Reyes asks when Doggett walks towards her.

Doggett's lips thin, never a good sign. "None of the undercovers got wind of this," he says, "no one even knew he was in town."

"Not even Holstein?" Reyes raises her eyebrows. "How is that possible?"

He shakes his head. "He said it wasn't unusual for Roberts to be gone days, even weeks at a time. Even the vice president, a Ralph Ramirez, is out of town, but at a business convention in New York."

"Great," Reyes makes a face. "So, aside from the mob theory, is there anyone else who'd want to kill him?"

"The CIA?" Doggett intones sarcastically.

She sighs. "John, seriously. This man is dead, and it's obviously not a suicide. Remember, we follow the leads, no matter how far-fetched they might be."

Doggett shakes his head. "Far-fetched is right," he mutters, as the forensic techs load the body and evidence into a van. Then his cell phone rings. "Doggett."

"John," Scully says in a low voice, "contact Mrs. Salvatore."

"What's this about?" he frowns.

"The body I have here," Scully says, her voice still low, "may or may not be Phil Salvatore. Ask the widow if he had a mole on his right shoulder and a, I think it used to be pink, birthmark on his left shin. I'm going to do a DNA test, just in case."

Doggett nods, "Sure thing." When he hangs up, he says, "Mon, join the corpse crew," he says, "this is getting weird."

"You think?" Reyes smiles, but joins the forensic team in their van.

Then Doggett sighs before getting into the rented car.

* * *

Trump International Hotel

A well-dressed Hispanic man strays away from the rest of his business group, relieved to be out of the morning panel. His stomach's been growling at him for the last half hour, and of course, the first panel doesn't have a buffet, those cheapskates. He walks towards the elevator at a brisk pace, figuring he's got time to get coffee and a bite to eat before the next panel.

A pair of hands grab him from the side, and he yelps when he finds himself in a dimly-lit hallway. He blinks quickly, and finds himself facing two men in matching shades and suits. "God, you scared me," he says, straightening his tie. "I told you I'd talk to you tonight."

"We don't need to, Ralph Ramirez," one of the men says, and shoots him a couple of times.

He slides down the wall, unaware he's leaving a very messy stain. His eyes are wide, looking for cameras, guards, anyone, but it's just him and the spooks. "Why?" he breathes.

They say nothing, but take his briefcase and cell phone. One of them takes his wallet, peruses it, then puts it back into his pocket, then steps back and shoots him in the head. They put their weapons back, carrying off his possessions as if it were their own, and walk away, unseen and unnoticed.

* * *

Doggett keeps the sunglasses on when he steps out of the car. This place is damn ostentatious for a house, and having lived in the South and New York, that's saying a lot. He takes a deep breath, unaware that his eyes are narrowed suspiciously behind his shades, and hits the doorbell.

"Yes?" a Hispanic woman in a maid's outfit answers the door, her accent thick with that one word.

"Is Mrs. Salvatore in?" he asks.

She nods. "What is your name?" she says, her eyes wide.

He opens his badge. "Agent John Doggett, I'm here to talk about her late husband."

If that woman's eyes could get any bigger than they are now, he's not sure he wants to see it. The maid nods quickly, then turns and fairly runs inside. He walks in after her, guessing she probably thinks he's with INS or something. Looking around, it doesn't seem like a man lived here at all, with all the flowers, fancy vases, and even fancier paintings and furniture. The floor's a white marble, and the air condition's a welcome change to the temperature he's been experiencing ever since he stepped off the plane.

"Yes?" a woman's voice startles him.

Doggett turns to see a thin woman, her dyed-black hair pulled up in a bun, wearing tasteful business clothes. This looks a like a woman who's stepped into the political realm, all right, he thinks, having seen more than his fair share of the type.

"Agent John Doggett," he re-introduces himself, flashing his badge briefly, "I'm working on a case that may be related to your late husband, Mrs. Salvatore."

"Senator Salvatore," she corrects him, her large dark eyes barely flickering at the badge or the title. "What about?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," he says, using a standard line, "but I was wonderin', did your husband have a mole on his right shoulder?"

Apparently, she hasn't gone in for Botox or plastic surgery, since her eyebrows go up and her forehead wrinkles. "Um, yes, I believe so," she says.

"And a birthmark on his right shin?" he presses.

She shakes her head. "It was his left shin," she says. "What's this about?" she asks, more sharply.

His lips thin, writing the answers in a notebook he keeps purely for show. "It looks like your late husband was definitely involved," he says vaguely, "thank you very much, ma'am." Then he nods briefly before leaving, making a mental note to himself to look up the current State Senator Salvatore's background and current dealings.

When he gets in the car, he makes another call. "Hey, guys," he says, "I want you to do me a favor."

As usual, there's a pause before there's an answer. "No habla Ingles," the masked voice says, "se habla Espanol."

"Very funny," Doggett makes a face, "don't worry, you'll get paid."

"Now you're talking," Frohike says, his vocabulary unmistakable, even if he's running his voice through a mixer. "Let me guess, cell trace, background checks, the works?"

"How'd you know?" Doggett frowns, heading towards the forensic lab where Scully and Reyes are.

"A mutual friend gave us a heads-up on your case," Langly's nasally voice jumps in. "Don't worry, nobody can tap this call. At least from our end."

"Great," Doggett says dryly. "I need you to look up a few names, like the late and the current State Senator Salvatores."

"We're already in progress on the first," Byers' clipped voice chimes in, "you say the current as well?"

"Yeah," Doggett says, taking the freeway exit, "and there's also a whole list I'd like you boys to go through. Think you're up to it?"

"Please, you're talking to the masters here," Frohike brags, "we're looking forward to the paycheck."

"Thanks," Doggett says before hanging up. Then he hits speed dial.

"Reyes," she answers, and there's some crazy loud music in the background.

"Mon, tell Scully's that's the right body," he says, raising his voice, "what's going on?"

Instead of answering, Reyes says, "John, she says thanks, she's almost done with the second body."

"What?" Doggett frowns, because even Scully can't work that fast.

"We'll tell you more when we see you," she yells as if she's in a dance club, "but could you swing by the motel and get the files? It could be unsafe leaving them there."

His eyes narrow. He's got the files right with him, she even saw him tucking it into his jacket pocket. Something's definitely up. "Don't worry," he says, "I put them inside the room safe."

"Oh, good," she says, sounding relieved. "See you soon."

He hangs up, wondering what the hell's going on.

* * *

Getting to the forensic lab as fast as he could without breaking the speed limit was no mean feat, but he managed it, thank you very much. "What the hell's going on?" Doggett hollers, once he gets past a disgruntled forensic team and through the doors. It's also strange that they're playing some uncensored rap music on a stereo set to nearly level eleven.

Neither woman goes to turn off the stereo, or turn it down to a more bearable level, but Reyes locks the door behind him. "You've still got them, right?" she whispers in his ear while Scully is murmuring into a recorder in between pulling out various organs like a magician doing a gruesome trick.

His eyes widen, catching on, and he nods. He jerks his head at the covered windows. "What's she find?"

"First autopsy report's been tampered with," the dark-haired woman replies, "she's waiting on the DNA tests." She turns away to look at the redhead and sighs. Turning back to him, she says in his ear, "It's also very likely that the body was tampered with as well, having been dumped in the water after he was dead."

He stares at her. "After?" he says, and she nods. "What the hell's going on?"

She smiles, but there's no warmth in it. "You're repeating yourself," she murmurs.

And now Doggett regrets bringing Scully in on this, since now she's not only a private citizen, but a pregnant woman as well. Mulder would kill him if anything happened to her, if he didn't beat him to it. "Make sure you're with her at all times," he says.

"She's got a registered weapon," Reyes tells him, "but I will."

He nods, then pulls out the folders and his cell phone. He punches in a few numbers, then he starts texting as fast as he can, going name by name on the list given to them. When he catches Reyes's curious gaze, he answers, "The boys are on it, too," and she nods, taking the second paper and starts texting as well.

He continues to laboriously type away, his face a grim mask, and hopes Agent Harrison can write this part of his phone bill off, because it's going to be a monster. When he runs out of space, he hits send, then continues on.

And so they continue their work in silence, while Scully works on Roberts' body, while rap music is pounding away inside the autopsy room and a disgruntled coroner is pounding outside the door.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Doggett and Reyes are escorting Scully back to the airport. "You're crazy, you know that?" Doggett murmurs as they drop her off.

Scully shakes her head. "Fortunately, there are some people at Quantico I can trust," she says, "it's you two I'm worried about."

He makes a face. "As soon as I know you're back at home safe and sound, that's when I can rest easy," he says, putting her luggage on a coin-operated cart.

"Mulder's picking me up at the airport, so everything should be good there, and your kids are with ours," she says, "just a reminder, if you can't keep everything on your person, keep it safe."

Reyes and Doggett nod, and the tall woman gives the shorter woman a hug. "See you, Dana," she smiles.

Scully smiles back. "I thought I'd miss this sort of thing, but now I know I really don't," she says, and pushes her luggage cart into the terminal.

The two agents watch the small woman until she disappears from sight, then a security officer tells them, "Hey, if you're not dropping off, move along." They do what he says, and hopes that the two bodies, well-cushioned and hidden inside Scully and Reyes' long suitcases, will make it to Quantico, but more than that, they hope that Scully makes it home safely.

And now they're in a new rental car, having inspected it thoroughly for bugs, and wondering if their new room is going to be ransacked as well. After they'd snuck the bodies out of the lab, Scully took them to a gadget store and bought a few items, and they'd come back to two thoroughly-ransacked rooms.

She didn't seem as surprised as they were, and proceeded to debug as much as she could, from their clothes to their personal appliances, and thanks to Doggett's lock-picking skills, they'd disposed of the bugs in the two rooms above theirs.

"I can't do electronics," she'd shrugged on their way back to their messy rooms, "but take them back to that store and I'm sure they can help you out."

"Did you learn that from Mulder?" Reyes had asked.

She'd made a face. "That, and plenty of experience," she'd sighed. "Something I'm afraid you'll learn for yourselves the longer you stay with the X-Files."

And then they'd packed the bodies away in the two women's luggage. "Remind me not to piss either of you off," Doggett had said, meaning it.

The women had laughed, but Scully had said, "Whatever you do, trust each other, because that's the only thing you can do from here."

* * *

But they can't rest easy yet, because they've got to check Robert's home for any clues, if it hadn't been ransacked as well. So here they are, in a dingy part of town, flashlights out and guns at the ready. Doggett picks the lock, while Reyes keeps an eye out, but it doesn't seem like this is the kind of neighborhood that would call the cops. "Clear," he finally says, flipping on a light switch, but putting a finger to his lips. She nods, and they carry their equipment inside.

Turns out, Fitch Roberts has his own anti-bugging equipment, and the place, while messy, has a kind of order, with everything in piles, newspapers, clothes, books, even Chinese takeout cartons. Looking around, Doggett has a feeling this might be what Mulder's place would look like if he didn't have a family and a house, and turns on the equipment, doing a thorough sweep of the living room and taking pictures before they touch anything.

Reyes does the same for the man's bedroom, which looks more like a storage area for books and magazines, along with some oddly-designed toys. She takes out on that looks like a stretchy plastic doll. "Check this out," she says, and pulls at the elastic man's arm.

Doggett rolls his eyes. "Figures," he says, "it's clean."

She nods at the bedroom. "There, too. Play time," she smiles.

He snorts, taking the toy out of her hands. "Later. Let's see if he left anything useful."

"Like that?" she points to a corkboard covered in newspaper clippings. "I took quite a few shots, but basically, it's all about Salvatore's death, plus any CIA activity mentioned in Florida, which isn't much, and some printouts of online conspiracy stories dealing with the CIA."

"Fine," he sighs. "Let's see it." He walks inside, and sure enough, there it was, joined by its twins on the other walls. "Unbelievable," he says, his eyes narrowed as they skim through the various headlines. "This guy makes the Gunmen look normal."

"Maybe that's why he got killed," Reyes comments, and he spins around. She shrugs, then goes back to squinting at some article printouts. "It's a theory."

"If that's the case, why'd they let him walk for so long?" he asks. "Roberts must've done something or pissed someone off more than usual. I wanna know what that is."

Reyes stops her perusal of the articles. "Maybe it's us."

"Us?" Doggett snorts. "Monica, much as I'd like to think we work for a higher power, working the basement office isn't that scary, especially if we're dealing with some mobsters."

"Who said anything about the mob?" Reyes presses her point. "Granted, we may be in a rather esoteric location," and he snorts again, "but we're still part of the FBI. And there are still some people who may be nervous about what we represent. After all," she says, pulling off a few articles from the board, "they killed off a politician. If they can kill someone with a somewhat high-profile like that, as well as a conspiracy nut, who's to say they won't stop at popping off a couple of feds?"

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asks, and she nods. "All right. Operating under that crazy assumption," and now she snorts, "it seems like we're gonna have to do bug sweeps every time we enter a room." He takes down quite a few articles himself, and stuffs them into a "Times" magazine.

"You search me and I'll search you," she smiles suggestively.

"Don't give me ideas," he grins, then pulls her out of the bedroom, "or I'll personally knock off every damn book and magazine off that bed and put it to good use."

She laughs as he drags her out of there. "I hope you're taking us to the hotel," she says, "where we've got a bed for just that purpose."

"What do you think?" he asks, making her laugh again, and kisses her. "Shhhh, you'll wake the neighbors," he mock-scolds her before kissing her again.

She gives him a look, "Some of them are loud enough to wake the dead, but you're sweet."

They turn off the lights, then look up and down the street before checking the car for bugs. Reassured the car's clean, they steal kisses in the car on the drive to the hotel.

* * *

"Home sweet home," Doggett remarks, as they open the hotel door, both of them unconsciously holding their breaths as he does so.

They step into the room, but find it's as pristine as they left it. They look at each other, and without another word, they both sweep their room for bugs. Doggett and Reyes find nothing except perhaps the occasional stain covered by furniture, but that's it. Then they breathe a sigh of relief, sitting heavily on the bed.

"How do they do it?" Reyes wonders, flopping backwards, staring up at the ceiling. "James Bond never had to do room sweeps every time, he just had to sleep with the chick of the day or fight off the bad guy. Easy."

Doggett laughs, brushing her dark hair off her face. "You notice that the bad guys sometimes had some crazy secret weapon to try and kill him," he says, then smirks, "and sometimes, the chick of the day was the bad guy."

She makes a face. "Yeah, well, he also had stunt doubles and we don't, which is totally unfair."

He nods, leaning over her. "Good thing we don't need stunt doubles for this," he says in a low voice, then kisses her.

She wraps her arms around his neck, smiling. "Mm, nice," she comments. "I could get used to this part of the James Bond life."

He chuckles, unbuttoning her top. "James Bond would wet his pants if he had to deal with a family," he says, pulling a bra strap down, "or have a breakdown with our job."

She laughs, pulling off his tie before working on his shirt. "He would, wouldn't he?" Reyes smiles, then tugs at his belt. "You need your pants off, mister."

He raises his eyebrows, then does as she says. "Better?" he asks, sitting in his boxers.

She's already topless, and the desire in her eyes coupled with a wicked grin, makes him think he's the luckiest son of a gun in the world. "Hm, maybe," she says, and yanks off his underwear. "Okay, much better," and she laughs.

*edit* when his cell phone rings. "Unh, turn it off," Reyes sighs, her eyes closed and her fingers digging into his back.

He glances at the phone, removing his mouth from her breast. "If it's important, they'll leave a message," he mumbles,

*edit* "Damn," he growls, knocking the phone off the bed when it rings again. "Don't these people have a life?"

"Not as big as yours," Reyes moans, and they continue with their business.

Then his phone rings again, and they both groan, but not out of sexual release, but from sexual frustration.

Doggett groans, answering the phone. "This better be good," he growls after seeing the number.

The digitally-altered voice says, "Don't worry, it's great."

Doggett sighs, giving Reyes and her gorgeous body a longing look before pulling his boxers back on with his free hand. "What's up, guys?"

* * *

"You're not gonna believe this," Langly's nasally voice practically cuts through the digital masking. "But your Mr. Ralph Ramirez is on CIA payroll."

"What?" Doggett's blue eyes fly open. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack," Frohike interjects. "Of course, he's not the only one."

"Quit stringin' me along and just tell me," Doggett growls, zipping up his pants.

"Approximately twenty employees in various positions are being paid quite handsomely by said organization," Byers' precise diction comes on. "Approximately, because there are a few we're triple-checking on for other sources of income."

"Oh, goody," he sighs. "So, mind sending us the names and what they're getting paid for?"

"That's easy," Langly says, "the names are in your e-mail and they're getting paid to kill Castro."

Doggett nearly drops his phone. "You're kidding," he finally says when he finds his voice.

"Nope," Frohike smirks. "You think Central Intelligence stopped their death plots in the '60s? Typical naivety."

"Shut up," he grumbles. "It just sounds like, well..."

"One of our crazy stories, yeah, yeah," Langly mutters. "But this is an X-File, so deal with it. Happy reading."

Doggett blinks when they hang up, then sighs when Reyes steps out of the bathroom, fully dressed. "Dammit," he sighs, "didn't 007 get more sex time?"

Reyes chuckles and pats his back. "Poor baby," she says, "hey, the sooner we wrap this up, the sooner we get back to business." She smiles, then pulls out her laptop. "So, what'd the boys say?"

He gives her a look. "He says Ramirez and about twenty other factory workers are getting paid to kill Castro."

She looks at him, surprised. "You're kidding, right?" she says, a smile on her face.

He shakes his head, pulling out his own laptop. "I wish," he says, heartfelt. "This thing is getting crazier by the minute."

She nods, then types in her password. "And to think you nearly turned this case down."

"Ha, ha," he mutters. "I'm just wondering how they got from 'CIA payroll' to 'kill Castro'."

"What, that's not the first thing that comes to mind when you hear 'CIA payroll'?" she quips, and he groans.

And for the rest of the night, they're hard at work on the bed, but just not the way they planned.

* * *

Ralph Ramirez Residence  
8:54 a.m.

"This is ridiculous," Mrs. Selina Ramirez, a short, busty woman tells the FBI agents when they present their badges and a subpoena. "Come in, but you won't find anything."

"Thank you," Doggett says, stepping inside and tucking his badge into his jacket. He pulls his sunglasses off, but his eyes are still narrowed. He looks at Reyes, who's talking with Mrs. Ramirez in a low voice, then walks into a room that appears to be an office.

He looks around, seeing how much better this guy's place looks than, say, Fitch Roberts. Then again, it seems Ramirez took the business part of his job seriously, while Roberts was the more creative, or crazy, head. "Stranger partnerships have happened," he mutters, going through Ramirez' desk. He opens desk drawer after desk drawer, nothing really jumping out at him, until he comes across one drawer that's locked. "Bingo," he mutters, and whips out his lock-pick tools. He opens it to find a gun lying on top of quite a few folders. "Jackpot."

And he pulls on a pair of prophylactic gloves, going through page after page. It's almost too easy, he thinks, and then he jumps to his feet, shoving the papers back into their files and shoving them into his jacket. "Mrs. Ramirez," he says, pausing when he can't find her in the foyer. Then he finds his partner with the suspect's wife in the kitchen, "Mrs. Ramirez, when was the last time you talked to your husband?"

The short woman blinks, taking the coffee cup from her lips. "Yesterday," she says. "It was between panels, so he couldn't talk long."

"You sure that was your husband?" he asks.

She stares at him. "What are you saying?" she asks, her face controlled.

Reyes looks from the woman to her partner, putting down her coffee cup. "Agent?" she asks, also curious.

"I'm saying that you should call your husband," Doggett says, feeling his gut tighten with a terrible suspicion. "Please."

Mrs. Ramirez stares at him, and looks at Reyes, who nods at her. Then she takes the cordless phone off the hook and dials. She waits, unaware that she's tapping the counter with her right hand. "Honey, oh," she sighs, and then waits. "Ralph, this is Selina. Please call as soon as you can. Love you." She hangs up, forcing a smile on her face. "He's probably at a panel," she says.

"Mrs. Ramirez, do you know anything about your husband's work?" he asks.

"I know that he was the real head of Uncle Fitch's Factory," she says, with a note of pride. "Fitch, he invented all those toys, but Ralph's the one who made it successful. He was even talking about buying out Fitch before he flew out."

"He did?" Doggett says, and Reyes's eyebrows go up, also surprised. "So Roberts knew about this?"

She nods. "He and Ralph were still going over the details, but it looked like things were okay." She pauses. "Well, before Fitch," and she shakes her head, waving her hand.

"Yeah," Reyes nods. Then she pulls out her cell phone. "I've got a couple of friends in New York," she says as she dials, "they can check on that conference. What was the hotel again?" she asks.

Mrs. Ramirez tells her, "Trump International Hotel."

Reyes nods again, then turns away. Doggett looks at the woman, but doesn't know what to say. After all, it's just his gut feeling. That, and the gun lying in the locked drawer. Usually, men don't keep guns in a difficult-to-reach part of their desk if they feel the need to have one in their office, from his experience, at least. A part of him reasons that Ramirez probably wanted to keep it safe from his son, and he asks, "Do you have a safe, maybe in the bedroom?"

She shakes her head. "I think he has one at the factory."

He sighs. Dammit, there goes that theory. "And you wouldn't happen to know the combination, would you?" he asks, but not hopeful. She shakes her head again. Great. Then again, the gun might not be his, and he could be jumping to conclusions. He texts the Gunmen, asking them to check the serial number.

"Reyes, I'm going back to the factory," he says, and she nods. He doesn't know what to say to Mrs. Ramirez, so he merely nods his head before leaving, and hopes that the guy's office there hasn't been flipped yet.

* * *

The Salvatore Mansion  
The Same Time

"Look, I did what you asked," Senator Salvatore says, looking more vulnerable in her robe and nightgown. To say this was a surprise visit is an understatement, judging by the lack of makeup and decent wardrobe on her person. "The FBI agents know nothing."

The two men, both in shades and suits, look at each other. "We know," one man says. "We came to say thanks." Then he pulls out his gun and shoots her in heart and stomach.

As she staggers backwards, she gasps, "No, wait, I can help." Her eyes are wide and her arms are outstretched, a far cry from the strong and polished politician she appeared to Doggett the day before.

The second man simply shoots her in the head for her troubles. "Thanks," he says, and they turn, putting their weapons away, and walk out, leaving behind the unconscious maid and disabled security system. They drive off in her car, unnoticed by anyone in that ritzy neighborhood because everyone has a black limo there.

* * *

A couple of hours later, the safe in Ralph Ramirez' office has been broken open, and Doggett's poring through the contents. Of course, he went through the rest of the office while the locksmith was working on the safe, so he's got lots of pictures, but nothing really incriminating. With his luck, he'd have to get someone in tech to get to Ramirez' accounts to confirm legally what the Gunmen gave him through, well, less than legal means.

So far, it looks like an accounting of the twenty employees that the Gunmen gave him, but nothing on Ramirez himself. Dammit. Then his cell rings, and he answers, "Doggett."

"John, they found him," Reyes says tersely.

Doggett's guessing by the wailing in the background that it's not good news. "He's dead, isn't he," he says, rather than asks.

"Yeah," she says, "and according to the forensics, there's no way he could have made that call to his wife. They didn't find his cell phone, by the way."

"Figures," he mutters. "Well, Ramirez has a lot of dirt on his employees, especially the flagged ones," he tells her. "Hey, Mon?"

"Yeah?"

Doggett sighs, hating to ask. "Ever get the feeling like you're being played?" he asks.

"What?"

She sounds more curious than annoyed. "I found all sorts of stuff in Ramirez' home office, including a gun," he tells her, "and now I've got all sorts of dirt from the safe here, but nothing on Ramirez. Hell, nothing on Fitch, either, but I'm guessing that Ramirez didn't think Roberts was worth bothering with, financially speaking."

"Considering that he sunk most of his finances in a lawsuit against the CIA, plus his traveling and research expenses, he probably didn't have that much," Reyes remarks. Then her voice fades as she says, "Mrs. Ramirez, do you want to lie down? Here, let me get you some water." Then the sound is muffled, and after a minute or two, she comes back. "Sorry, I had to give her a sedative. Judging by the well-stocked medicine cabinet, I'm guessing this isn't the first time he gave her grief."

"But it might be the last," Doggett says. "I hope."

"I hope so, too," Reyes says. "Because people are getting killed left and right. Oh, and Scully's okay."

"Well, there's some good news," he sighs. "Remind me to put her on the budget."

"Oh, I won't let you forget," she chuckles, the first bright sound he's heard since feeling everything's gone to hell in a hand basket. "Hey, John?"

"Yeah?"

"You mind if I forward our findings to the Gunmen? I want to make sure nobody erases everything."

He senses, rather than hears, the caution and pessimism in her warm voice. She thinks we're next, he thinks, but it's not surprising, since that's what he thinks, too. "Sure," he says, and his phone beeps. "Sorry, I got another call."

"Take care," she says, "I'm going to stay with Mrs. Ramirez until the cops come in."

"You take care, too," he says, then switches to the new caller. "Doggett."

"This is Detective Danny Garcia," a slightly nasally voice says, and it takes only a second for him to place the name to the cop he talked to yesterday at Roberts' crime scene. "You can turn on any channel, but just to let you know, Mrs. Salvatore's dead."

"What?" Doggett dislodges the papers on the desk. Fortunately, Ramirez has a TV in his office, and he turns it on. And the local news station is showing the very same mansion he stepped into yesterday, with a shot of a body being carried out, the high heeled-covered feet sticking out of the sheet like a gruesome parody of the Wizard of Oz witch. "Not suicide?" he says.

"Hell, no," Garcia says. "The nice big sheet is covering another plastic sheet, which is hiding three shots, two to the chest and one to the head."

"Mind sending that body to Quantico?" Doggett asks.

"Uh, sure," Garcia says, and Doggett watches the hefty detective wave and yell at the ambulance crew on TV, and then Garcia says, mildly breathless, "Agent, you there?"

"Yeah," Doggett says, "I see you're in there, too."

"Ha, ha," the detective says. "So, I take it this is a federal case now?"

"The way things are looking, yeah," Doggett says, "but it looks like this is still a very local operation." Then what Reyes said earlier, about people dropping left and right, is coming back to haunt him sooner than he wants. "Any ideas who'd do something like this?"

"She wasn't in office long enough to make that kind of enemies," the detective tells him, "but I can find out."

"Thanks," Doggett says, then hangs up. He flips through the channels, but finds they're all just repeating themselves with the breaking story. "If it bleeds, it leads," he murmurs the old saw about the news. Then he turns off the news, calling another news source.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Doggett asks.

"There was nothing in Mrs. Salvatore's file that indicated she'd get killed next, there's no connection whatsoever," Byers says through the digital voice filter.

Doggett groans. "Well, look again," he says, "there's gotta be something you guys missed."

"Hey, are you dissing our work?" Frohike jumps in.

"I'm just sayin', double-check," Doggett attempts to placate him. "Ramirez and Mrs. Salvatore turning up dead is kinda unexpected, you know?"

"We're on it, we're on it," Langly can be heard in the background, "I'm not sure what Mrs. Salvatore had to do with all of this, there's nothing so far that says she had CIA ties, other than that her husband got killed by them."

"Jury's still out on that," Doggett sighs. "Besides, the missus could've been a mob hit."

"Yeah, and we'll find Jimmy Hoffa working in McDonald's," Frohike grumbles. "You do the fibbie stuff, we'll stick to our stuff."

"Fine by me," Doggett says, "thanks, guys."

"Yeah, yeah," Frohike says, "make sure you stay alive long enough to pay us."

"That's not-" Byers starts to complain about his comrade's less-than-polite contract demand but apparently, Frohike cut the connection.

Doggett snorts. He doesn't intend on dying any time soon. Besides, the selfish part that thinks between his legs says he hasn't gotten nearly enough bed time with Reyes to justify death yet.

* * *

Doggett is going down the list of undercovers, both for the local police and for the CIA, against those who have clocked in for the day. So far, everyone's checked in, at least according to their timecards.

Then he turns to a long-haired, bespectacled girl in the Human Resources office. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where," he pauses, looking up Mr. Sunburn's real name, "Jason Pettig would be, would you?"

The girl, whose nameplate declares her as Janice Hope, rolls her eyes. "He comes in, he goes out, of course never bothers to clock in his lunch or break times," she sighs. "Just because this is a toy factory, everyone thinks they can play around."

Then Doggett takes another look at the timecards, pretty much all of which have been punched in. "Anyone other than Fitch Roberts and Ralph Ramirez not on timecards?"

She shakes her head. "They're the, I mean, they were the heads, so they went on salary. The rest of us are hourly."

Doggett's eyes scan the timecards, which, according to his mental math, add up to the total employees. "Wow. I'm surprised that managers aren't on salary, too."

The long-haired girl gives him a thin smile. "There's no union here, which raises red flags for the cops. Probably why we get raided every so often, but one thing about us, we're all legal."

Citizen-wise, at least, Doggett thinks cynically, but as for true full-time workers, this place is a mess. "So there's no guarantee that any of these people are actually working?" he says incredulously.

She nods. "The first day you and the other agent came in, of course we were on our best behavior," she rolls her eyes again. "Any surprise visits like today, well," and she shrugs. "No wonder our company's going down the toilet."

He raises his eyebrows. "Janice, out of all the timecards here, how many employees are actually on the job?"

"Look around and count for yourself," she waves at the door, "see you in a few minutes."

And to his dismay, it takes about that long to actually find less than ten percent of the staff actually working, and it was still morning. Jeez, this is worse than a state job, he thinks, heading back to the Human Resources office. "Ha, ha," he says.

No wonder Ramirez and the others are working for the CIA, if the regular job sucked that much. Not even Holstein was around, since he was also listed as on CIA payroll, surprise, surprise. He's surprised the factory's still running, since it's practically a front, period. "So who's running the place now that Roberts and Ramirez are gone?"

She shrugs. "No idea," she says. "But we've all got at least one or two other jobs, so it's no big."

Good night, he groans inwardly, as he says outwardly, "Good to know. Thanks." She gives him an ironic smile, and he leaves, then calls the Gunmen. "Guys, the payroll folks are gone."

"That's not the only thing," Frohike says, his voice masked. "The links we had to the CIA are nonexistent now. Langly's trying other backdoors, but those bastards are erasing everything. Don't worry, we've got backup," he says quickly, "but since it's not linked to anything concrete, we might as well be linked to Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy."

"Great," Doggett sighs, "if they're cleaning up, that means they're done. And with no definite suspects, we might as well be chasing down Santa and the Tooth Fairy."

"But you've got evidence," Byers says, "the bodies and the files, correct?"

Doggett sighs. "The files only point to the twenty employees being bought out, but no specifics on the source," he says, "and I'm sure if you trace the accounts, it could point to anything between the cops, the mafia, and everyone in between."

"He's right on that," Langly's voice is heard in the background. "It's like they're all dummy accounts. Dammit, we've been screwed!"

"And they're getting away with it," Doggett says dully. "Without any real suspects or probable cause, it's like these people magically got killed." He sighs, hating this.

He thought once he left the force to join the FBI, he'd get more information, more hard evidence to nail the bad guys, but it's the same game, just with bigger stakes. Instead of scared neighbors, blasé passersby and self-interested pushers and pimps, it's scared families, blasé company workers, and self-interested government agencies. And now he knows how Mulder and Scully felt like, whenever they came to a dead end because of higher-ups within and without their own agency. "This sucks."

"Yeah, sorry, man," Frohike says before hanging up.

* * *

"Please, tell me Scully found something good," Doggett says when he sees Reyes at the Ramirez home.

She shakes her head. "There's definite evidence that they were shot and killed by two people, judging by the direction of the wounds, but aside from that, the killers were very careful to leave no trace behind. There were no surveillance cameras to record their images, there's no telling whether it was a man or woman who did it, no bullets left behind to narrow down the caliber, although Scully's leaning towards a high caliber hand gun, and no clue as to where they're from."

"It's like we're chasing ghosts," Doggett grumbles, "or as Frohike put it, Santa and the Tooth Fairy."

"Even ghosts have a history," Reyes smiles, but it's a pessimistic one, "and I'm sure even Santa and the Tooth Fairy would've left more evidence behind."

"Probably," Doggett mutters. "And the guys gave me more bad news: their links and online information disappeared."

"What?" Reyes' eyebrows nearly reach the top of her head. "You're kidding, right?"

He shakes his head. "They copied the info, of course, but without actual links tying them to the CIA, they might as well be writing a tabloid story."

"Dammit!" Reyes explodes. "We won't let them get away with this!"

He gives her a look, sympathetic, but weary. "If we don't have any specific names or real people tied down, they will get away with this." As her eyes narrow and her arms cross, he goes on, "Look, we're gonna hold on to the bodies, okay? And the files, what we've got. It ain't much, but it's something, and when one of them slips up, which I'm sure they will sooner or later, we're gonna nail those bastards." Then he looks up at the ceiling. "In the meantime, we're gonna have to tell Mrs. Ramirez the bad news."

Reyes leans heavily against the kitchen counter. "Fine," she says, "but this sucks."

"Big time," he agrees, then takes her elbow and leads her upstairs to talk with the widow.

* * *

Less than a week later, Uncle Fitch's Fun Factory is closed down, what little of its assets have been liquidated, and its workers scattered, most of whom left the same day Doggett broke open Ramirez' safe. The bodies are still in Quantico's morgue, and the retrieved files, along with copies of the information the Lone Gunmen gathered, are in a secure location.

In spite of all this, Doggett and Reyes have more questions and not enough answers. Did Roberts somehow get too close to the truth, or scare one more person he shouldn't have? Why was the new Senator Salvatore killed, did she know too much, or did she have another connection? And why did they take Ramirez out, was he too much of a loose end? And why was the factory riddled with so many double-agents? And who exactly killed Roberts, both Salvatores, and Ramirez, anyways?

"Well, you wanted a case," Reyes says diplomatically, sipping her rum and Coke.

"Yeah, next time I'll specify that I also wanted to take down some bad guys," Doggett grumbles before swallowing a large gulp of Jack Daniels, his fourth for the night. "Preferably with my boot up their asses."

She laughs. "Since when do you wear boots, John?"

He pouts over his drink. "Since those CIA pricks practically got away with murder, that's what," he says. "I don't care if they want to kill Castro or cure cancer, they can kiss my *ss."

"Good to know," she shakes her head, then takes another sip of her drink. "Make sure to wear Dr. Scholl's so you don't develop weird foot problems. And I'm sure it wasn't the entire CIA behind this, just a small, clandestine part of it. The president probably doesn't even know about it."

"The president don't know a lot of things," he retorts. "Mon, I do believe you're sloshed, if you're thinking so pragmactac... pragmeg... straight," he finishes, trying to ignore his tongue tripping.

She laughs at him, slapping him on the shoulder. "I think you, are, too," she giggles, "but you've had more to drink than I did."

He makes a face. "I don't like drinks with umbrellas," he growls.

"But they're so cute," she says, and sticks the tiny pink umbrella behind her ear.

Doggett snorts, pulling it out. "And you're silly," he says, a fond, if drunk, grin on his face.

She leans over and kisses him. "So are you," she says, "but I still love you."

"Love ya, too," he murmurs, then pulls her in for a longer kiss.

The kiss doesn't stop there, and they kiss again, and again, their hands going lower and lower, until she pulls away. "John, I don't think they'll let us make out at the bar," she says breathlessly.

The bartender nods wearily. "This goes on your tab," he mumbles as they stagger towards the elevator.

They make it to their room, stumbling more than a few times, before landing face-first on the bed. Reyes is too wiped and drunk to really do anything other than snore, and Doggett has enough presence of mind to set the alarm so they can catch their red-eye flight out of the bright hellhole known as Florida. The last words he mumbles before sleep takes him is, "Stupid CIA."


	119. Overdue

Mulder and Scully's Home  
August 17th, 2002

Since no one knows for sure which date is Addy's actual birth date, Missy and Krycek decide to celebrate her birthday as the seventeenth of August based on Scully's recall that the girl seemed to be a few days younger than Christopher when Fowley showed up with her shortly after her birth. This is also the date that they decide to introduce Addy to most of her cousins, during a party in honor of Addy and Christopher's third birthdays.

"We're all going to sit very quietly when Aunt Missy gets here." Scully reminds her children after the living room has been decorated.

Scully looks up at the balloons and resists the urge to sigh. Although she doesn't really mind providing the locale when it comes to joint birthday parties, she wishes that her sister and brother-in-law might eventually volunteer to do some of the decorating. She doesn't intend to hold her breath, however. Her gentle suggestion recently that Ryan be weaned off his bottle was met with hostility, so she doesn't think that any other "you should" suggestions will go any better.

"Because Addy is scared of people," David announces to show that he, at least, has been paying some attention to their mother.

"That's right," Scully agrees. "We're not going to run around shouting, because that might overwhelm her."

"She's gonna be normal someday, though, right Mommy?" Sammy asks.

Scully has to force herself not to frown. According to Krycek, Addy's therapy sessions have not been going as well as could be hoped. Though Addy is generally docile, and tries to please adults, she melts down during a third of her meetings with her therapist. It had also been firmly suggested that Addy not start preschool with Christopher in September.

"It's going to take her a while to learn to trust people, Sammy," Scully says at last. Her son looks satisfied by this bit of misdirection.

The kids practically wriggle in anticipation when there's a knock on the door, but Mulder shoots them a warning look and they settle back down. When he opens the door he finds Missy, Emily, and Ryan waiting for him. "Hey, come on in."

"Alex will be up in a second," Missy says with a strained smile. Neither Scully nor Mulder ask her how getting Addy into the car for the visit went. Before doing anything else, she deposits Ryan in William's playpen, and the two babies babble happily to each other, unaware that they're being kept out of the way.

A few seconds later Krycek walks through the door with Addy in his arms. The little girl isn't crying, but she hides her face against her father's shoulder. "Addy, these are some of your cousins." Krycek tells her softly as he puts her on her feet.

"Hi, Addy," David says gravely as his cousin stares at him and his siblings.

"Addy, say hi," Missy encourages.

Instead of saying anything, the little girl gives the other kids a brief wave before staring at her feet.

"Well, I guess that's something," Missy says and sighs. "Is Mom here yet?"

"No. She called to say that she's running a little late," Mulder tells her.

"Missy, do you mind coming up stairs with me? I have their presents up in our room." Scully looks down at her large belly. "I think I could use some help fetching and carrying. The guys can keep things calm down here. Right, Dear?" she asks, turning to look at her husband.

"Of course, Darling," Mulder retorts in as sickly sweet a tone. "Alex and I will keep everything on the level."

Missy gives an unladylike snort of disbelief as she follows her sister up stairs.

The kids are calm and seemed mindful of their young cousin's nervousness, until Maggie Scully arrives. Then disaster strikes. Before anyone can quite react two streaks of fur catapult themselves out the front door, past a confused Maggie. "What?"

"The kitties!" Sammy shouts, before launching himself out the front door as well.

Within mere seconds the majority of the children have followed Sammy's lead. "Hey wait a minute!" Krycek cries after them, but it's useless. Not even one of them turns around. So he runs outside too, hoping to keep everyone, feline or child, away from the road.

Mulder and Maggie exchange a bewildered look, as if asking each other if that really happened. "Fox, they're not outdoor cats are they? I mean, you always keep them in, don't you?"

"Unfortunately." Mulder turns and grab something off a shelf. "Cat treats. Maybe we can lure them back with these."

Maggie takes one of the cans of treats from Mulder's hand, and the two of them go outside to help look for the escapees.

In the confusion, nobody notices that not everyone went outside to look for the cats.

* * *

"What's going on down here?" Scully demands to know as she and Missy return to the living room with a stack of gifts. At first there's no one there to answer, but then the front door is flung open, and two grim men gripping flailing felines make their way inside, followed by of virtual parade of children.

"Mommy!" Jared exclaims when he sees his mother. "Grandma let the kitties out."

His oldest sister gives him a baleful look. "She didn't do it on purpose. They just ran out when they saw the door open."

Maggie doesn't say anything, but she shoots Page a grateful look.

"Has anyone seen Addy?" Missy asks, looking worried. "She went outside without telling anyone last week..."

A quick headcount reveals that two members of the family are missing.

Mulder and Krycek exchange a look. They know they're in for now. "I guess we better split up and look for them," Mulder suggests.

"Not you kids," Maggie says firmly to her grandchildren. "You sit here with me, and let everyone else look."

* * *

It's a big house, Scully reminds herself. Odds are they did not in fact go outside, no matter what Missy thinks. Even so, she decides that she'll look for them on her way to the back door, and hopefully they'll be found before anyone needs to go outside. She stops when she realizes that she can hear someone talking in the kitchen. Trying not to make any noise, she follows the voice.

"Don't be sad, Cousin Addy. It's our birthday time. We're gonna get stuff."

When Scully looks around the corner, she sees Christopher on his hands and knees, with his head poked into the pantry. She can just barely make out her niece's form stuffed under the bottom shelf.

"We get presents!" Christopher adds.

"Yeah?" a small voice asks, sounding curious.

Christopher backs up and sits down, and to Scully's surprise, Addy scoots forward until she's sitting in front of the pantry instead of in it. Her son's blond head is just inches from his equally blonde cousin's. "Yup, cause we're three now."

"We are?"

"This many." He holds up three fingers to show her.

Addy stares at him, then holds up three fingers of her own.

"Just like that!" Christopher enthuses.

His cousin gives him a wobbly smile.

"And cake," Christopher says, climbing to his feet. "We haft to share, but it's really for us."

"What's cake?"

His blue eyes widen in surprise. "It's yummy! Come on, you'll like it." He holds out a small hand, and to Scully's shock, Addy takes it.

"Hey," Scully says softly, not wanting to scare Addy.

"Can we open presents soon?" Christopher asks as soon as he notices her.

"Definitely."

To her amazement, Addy lets Christopher lead her back to the other room without pulling away.

"So, you got two," Missy comments to her sister a few minutes later. Both of the cousins are enthusiastically opening gifts.

"Two what?"

Two quiet, introspective kids who are kind to others," Missy explains. "April and Christopher are just like you and Charlie were as kids."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely. Every family needs a few."

"What about only children?"

"Only children tend to turn out neurotic. Just like my darling Alex."

"Hey!"

Missy smirks at her husband. "Just checking to see if you were listening."

"Well, I was."

Pitching his voice low, Mulder says, "let it go. If you don't, they might remember we screwed up."

Krycek nods almost imperceptibly. "Who wants cake?"

The loud replies drown out any further banter between the adults.

* * *

September 15th, 2002

By the time Saturday rolls around just after the second week of September, Mulder wants to spend the day in bed. They've been taping episodes of Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There on a fairly brutal schedule, trying to get as many episodes in the can as possible before Scully leaves for her maternity leave. The fact that twins often arrive early, even under better circumstances than the end of Scully's pregnancy with David and Jared, has everyone keyed up. Or, it has Wayne frantic and he's gotten everyone on the set keyed up. So after three weeks like that, Mulder is exhausted.

But a household with three adults, seven children, and a pair of cats goes through a lot of food, so Mulder finds himself preparing bring everyone, except Michelle who is off for the day, to the grocery store. Everyone else is dressed and putting on shoes when Mulder finds himself being met in the hallway by his wife.

"Here, Mulder." Scully hands him a sheaf of paper.

"What's this?"

"The grocery lists. I've written everything we need by where they are in the store."

"I take it that you're not coming with us, then?" Mulder asks, trying not to allow his annoyance to show. It wasn't that he minded bringing the kids himself, he just wished that he'd known sooner that she wasn't going to be coming to help marshal the troops.

"I need to do laundry. Nothing I have that's clean keeps me from looking like I swallowed a Buick."

Considering that the Webelos song has popped into his mind more than once this week, he doesn't even attempt to lie to her and say that it's not true. "Okay, but you take it easy after that. We'll be home in a couple of hours."

"Love you." He leans down so she can kiss him, knowing that he tippy-toe days aren't going to return for a few more weeks.

"Love you too, Scully."

"Everyone out of the house!" Mulder orders before grabbing the double stroller from David and Jared's baby days out of the hall closet.

Without needing to be asked, Sammy hefts William up, and Page leads Christopher towards the car. It only takes Mulder five minutes to get all seven kids and the double stroller into the van, so he drives off feeling moderately proud of himself.

* * *

Less than twenty minutes later, Mulder is in the parking lot of the mammoth supermarket that serves the area. He pulls the stroller out of the van and gives the older kids instructions as he settles the two youngest, despite Christopher's loud protests that he's a big boy, into their seats.

"Mom wrote three lists for us. One for Page and David, one for Sammy and Jared, and one for April and I. We're each going to take a carriage and get everything on our lists. Then we're going to meet at the front of the store when we're done. While I check the lists to make sure we didn't forget anything, you can each pick out a candy bar. Do not go wasting time looking for candy before then, because anyone with candy in their cart when I check the lists isn't getting any. Got it?"

"Got it!"

Mulder hands lists over to his two oldest children, and finds himself grateful that they are both reading above their grade levels. Still, he asks, "Is there anything on your list that you can't read?"

Both children study the lists before shaking their heads.

"I can't read any of it!" Jared complains, peering down at the list in Sammy's hand.

David gives his twin a surprised look. "Duh. That's why you and me can't be shopping buddies."

"Oh." Jared looks sheepish.

"All right, move 'em out," Mulder declares, taking the handles of the stroller. "Everything on your list should be in the same part of the store, so I had better not see you running around acting like monkeys."

"Does anyone got bananas on their list?" Sammy asks.

Before Mulder can answer to say that he does, they're accosted by a woman leaving the store. The entire procession grinds to a halt when she blocks the door. "You're Fox Mulder, from that Jose Chung show!"

"I prefer just Mulder, but yes." Mulder gives her an uneasy look, wondering if she'll be the first person to demand an autograph.

"And these are your kids?"

"That's what my wife tells me," he deadpans.

"Huh. I figured that they were just a back-story."

"A back-story?" Mulder asks, puzzled.

"You know, an invented history to make the characters on a show seem more interesting."

"Oh. Nope, they're really ours."

"How about that! My girlfriends are going to be so surprised. And a little disappointed that you're really taken, but..."

"Have a nice day now," Mulder tells her before hurrying the kids out around her.

"Daddy, we're a back story?" April asks after watching her siblings head off in opposite directions. She's barely tall enough to see over the stroller, but she pushes it gamely while Mulder navigates a shopping cart.

"No way. You guys are definitely the important part of mine and Mommy's life."

She doesn't say anything, but her smile is beaming.

"It looks like we need size four Huggies for William. Could you grab them for me?" he asks while reach for a large package of newborn size diapers himself, figuring that it's probably a good idea to stock up before the girls are born.

"Yeah!"

* * *

GMC Dealership  
September 24th, 2002

"I think it's coming up, Mulder," Byers says, looking anxiously out the window.

Mulder notices that there's a sign twelve feet high that says "GMC" and bites back the urge to ask "Gee, you think?"

It's Scully's fault that Byers has been drafted into Mulder's van-buying expedition. Doggett offered to help, and she rejected the idea based on the fact that he likes NASCAR. And she didn't even give a reason when she flat-out rejected Frohike and Langly's offer of assistance.

This had lead to a tiny argument between the couple. "You know I'm capable of picking out a vehicle on my own." Mulder had insisted once they'd left the gunmen in another room.

She'd just given him a hard stare.

"I know what you're thinking, but I can so be practical," he found himself whining.

"Yes, you're capable of it, but in practice? I want someone with you who'll be worried about the same sort of things that I am. That's why I want Byers to go with you."

"If you're so worried about what I'll come home with, why don't you come with me?"

She tilted her head. "Is this when I'm supposed to whine about being eight months pregnant with your twins, and how that doesn't make me anxious to spend a few hours at a car dealership? And how if you really loved me, you'd do this one little thing for me?"

"I guess so."

"Can we just say that I did, and that you gave in?"

For a change, that had him rolling his eyes.

"Are you sure you don't mind doing this?" Mulder asks Byers as he pulls into the dealership parking lot. "I could drop you off at the mall and come back for you, if you want."

"I told Dana I'd help you," Byers insists.

"Okay, don't say I didn't offer to spare you the boredom."

They're barely gotten out of the mini-van when a man wearing a suit and a bright smile approaches them. "Hi, I'm Steve. What can I help you with?"

"I called earlier and was told that you have some of the 2003 GMC Savnna passenger vans in stock," Mulder tells him.

"Sure, our 2003 stock just arrived a few days ago. How many passengers are you talking about? There are a few choices based on how many you need to seat."

"Twelve," Byers tells the salesman.

"Right. Is this a work vehicle, or a personal one?"

"Personal," Mulder informs him. "I hope all the seats have anchors for car seats and booster seats."

"Lots of kids, huh?"

"Soon to be nine." Mulder smiles faintly.

"Wow." The salesman looks impressed. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what adoption agency are you using?"

"Adoption agency?"

"Well, you know. I have this cousin, and he and his significant other haven't had much luck finding an agency that's open-minded."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but none of my kids are adopted, so I can't really help you."

"Oh."

"His wife is about to have twins. She asked me to come along so he doesn't come home with something stupid," Byers says quickly, and Mulder can't figure out why he thinks it's relevant to the conversation.

At least not until the salesman turns red. "Oh, your _wife_."

Byers shrugs, and Mulder decides to let the salesman stew. ::Maybe thinking he's insulted us will make him give me a better deal.:: Mulder thinks to himself.

"She and I are hoping to use the minivan as a trade-in," Mulder tells the man at last.

"Yeah, let me see what I can get for it for you," The salesman mumbles before walking quickly to the minivan to look it over.

Mulder turns to Byers. "I get the feeling this is happened to you before."

"I think I strike some men as too fastidious to be straight," Byers says without any ire.

"So...do they usually think you're with Frohike or Langly?"

Byers just shakes his head.

In the end the salesman's error works in their favor, because he's so embarrassed that he rushes them through a normally lengthy process, and Mulder walks away with a good deal to boot.

* * *

September 28th, 2002

A rainy weekend in September finds Reyes preparing to chaperone a trip to the museum. While she waits for Hannah to find her raincoat, she takes the time to glare at the girl's father.

"John, tell me again why I'm taking three little girls to the Museum on my day off."

"I told you, we owe Scully for looking after the kids when we were in Florida. She suggested this because we'd only have two extra kids to look after, and she's not up to wandering a museum herself." He doesn't mention that Mulder said silly or not, he doesn't ever want his wife there again while pregnant.

"She looked after _your_ kids," Reyes points out. "I don't have any kids."

"Come on, Mon. It's a doll exhibit."

"Have you seen any dolls around my apartment?"

"No, but you used to like dolls, didn't you?" Doggett asks. "Most girls do."

She stares at him.

"I'll have to think of something to pay you back?" He sounds uncertain.

"Yes, yes you will."

"Oh crap," Doggett mutters. "If you really don't want to go, I'll take them."

"No, I'll do it. I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with as pay back."

Doggett gulps.

* * *

Tamblyn Museum of Natural History  
Afternoon

Though she moaned about the museum trip, Reyes does find some of the exhibit interesting. Their guide, a cheerful woman in her early thirties, keeps up a lively stream of facts about the dolls on display.

"As I said earlier, there have been dolls for almost as long as there have been little girls." She smiles at all eight little girls and their chaperons. "Sadly, a lot of our historical knowledge of the history of dolls comes from dolls found in the tombs of children."

One girl whispers a hasty question to her mother, and from the aghast look on the child's face, Reyes believes that the question was probably "what are tombs?"

"In Egypt, dolls were made of wood, clay, ivory or even wax. As long ago as two thousand, six hundred years ago, dolls were already being made with movable limbs and dressed in clothes. I bet a lot of you like to dress your dolls up, too."

The guide's question makes all the girls grin at her.

"How many of you have dolls that are babies?" she asks, and every girl raises her hand. A few of the adults do too, and only one of them looks embarrassed to admit that she still has dolls of her own.

"It might surprise you, but the sort of dolls that people bought, rather than made, were almost all meant to look like adults until a French manufacturer created a doll called 'bebe' in the 1850s."

The guide shows them several antique dolls, including one that had been on the Titanic. It had been one of the few belongings anyone had been allowed to take with them the night the ship sank.

"This is a nice museum," Page remarks later to April and Hannah. "I'm glad I was born in this museum instead of some other one."

"People aren't born in museums," another child, probably an older sister of one of the doll fanciers rejoining her family, who has overheard tells her. "People are born in hospitals."

"Most people, but not me," Page tells the snotty girl. "I was born here."

"That's ridiculous," the older girl snaps. "You can't possibly have been born in this museum."

Reyes is still trying to decide if she should intervene in the argument, but she hears another adult speak up instead.

"Sweetheart, did you just have a birthday?" the guide asks Page, looking interested.

"Yup. I'm eight," Page replies.

"And your mother, she has red hair like your sister, here?" the guide asks, making April hide behind her sister.

"Uh huh."

The guide smiles at Reyes. "I guess you're babysitting, because this one-" she points at Hannah, "-is the only one who looks like you."

"Um, yeah." Reyes is a bit nonplused by idea that Hannah looks enough like her to be mistaken for her own. Doggett mentioned that Barbra's undyed hair color is close to hers and Hannah's, however.

"We were talking about your birth just a few days ago," the guide addresses Page again. "You're the only person who has ever been born in this museum."

The bratty child looks shocked, and so does her mother.

Looking at Reyes again, the chatty woman asks, "What have her parents been up to since she was born?"

"Well, they worked at the FBI for quite a while, and now are on a TV show. Other than that, they've added to their family, and most of Page's brothers and her sister were born in the hospital."

"Most of?"

"Me and April have five brothers," Page explains to the instantly wide-eyed woman. "One's between us, and four are littler than April."

"And Mommy's going to have twin girls soon," April adds. "So it'll be more fair."

"That's not why," Page tells her sister. "They just wanted another baby."

"No suh, Mommy knew that two girls and five boys wasn't fair," April insists.

"I've just got two older brothers," Hannah tells no one in particular.

"Come on, girls. It's time for lunch," Reyes tells them before steering the young trio towards the museum's cafe.

* * *

October 19th, 2002

"Fine."

Mulder looks over at his wife who is angrily hanging up their phone. "What's up, Scully?"

"Doctor Hart is a jerk," Scully growls.

"Ah," Mulder says carefully. His wife's mood went decidedly south the night before when they went to bed on her due date. "In what way, in particular?"

"He says that I was very sure that the date you and I 'had relations' and as a doctor I should know that the actual fertilization can take place a few days later, so I probably shouldn't expect the twins too much before the 25th of this month, despite already being past the due date he gave me," Scully says irritably.

Mulder already made the mistake of pointing this out to her the night before, so he doesn't mention that he still thinks it's reasonable now. "Yeah."

"And he says that given that, he won't consider inducing labor until the third. The third, Mulder! That's more than two weeks from now!"

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he murmurs.

She sighs. "I know that I'm being grumpy, but I'm just ready for this to be over with."

"It doesn't sound like a picnic, having two squirmy babies in you."

"No, Mulder, it's not that. Well, not just that. I'm just ready for them to be here. Aren't you?"

"Sure. We've redecorated the nursery, moved William to his new room, bought everything we need. I'd say that we're ready."

Moving William went easier than they expected. They'd been prepared to put him in with Christopher if he'd been afraid of being alone farther from Mom and Dad, but he seems to like the new room well enough. For the time being only David and Jared insist that they need someone else in the room to sleep.

Scully smiles at him. "That wasn't the ready I was thinking about, but I guess we're prepared too."

"I know what you mean," Mulder tells her after a minute. "I can't wait to meet them, either."

When she looks up at him, he sees a little bit of fear in her eyes. "It's going to be okay, isn't it? We haven't had a girl since..." She trails off.

"Losing Angel was terrible, but it's not going to happen again just because we're having girls," Mulder tells her. "They're going to both be fine." Most of the time they cope with their loss without a lot of trouble, but there have been more reasons to think about that baby than Mulder could ever have predicted.

"Do you promise?" she asks.

"Yeah," Mulder says just after silently praying that he's telling the truth. "Do you want a massage before the kids get home?"

"Okay." She looks more cheerful. "But can I have another one in about two months?"

"Only if you plan to return the favor in two months," he tells her with a grin. "We'll have to go shopping before then."

"Deal."

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
October 31st, 2002

By the time that Halloween roles around, it seems to Mulder that Scully has accepted that none of the home remedies they've tried has jump started her labor. Occasionally he hears her mutter something about "the third" to herself, which he takes as his cue to find a way to distract her.

One of those times is Halloween night. "Hey Scully, is my cape on straight?"

"Hmm?" She looks up at him. "Oh, sure. Your makeup looks good too. What time did you say that you're going to meet Krycek?"

"Five." He looks at his watch and discovers that it's almost four thirty. "Are you sure you want me to go?"

"The kids have been looking forward to this haunted corn maze thing for weeks. You have to take them."

"But what if-"

She reaches up and cups his chin with her hand. "The third is still three days away, Mulder. Seventy-two long hours from now. Go on. You're going to be late."

"All right, if you're sure." He stoops to kiss her. They're soon interrupted by a witch, a daisy, Fonzie, two pirates, and a panda bear. Only the panda holds out his arms to be picked up.

Before they leave, Sammy gives his mother a pleading look, "Mom, why can't Will come too?"

"He's too little, Sammy. He won't even understand what's going on."

"But-"

"When you all come home with Daddy, William's going to go trick or treating with you. He'll like being able to say 'trick or treat' more than going to a scary maze."

"He's not going to be lonely?"

"With me and Michelle to keep him company?" Scully asks. "Don't feel guilty, Sammy. Just go have fun."

"Okay!"

* * *

Krycek and Emily are standing by their car when Mulder parks the van. After releasing Christopher and watching the rest of the kids pour out of the vehicle, he walks over to his brother-in-law.

"You're late," Krycek announces.

"I'm aware," Mulder retorts. "You only had the one kid to get into the car. I had six. One of them had a hard time leaving."

"Likely excuse."

"No, I'm serious. You've actually adverted a crisis by not bringing Ryan with you."

"Why would I bring Ryan? He's a year and a half old."

"Ask Sammy. I don't know why got so upset that we didn't bring William." Mulder shrugs. "I almost had to drag him out the door by the leather jacket the gunmen gave him for his birthday."

"Your friends are strange, strange men."

"At least none of my friends have ever been on America's Most Wanted."

"Yet."

"Dad!" Mulder looks down when Page tugs on his coat. "Do Emily, Sammy and I have to stay with you?"

"What's wrong, we're not cool enough for you?"

"Nobody's parents are cool," Page tells him in a tone that suggests that he really ought to know that.

"Gee, thanks."

"Well?"

"What do you think, Alex?"

"I think that if they promise to stay together, they don't need to stay with us."

"All right," Mulder consents.

The three kids cheer and run up to the line for people who already have their tickets.

"Oh crap!" Mulder hisses under his breath.

"What?"

"I forgot to charge my cell phone."

"Guess you better charge it when you get home."

"Yeah..."

"Daddy, they're gonna get way ahead of us!" David complains, and this gets Mulder and Krycek moving towards the entrance.

* * *

David turns out to be correct, because they don't see the older kids when they enter the maze. Thick walls of corn stalks make up the walls to block their sight, and it's already gloomy inside the maze despite being daylight still. He's glad that they're taking the kids trick or treating afterwards, because they were warned that the maze is designed to scare an older crowd after dark.

"I don't see much corn," Jared says as he looks down the first long corridor of the maze.

"Yeah, it's not yellow," April agrees.

Mulder looks down at them, and realizes that they haven't quite grasped the concept of a corn maze. "Here, look." He puts his hands on the wall. "These are corn stalks. Corn grows on these. That's what a corn maze is made of."

"Yeah, and if you look up high, you can see some ears of corn." Krycek points out.

"Oh!" Four pairs of eyes widen when they finally understand what's going on.

"And there's a pumpkin," April tells her brothers as she points. The pumpkin has been carved into a snarling face. "Actually, it's a jack o lantern 'cause it's carved. Right?"

"Right."

"And there's a ghost!" Krycek yells, and the kids whip around. "Oh no, you missed it."

"There was no ghost," Jared scoffs, then shrieks when someone in a ghost costume taps him on the shoulder before darting off.

Ten minutes and a few more mild scares into the maze, Mulder and Krycek disagree about where to turn next.

"We should go left," Krycek insists.

"No, right makes more sense."

"Then you go right, and I'll go left," Krycek tells him. "Who wants to come with Uncle Alex to prove your dad wrong?"

"We do!" David and Jared cry. When he notices his father, Jared shrugs. "He was right about the ghost, Daddy."

"Go on." Mulder smiles.

"We're gonna beat them," April declares.

"Yeah, we will. But we're not going to rub it in, right?"

Christopher and April giggle, but they nod their agreement.

* * *

"Mulder?"

Looking around, Mulder tries to pinpoint where the voice is coming from. He's pretty sure that it's Krycek calling him, but Krycek isn't within sight.

"Mulder!"

"What?" Mulder calls back.

"Where are you?"

"By the pumpkins."

For a moment he doesn't hear anything, but then he hears Krycek's shoes. Krycek soon appears with the twins on his heels. He looks worried.

"What?"

"Scully called me, after figuring out that your phone is dead. She's in labor."

"Oh my God, we need to find the kids so I can go home-"

Krycek shakes his head. "What you need to do is to trade keys with me, take my car and Christopher to your house, and bring your wife to the hospital."

"What about the other kids?"

"There's no reason the rest of them can't finish the maze."

"What about trick or treating?" April asks, looking worried.

"When I get you home, Michelle said that she's going to take you. Your daddy is going to give her a nice bonus for that," Krycek says, turning to smirk at Mulder as he does.

"And it will be worth every penny."

"You're sure you don't mind trading cars and rounding everyone up?"

"I mind. I'll also have something to hold over you, though, so it works out."

"Thanks. I think."

Mulder tells April and the twins to behave before picking up Christopher and rushing over to one of the actors to request an emergency exit. The Mummy agrees to guide him out, and he's soon on the way home.

* * *

When Mulder gets home, he sees that Scully doesn't look nearly as well as when he left her. Sweat has broken out on her forehead, and she looks like she's in a lot of pain.

"Oh, thank God you're home," Scully gasps, doubling over. "These strong contractions hit me out of nowhere."

"We'd better get going, then," Mulder mutters, and he's surprised when she shakes her head.

"I don't think we're going to have enough time to drive to the hospital. I had Michelle call for an ambulance as soon as she saw you pull into the driveway."

"You think time's that short?" He gives her a shocked look.

"I've done this a few times before, so I think I know."

"Damn."

Flashing lights flood the front windows, and Mulder helps Scully out the door. Michelle follows them with William in her arms. "I'll bring the kids out just as soon as Alex gets here. I'll check their candy too."

"Thanks, Michelle," Mulder says before couching down to address Christopher. "Be a good boy for Michelle."

"No!" Christopher surprises everyone by shrieking. He darts towards the ambulance, surprising the paramedics who are helping Scully into the back. "Mommy! Mommy, don't leave me!"

Mulder catches up to him within seconds. "Christopher, you have to stay here."

"I wanna go, I wanna go!" Tears roll down his chubby cheeks.

One of the paramedics looks down at the wailing three-year-old before picking him up under the arm pits. "Listen. You need to sit with your daddy, the Count, and not touch anything. Understand?"

Mulder doesn't understand the "Count" crack at first, until he notices that he and Christopher are still wearing their costumes. ::too late to do anything about that now.:: He thinks to himself with a repressed sigh.

"Uh huh," Christopher tells the paramedic quickly. "I'll be good."

The paramedic looks at Mulder next. "Well, go on and get in, Dracula. I'll hand him to you."

"I'm sorry about this," Mulder says quickly.

"This isn't the first kid we've had refuse to be left behind. You can call someone to meet you at the hospital to take him when we get there."

Once inside the rig, Christopher is subdued and sits silently on Mulder's lap. He's still crying a little, and Mulder wonders what prompted his hysterics in the first place.

At least until Scully says, "It's okay, Christopher. It's not like that movie. I'm going to be fine, Baby."

"Movie?" The paramedic in the back asks before Mulder gets the chance to.

"We watched a stupid movie yesterday where someone who d-i-e-d was taken away in an ambulance."

"That explains a lot. No wonder the little guy freaked out when he saw us putting you in here."

"I know," Scully agrees before another contraction hits her.

The paramedic gives her a look that Mulder finds hard to read. "Have all your contractions been this bad?"

"Yes," Scully says through gritted teeth. "It's like I just skipped to the bad ones."

The paramedic doesn't say anything, but Mulder can see that he looks worried.

* * *

Trick or treating has started in earnest, and the streets are clogged with traffic that has both slowed to watch for children, and to let kids out to spare them from walking. Mulder fumes about the laziness of the latter as they make their way at a crawl despite the siren and flashers.

They're still about a mile from the hospital when the paramedic who has just finished examining Scully tells his partner to pull over.

"What's going on?" Mulder worries as they pull to the side of the road.

Christopher, who has bent over to see past his father looks up at him with an astonished look on his small face. "Daddy, there's a little head!"

"We're not going to make it to the hospital before the first one is born," the paramedic announces calmly as he opens the back door so he can get out and get into a better position to deliver the baby.

Christopher scoots off the bench to get a better view.

"Christopher, come here," Mulder demands, but Scully objects.

"Let him watch, Mulder. Otherwise he might think women always have another head down there."

"Good point." Mulder and Christopher go to stand out of the way but close enough to see what's going on.

After a few more contractions the paramedic catches a small slimy baby in both hands. One who is quick to announce her fury at the situation. "It's a girl."

"A loud one," Christopher pronounces.

After looking the baby and Scully over the paramedics bundle the little girl up and place her in Scully's arms. "It seems like we might be able to make it to the hospital before you deliver the second twin."

"Then let's go," Scully decides instantly, and they swing the back door close and head back onto the road.

* * *

Though he pouts, a nurse looks after Christopher while Mulder and Scully head to the delivery room. He declares that it's not fair that he doesn't get to see the other baby come out, but no one pays attention to his demands this time.

In the delivery room Mulder finds his attention torn between trying to listen to what the doctors are saying about "twin A" and the progression of Scully's labor with their other baby.

Within twenty minutes of arriving at the hospital, Mulder and Scully's last child has arrived. "It's another girl!" The doctor announces.

"Since they're identical twins, she'd have to be," Mulder replies, and the doctor takes the comment in good humor.

"Both babies look great. Apgars are both 9s," he tells the couple a few minutes later.

"That's wonderful." Scully holds out her arms for their new daughters, and nurses place one in each of her arms.

"They're beautiful," Mulder tells her, bending down to kiss her forehead. "God, they're so beautiful."

"So, Mom," The doctor says, "I hear that your track record isn't too good. Nine kids, and twin A here is the fourth one who didn't make it to the hospital?"

"I've had a few impatient kids," Scully tells him with a tired smile.

"I guess so." He laughs. "You and both girls look good, but as you know, we're going to be admitting you all now."

"Standard procedure," Mulder acknowledges.

"Do you have names picked out?"

"Sure. Being several days overdue gave us time to hash out the details," Scully says. "Baby A, little Miss Impatient, is Brianna. Baby B is Zoe."

"Lovely names," the doctor says before looking towards the door where an orderly is waiting. "Looks like your ride is here."

As Scully and the babies are transported to their room, Mulder follows behind. He's silently thanking the universe for allowing their healthy new daughters to arrive safely. ::Thank you for not making me a liar when I promised her everything would be okay.::

* * *

Once Scully and their new additions are tucked into their new room, Mulder wanders out to make the phone calls to the family. He finds himself surprised by the first number he dials. "Hi, Mom, it's Fox. Dana just had the babies, but you're not going to believe what happened..."

Mulder listens to his mother's well-wishing for a moment before telling her that he loves her and hanging up so he can call Maggie next. By the time he gets around to calling Missy his kids have already been driven home by their uncle, and are currently out trick or treating with Michelle.

Last of all, Mulder goes to retrieve his son from the nurse. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"No, he's a doll." The nurse beams. "He's been telling me what all the equipment at the nurse's station is called. You don't meet too many three-year-olds who watch e.r. but he asked me if Doug and Carol work here."

"e.r.?" Mulder looks at his little boy. "Have you and Mommy been watching TV before preschool?"

Christopher nods enthusiastically. "Lots."

"Oh boy, and she said for years that TV was bad for kids." Mulder laughs to himself. "Come on, Kiddo, let's go meet the sister you didn't see born."

"The other baby is here?" Christopher looks surprised.

"She sure is."


	120. Samantha

Scully's Hospital Room  
November 1st, 2002

"This never gets old, does it?" Mulder asks his wife as he looks up from the newborn in his arms. He's perched on her bed, trying not to crowd Scully and the other baby. Since Mulder had already brought the kids to see her earlier in the day, it's now just the four of them.

"What doesn't?" Scully sounds curious.

"The wonder that we feel when we hold a brand new baby. It's holding a world full of possibilities."

"That's pretty deep for someone who said he only got three hours sleep," Scully says, but there's only a gentle barb in her voice.

"I did only get three hours sleep. William missed you last night. It's true about them being filled with possibility, though," Mulder insists. "Zoe here might someday find a cure for cancer, and maybe Brianna will be the country's first dictator-"

"They're less than a day old, and you've already decided which one is the evil twin?" Scully doesn't sound quite as amused.

"Of course not. It's just that a baby is filled with infinite possibility, both good things and bad. That's what's so scary about parenting, we can't forget that without guidance they have a capacity just as great for terrible things as beautiful ones."

"True."

"And with nine, we have a lot of destiny to be shaping," Mulder concludes. "A lot more than most people."

"I hate to sound conceited, but I think you and I are a lot more capable than most people, Mulder."

"I know, but even we have limits." He's quiet a moment, and then fishes in his pocket for something with the hand that isn't cradling Zoe's head. "Here."

"What is it?" Scully asks as she reaches for the card he's holding out to her.

"An appointment card from my doctor's office. We're 100% sure that we're not having any more kids, right?"

"We're sure," Scully says firmly.

"Then I guess you'll be getting that 40th birthday present I promised you early," Mulder tells her. "I thought...I thought I should have it done sooner than later."

Scully looks amused. "You're worried that one of us might change our minds?"

"Or that we might accidentally on purpose slip up with birth control." When she smirks at him, he gives her his best innocent look. "The subconscious can be a pretty powerful thing."

Scully nods, then reads the card. "Three weeks from today, huh?"

"Yup. Remind me to make sure there are frozen peas in the house then."

* * *

Baker Elementary School  
November 1st, 2002

The last thing Mulder expects is to be going to a parent-teacher conference during the first semester of school, but Page's teacher had sent home a note yesterday requesting that he or Scully come for a chat as soon as possible. Since Scully isn't home yet the task falls to him. Page assured him that she'd been good, and the note offered no clues as to the subject of the meeting, so Mulder decided not to worry about it until he got there. At least Page didn't see a baby born and explain the process to two classmates like her little brother did.

Of course, he's now pacing the conference room, waiting for the teacher to show up. ::You'd think if you schedule a meeting that drags a parent down here, you could at least show up on time. I'm just glad I'm not working today.:: Mulder distracts himself by looking at the pictures on the wall. He thinks that some of the kids show a good deal of promise as artists.

Eventually the door creaks open, and he turns his head in time to see a short brunette woman enter the room. Her expression is friendly, so he suspects that Page was being sincere about her good behavior. "You must be mister Mulder," she says politely. "I'm Ms. Smith."

"Nice to meet you." He extends his hand. "Your note didn't say what you wanted to talk to me about. I hope that Page has behaved well in your class."

"She's a doll." Ms Smith smiles warmly, but her the corners of her eyes crease with concern. "I'm a little concerned about her, though. Has Page ever been tested for learning disabilities?"

Mulder feels himself bristling. His daughter is perfect, so how could this woman imply otherwise? Then his more rational side takes over. "No, why?"

"I asked the children to do a short piece of writing for me yesterday, and I was a little concerned by what Page wrote."

::Oh crap. I hope it's nothing about Aliens.:: Ms Smith passed him a piece of paper with large childish handwriting.

My name is Page Mulder. I'm eight years old. I like to read books alot. I'm the oldest of 9 kids. Or 9 real soon, anyway. I like to listen to the storys my daddy tells because they're funy and scaree. Sometimes we went with them on cases, but not anymore 'cause they're on TV instead now. I want to be an FBI agant like Mommy and Daddy were when I grow up. My brother Sammy dose too.

Mulder reads it twice and hands it back to her. "Is it the spelling? I didn't spell any better when I was her age-"

"No, he spelling is pretty typical of a child just starting second grade. I was more concerned about the backwards number. Writing numbers or letters incorrectly is a sign that a child might have dyslexia. I know it's only one number and that all kids learning to write do it occasionally, but I couldn't find anything in her records."

"But her number wasn't backwards," Mulder protests.

"Well yes, but she wrote nines instead of sixes-"

"She meant to write nines."

"She's barely eight years old, how could she be the oldest of nine children?" She blushes as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

"Page_ is_ the oldest of nine children. She has a seven-year-old brother who is also a student in this school, a five and a half year old sister, four-year-old twin brothers, a three-year-old brother, an eighteen-month-old brother, and newborn twin sisters born yesterday who haven't come home from the hospital yet." Mulder could tell that the woman was mentally adding it all up. "I'm sorry if our family size defies your sense of credibility-"

"I'm...It's just...sorry." When she finishes sputtering, she looks like she wants to put her head on the conference table.

"If there's nothing else now that we've cleared that up, I need to get home. My nanny has to be somewhere at five."

Ms Smith looks thrilled that he's leaving. "Um, of course. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding."

Mulder nods curtly. "Perhaps if something like this comes up with another student, instead of jumping to conclusions you could ask the child their siblings names and see how many names the list."

"Good advice," she mumbles as he gets up to leave.

* * *

As Mulder is walking towards the school's exit, a door to another classroom swings part way open. A small boy, around four years old, bolts out into the hallway. He notices Mulder just before he bumps into him, and skitters to a stop with a grin. "Hi!"

"Hi yourself." Mulder smiles back, because the kid is cute. Not as cute as his own brood, but almost. The boy has black curls and green eyes, and looks like the type of child you'd see modeling clothing in a JC Penney ad.

After a few seconds, a man appears in the doorway, and Mulder gets the feeling that he's seen the guy before. The look the man gives him is friendly enough, but it's clear that he doesn't recognize Mulder.

"Louie!" the man calls.

::Louie?:: Mulder stares at the boy as he races back to his father. ::It can't be.:: But it would explain why the father looks vaguely familiar.

"Sorry." The man gives Mulder an apologetic look. "He didn't find the discussion I was having with his brother's teacher too interesting and escaped. Hope he didn't bother you."

"No, no, not at all," Mulder mutters, feeling dazed.

"Oh, good." The man takes the boy and leads him back into the classroom.

Shaking his head, Mulder wanders down the hallway. ::I guess I finally got my question about learning to glamour answered.::

* * *

November 3rd, 2002

Scully turns around to look at the twins approximately seventeen times on the drive home from the hospital. On the sixteenth time, Mulder looks at her and grins, "They're fine."

"But they're quiet," she says sheepishly. "Shouldn't at least one of them be fussing?"

Mulder shrugs without taking his hands off the steering wheel. "It's the calm before the storm, Scully. Mark my words."

She gives him a slightly tense smile and he stops teasing her. The rest of the drive home is uneventful.

"It's okay, I've got them," Mulder tells his wife as she appears at his side when he reaches into the van to take out their new daughters.

"Are you sure?"

"They barely weighed six pounds each, Scully. I think I can handle it."

"Of course," she says, and he gets the sense that she didn't really want to carry in either of the babies. Instead, she was just trying to be her usual involved self.

With everyone from Page down to Christopher at their various schools, the house is atypically quiet when they open the front door. The distant sound of a radio probably on in Michelle's room is the only indication that anyone is home at all until they hear the slap of William's hard baby shoes on the wood floor.

The small redheaded toddler wobbles into view, with Michelle just a step behind him. William's face breaks into a huge grin when he sees his mother. "Mommy!"

"Hey, Buddy!" Mulder says, but his youngest son only has eyes for Scully. At first.

William's unsteady gait slows to a halt when he notices the baby seats hanging from his father's hands. He looks from one tiny girl to the other, seemingly confused. "Baby? Baby?" After a couple seconds his puzzlement seems to overwhelm him completely, and he loses track of his balance, sitting heavily on his diapered behind.

"Now I wish he'd been awake when I brought the kids to see you at the hospital," Mulder says to Scully. Then he sets the baby seats on the floor, and sits on the floor himself. Drawing William onto his lap, he says, "Will, these are your baby sisters."

From the safety of his father's lap, William examines little creatures in front of them. One small hand tentatively reaches out to pat the baby seats. Looking up at his father and mother, William says, "Nice."

"I'll take that as a good sign," Scully murmurs. Standing next to her, Michelle nods.

Mulder takes William's hand and helps him point. "This baby is your sister Brianna." Next they point to the other baby. "And this baby is your sister Zoe. They are twins like David and Jared are."

"Oh..."

William jumps when Zoe opens her mouth, and lets out a bleating cry. Mulder hugs him reassuringly. "They do that a lot, William. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Scully sighs. "Mulder, you want to carry them upstairs for me? If I don't get them fed soon, I think we will have lot more crying to get used to in a hurry."

"You've got it," he says, standing and passing William to Michelle.

* * *

Later That Day

Mulder is annoyed that his wife was only gets a couple hours of rest before members of her family show up, but he does his best not to show it. Mostly, he achieves this by staying out of the room.

"Look at how precious they are," Missy coos at her new nieces. She doesn't have the soft look on her face any more when she looks up at her sister. "Dana, I need to talk to you about Christopher."

"What about him?"

"I talked to Addy's therapist about their birthday party, and he was really interested in what happened."

"Was he?"

"Yeah. He suggested that I talk to you about borrowing Christopher."

"You want to borrow your nephew?" Scully shoots her sister a confused look.

"We were thinking, that if it's okay with you and Fox, that a couple days a week I could come and get Christopher and take him to my house for a few hours before dropping him off at preschool." Missy doesn't look at Scully as she explains, "He thought that Christopher might be the one who'll break her out of her shell."

"That's a lot of responsibility to put on a three-year-old," Scully protests.

"I wasn't thinking that we'd tell him why he'd be coming over my house, Day. If he even asks why, we can tell him it's so he doesn't need to worry about being super quiet while the babies are sleeping during the morning."

Scully looks skeptical. "You seem to be under the impression this house has ever been kept quiet for any napping babies past Page."

"Then the modified truth. Addy needs someone to play with, and he's the same age as her."

"If Mulder doesn't mind, I don't see why not," Scully says at last. "You can explain it to him."

"You want me to explain?"

"Of course. This is your idea, after all."

"Uh, okay."

"Mulder?" Scully calls, and Missy instantly looks alarmed.

"You meant right now?"

"No time like the present," Scully says evenly.

"Yes?" Mulder asks as he steps into the room.

Scully gestures for her sister to speak.

"Um... can Alex and I borrow Christopher a couple of mornings a week?"

"Do you promise to return him in the same condition he was in before you borrowed him?" Mulder asks.

Missy stares at him, obviously at a loss for words.

This makes Mulder laugh. "What exactly is it that you want him for?"

"As kind of a play therapy for Addy."

"Sure. No problem."

"Really?" Missy looks surprised that he agreed so easily.

"It doesn't sound like you're going to be doing psych experiments on him, so I don't see why not."

"Thanks, Fox."

He wrinkles his nose. "Thank me by not calling me Fox."

Missy watches as he walks out of the room, before turning back to her sister. "He didn't really mean that, did he?"

"Oh yes he did. He hates being called Fox."

"And why hasn't he ever said-"

"Mom. He's never been able to bring himself to ask her not to call him Fox, so he figures that if he can't ask her not to, he can't ask any of you not to. So, trying not to be rude to Mom, he grins and bears it from everyone."

"That's so sweet, Dana."

"I know. He can be surprising that way."

"Trying to remember now might be a lost cause for the rest of us, but I can try to teach Ryan and Addy to say 'Uncle Mulder' instead."

"I think he would really like that."

* * *

Mid-November 2002

Zoe and Brianna are home from the hospital for two weeks before the household reasonably recovers from the addition of two newborns. Since they're bigger than David and Jared were at birth, they sleep better, but as it is, it's still that long before Mulder or Scully find themselves getting a total of four hours of sleep a night.

It's this lack of sleep, and the fact that unlike Scully Mulder has returned to work, that has Mulder less than pleased to hear somebody knocking on the door early one Saturday morning.

Yawning, Mulder looks his visitor, an unfamiliar blond man, up and down. He's got the chiseled features that grace the front of celebrity rags at the grocery checkout counter. At first Mulder finds himself wondering if this is a friend of Wayne's. "Can I help you?" Mulder asks as he smothers another yawn.

"Um..." The man sticks his hand out. "I'm Scott Hill. Are you Fox Mulder?"

"Yup. That's me," Mulder tells him, wondering if he can say something to make the man leave so he can go back to bed.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but..." The man swallows hard, and his obvious nervousness robs him of his movie star quality. "...I think you might be my wife's brother."

Mulder blinks. "Samantha?"

All at once the tension drains from the man's shoulders. "That's right."

"My sister is dead," Mulder tells him flatly. "I don't appreciate the joke."

Scott's hands flutter up in defense. "I'm not joking! She told me that you probably wouldn't take this well. She didn't even want me to come here and bother you, but I had to."

"Why?" Mulder asks irritably. "Look, I don't want to be rude, but my wife just had twin girls a couple of weeks ago and neither of us are sleeping much. I'd like to get in a nap before they wake up too."

"So you're a father." Scott's expression is an odd mixture of hope and wariness. "Are the twins your first?"

"No. They're numbers eight and nine," Mulder says, though he's not quite sure why he's sharing that information with the man. "My older kids are between the ages of eight and one."

"Are any of them four years old?" Scott asks softly, to Mulder's bewilderment.

"David and Jared, our older set of twins, are four," Mulder says nervously, suddenly wondering if the man might be dangerous.

Scott nods. "Our youngest, Andrew, is four. He's sick. That's why I've come to talk to you, even though your sister didn't want me to."

"Oh." Mulder has a feeling that the other man is telling the truth. Or at least believes himself to be telling the truth.

"Yeah...the doctor says that he needs a bone marrow transplant." Scott's eyes are filled with pain. "Samantha and I have three girls too, twelve, nine, and seven, but none of us are a match for Drew."

Mulder feels bleak when he realizes where the conversation is going. The woman, whoever she is, can't be his sister. If she's not, then he wouldn't be a match either. He suspects that the imposter is the woman he met long ago in another when, back when he was desperately trying to find a cure for Scully's cancer. She had seemed sincere at that point, but he'd long since concluded that she'd just been an actress playing a part.

"We'd hoped that her father could prove to be a match, but he died unexpectedly this spring – just after we learned he wasn't a match either," Scott adds, and Mulder's eyes widen in surprise. "The last time we saw him in person, he told your sister that you were still living, unlike she'd been led to believe most of her life."

"She thought I was dead?" Mulder finds himself saying. "She's the one who disappeared."

"When she was eight," Scott agrees. "She'd been told that she was the only member of the family to survive a home fire, but her birth father got in touch with her last year."

Mulder shakes his head. "There was no accident. She just disappeared one night, never to be seen again."

"All I know is what my father-in-law told me," Scott says. "The only person I know who disappeared was the little girl he was raising up until his death. We assume social services took her."

::He's talking about Addy!:: Mulder thinks in a rush. "Well, if she thinks there was an accident, she was lied to."

"I guess it doesn't really matter," Scott says to Mulder's frustration. "All that matters to me is that my little boy is going to die if we don't find a match for him. He's in the hospital again, and I'm not sure how much he can endure."

The horror of watching Emily's decline in the past and this still too fresh memory of losing the baby before William both keep Mulder from blurting out that it isn't possible for him to be a potential match for little Andrew. Even though Mulder believes this to be true with all his heart, he can't stand the thought of adding more pain to this man's life.

Scott digs into his wallet, and pulls out a white business card. He pushes it into Mulder's hand. "I know this is a lot to drop on you. And you need time to think about it. But if you find it within your heart to have a DNA test done to see if you're a match for Andrew, please call me anytime, day or night."

Before Mulder can even say anything, Scott ducks his head and quickly turns to walk back to his car.

* * *

"Who was that?" Scully asks as she joins him at the doorway. They both watch as Scott gets in his car and drives away.

"He claims to be my sister's husband," Mulder says tonelessly.

Scully stares at him. "I thought you concluded that she was dead. You told me about meeting a psychic who led you to her final resting place. Didn't you say you saw her ghost?"

It's painful for him to think back to when he claimed to have met Harold Piller because it was during the only rocky time in their marriage. There hadn't been an investigation into Amber Lynn LaPierre's disappearance this time around, nor had he ever really met with the grieving father who had once shown him to the location of Samantha's diary. But he had to give Scully some sort of explanation for no longer looking for his sister, so he'd given her a modified version of the truth once they'd decided to save their relationship – while they were pushing each other apart a psychic approached him and proved that Samantha had died as a teenager. Thankfully Piller has never shown up to poke holes in his story.

"There were hospital records that matched Samantha's description, a retired nurse claims she disappeared from the hospital before the smoking man came for her, and a diary that seemed to be hers...I don't see how it couldn't have been her I saw that night. Walk-ins are hard to believe in, but those little spirits seemed very real that night."

"I believe you," she says in a surprisingly heartfelt tone.

"You do?"

"After your abduction, I saw something in our house," she says slowly. "Let's just say I've reconsidered my position on ghosts."

"I never thought I'd live to hear you say that," Mulder says, thoroughly awed. "What happened to change your mind?"

Scully waves her hands impatiently. "My new found belief in ghosts is far a field of what's going on right now. Let's go back to talking about our visitor. What did he want? Does he want you to meet up with this woman who claims to be your sister?"

"No. He wants a DNA test."

"To what purpose?"

"He claims that their youngest kid needs a bone marrow transplant, and that no one in their family is a match."

She looks skeptical. "Do you think this sick kid exists?"

"Maybe. I'd certainly want to see him before I let anyone draw any blood. Scully, you are going to tell me why you've decided you believe in ghosts, aren't you?"

She gives him a cryptic smile. "One of the child ghosts introduced me to your uncle Saul."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope."

When she doesn't furnish any more details, he begins to get impatient. "You aren't going to tell me how that happened, are you."

Scully stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. "It's more fun to let you think about it for a while."

* * *

Seconds after they step back inside, there's a wail from the newly redecorated nursery. Scully turns towards the stairs, but Mulder stops her by taking her arm. "You look exhausted still. Let me get her."

"What if she's hungry?"

"I can heat up one of those bottles of breast milk with the best of them. Go on, go back to bed before I rethink the offer."

When he enters the nursery, Mulder finds himself amazed that Zoe is sleeping peacefully through her sister's unhappy squalling. David and Jared had constantly woken each other up as babies, but the girls don't seem to do that much. At least not yet.

"Daddy's got you," Mulder says softly as he picks up the angry infant. "No need to shout, I'm right here."

She doesn't seem at all mollified at first, but her noise shuts off as soon as she latches onto the rubber nipple of the bottle. Mulder looks down at her, admiring the thatch of light brown hair that she shares with her sister. ::Funny how both sets of twins, and only them, inherited brown hair.:: He eyes the other crib, wondering when the girl's sister will wake up with her demand to be feed too.

As Mulder rocks Brianna, he finds himself thinking about how his own sister's mystery was solved in his other lifetime. Back then it had seemed like an airtight case, but had it been? Without Scully to know about his brain illness and to urge him towards a cure, he'd been slowly succumbing to it. Had he really been convinced that the dead girl who'd met him with open arms had really been his sister, or had he been so worn down by his illness and the length of the search that he'd accepted what had seemed like facts without thinking critically about their veracity?

* * *

10 p.m.

An hour after everyone else has gone to bed, even Scully, Mulder finds himself putting on his jacket instead of his pajamas. He's not sure he even wants to go to the hospital, but he's already driving there.

The doors to the hospital open with a gentle whooshing sound when he steps in front of them. Harsh lights make him blink owlishly, and a nurse at the admitting desk looks up with a small amount of interest when he walks up to her.

"Can I help you?" she asks in a tone just this side of boredom.

"I know that visiting hours are over, but I just found out that my nephew is in the hospital. Is there any way I could just look into his room? I promise I won't wake him or anything."

"Didn't your wife just have twins?" The nurse asks, surprising him. When he glances at her name tag, he notices that it says "Nurse Elliot," which brings up a faint memory of Scully mentioning a nice nurse by that name.

"Yup, that's us."

"I thought so! You look a little different without the Dracula makeup. I bet the babies are making it hard to get anything done," the nurse adds, to his confusion.

"Pretty much," Mulder admits.

She straightens up in her seat. "Considering your special circumstances, I think that we can let the whole visiting hours issue slide - if you keep your promise not to wake the boy."

"Of course."

"What's his name?"

"Andrew Hill? His parents call him Drew. He's four."

She looks up Andrew's information in her computer. "Room 417. I'll page an orderly to walk you up there." She looks at him over her glasses. "Then you won't have to worry about keeping your promise."

"Sure."

And orderly appears a couple of minutes later, and Nurse Elliot explains in hushed words. The orderly nods to Mulder, and he's quick to follow the other man.

The orderly looks over his shoulder at Mulder. "Elliot must like you for some reason."

"My wife kind of caused a stir a couple of weeks ago. We had twins, and only one of them waited until we got here to be born."

"Oh, that was you! How is everyone?" The orderly asks as they step into an elevator.

"My wife and both girls are doing great."

The ride in the elevator takes only seconds, and the orderly steps in front of Mulder. "We'll stop talking now. The nurses will kill us if we wake up the peds floor."

"Right," Mulder whispers.

They stop in front of room 417, and the orderly holds a finger to his lips before gently opening the door. Mulder looks in, and is immediately disheartened to see that the room is dimly lit by a night light that could have come out of David and Jared's room. How can someone still scared of the dark be so ill?

Even in the relatively dim light, Mulder and see that the child sleeping in the bed is not healthy. His dark blond hair is pasted to his forehead with sweat, and it immediately summons up a mental picture of Emily in her last hours. Drew doesn't look quite as sick as Emily had been then, but he's decidedly not well.

After a moment of tossing and turning, the little boy opens his eyes and looks at Mulder. His eyes look just like Samantha's. Mulder steps out into the hallway as soon as the boy's eyes close.

Once they've walked back to the elevator, Mulder glances at the orderly. "Do you know who I'd speak to about finding out if I'm a bone marrow match for my nephew?"

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
1am

Scully rolls over with a yawn when she hears the bedroom door open. "Mulder, why are you dressed?"

"I went to the hospital," Mulder tells her while he sits on the bed and starts to pull off his shoes. "One of the nurses let me peek in on Scott's son."

"You went to see the little boy? Why?"

"I've been thinking about this situation all day. It's all well and good to insist that I discovered what happened to my sister, but what if I'm wrong? I was so sick when I thought I saw Samantha's ghost..."

"Now you're doubting yourself."

"Of course I am. What if I continue to insist that this woman couldn't possibly be my sister, and it turns out that no only that I was wrong about that, I'm the one who could save that little boy? I don't know if I could live with the guilt. So I'm arranging to have the necessary testing done to determine if I'm a bone marrow match for the boy," Mulder explains.

"Are you going to go and see this woman, to let her know what you've decided?"

Mulder shakes his head. "They said I didn't have to. If it turns out that I'm a match, I'll speak to her then. I don't think I can stand to see her look hopeful if it turns out that I can't help her son."

Scully scoots across the bed and wraps her arms around him. "I think you're doing the right thing, Mulder."

"Me too."

* * *

Mercy Medical  
November 21st, 2002

The day has finally arrived when Mulder is making his sacrifice for family planning. The doctor speaks to him briefly, administers a shot, and is called away by a nurse. Doctor Penman promises to be back "before the shot wears off" which just makes Mulder gulp.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"I'm fine. I don't have to watch, right?" Mulder whispers.

Scully squeezes his hand. "Of course you don't have to."

"You know, I can't feel them at all," Mulder admits while they wait for the doctor to return to Mulder's room. "That shot he gave me is something else."

"Good."

The door open and Penman strides in, surprisingly spy for a white-haired gentleman. "How are the baby girls, Dana?" he asks as he goes to sit near Mulder's waist.

"They're both great."

"You are both sure that you don't want more, right?" Penman asks, sounding amused. "I'm supposed to ask before I cut anything, no matter how many kids a couple has."

"We're sure," Mulder tells him, turning his gaze from the scalpel. ::Not that it isn't sad that we're never having any more.::

"Okay, then. I'm going to start. You shouldn't feel the incision, but yell if you do and I'll give you more Novocain."

"Do you have to do that very often?" Mulder asks in a shaky voice.

"Almost never."

::I can handle this. I've been shot, dammit!:: Mulder thinks, trying to calm himself. ::I've been tortured by aliens. Twice!::

Several minutes later Penman says, "Okay, just two more stitches to close things up, and we're done."

"You're done?" Mulder asks, surprised.

Penman puts aside a needle and thread. "All done."

"Wow."

"When you get home, I want you in bed with an icepack for a few hours, got it?"

"I'll make sure he follows your orders," Scully tells him.

"Good. I'd tell you not to have sex, but with three-week-old twins at home, we know that's not going to be happening," Penman chuckles knowingly. "And we already discussed using condoms until you can provide us two sperm-free semen samples."

"It could take up to three months, right?"

"It could, but it probably won't be that long." Penman glances at Scully. "How old are your youngest boys?"

"Three and one and a half, why?" she asks, confused.

"This isn't an order, Fox, but a recommendation: get Dana to buy you a cup."

It takes Mulder a second to figure out what he means. "I haven't worn one since I played sports."

"You're going to be sore for up to two weeks. Do you think you can keep your little sons from crawling on your lap with their hard little feet for that long?"

Mulder looks up at his wife, "He has a point."

Scully smiles. "Once he's in bed I'll go out to the sporting goods store."

"And buy him some Tylenol for the pain too, Dear."

"I will."

Penman pats Mulder's shoulder. "You can get dressed, Fox. Just see the receptionist out front before you go."

"Thanks, Doc."

"No problem. Take care now."

"So, that's it," Mulder says as soon as they're alone in the room.

"Looks like," Scully agrees.

* * *

Federal Correctional Institution  
Cumberland, Maryland  
A Week Later

A typically monotonous day is broken up for Brad Follmer when he's unexpectedly informed that he has a visitor. A faint hope involving Marita and conjugal visits accompanies him as a guard walks him to the visitor's lounge. Alas, his dreams dry up before he's even seated.

"What do you want?" Follmer asks sullenly as soon as he sees that his visitor is Mulder.

"To talk to you."

"About? I doubt you want to discuss this week's sports or my past sexual exploits with your friend Monica." Follmer manages to look both snide and bored, which impresses Mulder on some level.

"I was thinking about a bribe," Mulder tells him.

"A bribe?" Follmer looks incredulous. "I know what you must have asked yourself: 'what do you get for a man who has nothing?' So what did you come up with, and more importantly what do you think I have that's worth bribing me for?"

"A man like you is going without a lot of things that might make the duration of your sentence more bearable. You could get a radio, a fan, a small TV, nicer sneakers, even some hair care products. I have the cash with me to get those things into your hands."

"In exchange for what?" Follmer waves his hand around. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm no longer master of my domain. It's not like I have any power to get things done on the outside these days."

"I don't expect for you to do anything other than have a conversation," Mulder says, putting a sizable stack of ten dollar bills on the table. "Two thousand dollars would buy you a lot of perks at the commissary."

"To think I'd ever sell myself so cheap," Follmer says with a rueful look. "What do you want to know? And more importantly, why me?"

"As the most senior member of what's left of the tattered consortium, I think you might be the only man left standing who knows what I want to hear."

"One of those seniority things people say are such a privilege. Do go on."

"That and your reputation for being historically knowledgeable about the organization," he says, thinking of what Krycek has said about him. Mulder leans forward slightly. "Tell me about the girl who was experimented on in my sister's name."

"Ah. You must mean one of the Samanthas," Follmer tells him, and Mulder feels his heart skip a beat.

"One of?"

"Don't be coy, Mulder. You tried to save one of the Samanthas on a bridge several years ago. And I know you know all about the bees and corn. You rescued your lovely wife and regretfully dead ex from the clutches of the beasties after you and Scully poked your noses where they shouldn't have been."

It's on the tip of Mulder's tongue to mention the boys and girls that he and had once seen tending to those very crops. "What does corn have to do with my sister?"

"One of the very first things the consortium did after taking their hostages was to attempt to clone some of them. Your sister and the son of one of the British members were cloned to provide an unpaid workforce for the program."

"You're trying to tell me that clones of my sister were used as slaves?" Mulder tries hard to look like he can hardly believe Follmer's words.

The other man seems to buy his reaction. "Exactly. They looked like your sister since we'd taken her DNA to make our mute little worker bees. I know you met some of the clones in the Kurt series, so you know that we were able to grow them to the desired age whenever we felt like it. Since they weren't really children, we didn't have to worry about the mundane details like teaching them, and since they were mute they couldn't exactly tell anyone if they thought they were being mistreated. They were ideal, in a way."

"What do they have to do with the girl I'm talking about?" Mulder asks impatiently. "She spoke to people."

"It took them quite a while to perfect the clones. Early on they left them too intact, with the ability to speak and to think independently. Later on we rectified that, of course, but the girl you mean was the earliest, a regrettably imperfect model."

"Regrettable? What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that unlike their later toys, this one was fairly human. Just enough alien DNA in her to grow her up to age eight in a year. The old man had a soft spot for your sister, so he insisted that she be released as soon as we procured the necessary DNA. The rest of the consortium insisted that it wasn't possible because the visitors would know that one of the hostages was missing. Not to be stymied, he put the cloning project into high gear, and they soon had an exact duplicate of your sister in their possession." Brad gives him a sickly smile. "Or maybe I should say 'our possession' given I was brought into the project by my father before the ink on my high school diploma was dry."

Mulder tries not to show his amazement at Follmer's revelation about his early involvement. It really shouldn't surprise him – if the Smoking Man had raised him, Mulder thinks that he himself would have been recruited very young as well, which is just one more reason to be thankful he'd grown up as Bill Mulder's child instead. "Why didn't he bring my sister home, then?"

"Your father. Bill was backing out of the project as far and as fast as he could by then, and the old man refused to give him the satisfaction of being the only person to get his loved one back. So, instead he arranged for the girl to be fostered by another family. They all pretended that the clone you're speaking of was really your sister. I think the old man pretended the hardest, because they way he talked about her made people occasionally doubt that he recalled that she wasn't the real Samantha Mulder."

Mulder nods slowly. "I guess giving my sister away makes sense in context of what I knew about the despicable bastard. But how did the clone end up dead?"

"That girl is the reason the subsequent clones were made to be mute and limited in their ability to function independently. Since she was an almost exact duplicate of the girl he'd given away, it was hard for people, even him, to think of her as clone. He rarely saw your real sister even from a distance, and this girl was readily at hand, so he made a pet out of her clone. Eventually he even brought her to live with his wife and son, which turned out to be a fatal mistake."

"Fatal to the girl, you mean," Mulder grumbles.

"Sadly. It seemed to some that he was taking too many liberties with the girl, so there was a plan to take her back regularly to experiment on. The girl endured it for a few months, but considering that she thought of herself as a person, it eventually because unbearable to her and she ran away. As a punishment the Smoking Man was sent to retrieve her from the hospital she ended up in."

"But the walk-ins took her first."

"Walk-ins?" Follmer looks surprised, but not, as it turns out, by Mulder's choice of descriptors. "What fairytales have you been telling yourself? He took her from the hospital, and she begged him to kill her rather than make her go through any more experimentation."

"Did he?" Mulder asks tonelessly.

"I already told you that he had taken a shine to the girl. In the final instance of him not being able to deny her anything, he did as she asked. A single bullet to the heart stopped her suffering, and he appeared back at the consortium covered in blood and carrying her body. The girl was cremated that night, and an immediate plan to alter all further clones was immediately instituted."

"But I saw her," Mulder blurts out, making Follmer look up at him. "Evidence of her, I mean. Three years ago a psychic brought me to where the smoking man's family had lived, and I found her diary. I also talked to a nurse who had treated the girl before he came to the hospital to take her. She said the girl simply disappeared."

"You spoke to nurse Ray?" Follmer asks casually.

Mulder's mouth instantly tastes of ashes.

"Did you really think that no one thought to wonder what would happen if you ever made your way to April Base? They paid off a nurse connected to the clone on the off chance that you ever were able to access the hospital records from the girl's final night. From the look on your face, whatever tale she spun for you must have been convincing."

"She was paid off?" Mulder asks, barely able to get the words out. A cold fear fills his belly when he thinks about the holes that the woman could put in his story, given that this time he never actually spoke to her any more than he had Harold Piller.

"Until the day she died," Follmer tells him.

"She's dead?" Mulder asks, hating himself for the relief he feels knowing that.

"Sorry. You're more than a year too late to interrogate her about what she hid from you with her lies about walk-ins," Brad says without a trace of pity in his voice. "I'm curious as to why you've come to ask about the dead girl now. Am I to surmise that you've discovered the carefully hidden authentic Samantha, then? That must be it, am I right?"

Mulder spreads his hands. "How could you be wrong?"

"They could have dreamed up worse fates for her, you know."

"I know." Mulder slides the stack of money towards Follmer. "I suspect that nice guard is going to keep this safe for you, but I bet he'll let you count it first."

The guard nods from his corner.

Follmer smirks at Mulder. "Do I need to count it? You're not the cheating type."

* * *

Later

As Mulder gets into Scully's car, his gaze happens on the letter still sitting unfolded on the passenger seat. He's already read it three times, even though he committed the contents to memory the first time.

He, Fox Mulder, is a bone marrow match for Andrew Benjamin Hill.

That fact alone is proof that the woman who gave birth to Andrew is his long-lost sister, but he'd still wanted to hear it from someone else's mouth that the girl he'd been mourning since seeing her ghost in a year 2000 was yet another clone. It makes him wonder if he would have ever have realized that his sense of closure over his sister's disappearance had been counterfeit, or if he'd of gone to his grave without knowing the truth.

::Speaking to Follmer was worth the two grand, easily.:: Mulder thinks as he puts the car back into drive.

Scully has promised that they'll arrange to have Samantha come over tomorrow, and he feels sick to his stomach thinking about that. What will it be like to see her again, at long last?

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
The Following Day

Zoe fusses as Maggie bundles her into her bunting bag. Scully tries to soothe the baby by talking to her even as she gets Brianna dressed to go out too.

"You're sure that it's really her?" Maggie asks, now swaying slightly to calm her granddaughter.

"The DNA test says that it is," Scully replies. "Thanks for taking them for us."

"No problem. But where's William?"

"He's right here," Michelle announces as she walks into the room with William on her hip. He's already wearing his tiny royal blue coat and winter boots. "Mrs. Scully, are you sure you want me to bring the boys to your house after I pick them up from preschool? I could take them to a movie or something instead and pick the babies up later."

"If you don't mind sticking around my place while they watch a DVD, I don't mind at all."

"Sure." Michelle looks over at Scully. "Should I tell Mister Mulder good luck? I'm not sure what to say in this sort of situation."

"You mean you're not experienced with talking to people about meeting their long lost sisters?" Maggie asks the nanny with a grin.

Michelle blushes.

"I don't think anyone needs to say anything," Scully decides. "But thank you for the thought."

Mulder walks into the room just in time to take Brianna out of Scully's arms. "Thanks, Maggie."

She doesn't say anything, but kisses him on the cheek. "I think we're all ready to go. Would you grab the diaper bags, Dear?"

He does, smiling at his mother-in-law's inventive way to avoid awkward conversation.

* * *

Half an Hour Later

When there's the sound of an engine in the driveway, Mulder insists on being the one to go and greet his guest. Scully kisses him on the check and heads for the kitchen. He watches as the car door open and his guest steps out. After a second's hesitation, she heads up the walk towards where he waits.

"Samantha?" Mulder's voice is barely a whisper as he opens the screen door for the woman on the other side. He's not sure why, but it shocks him that this woman looks so like the ones he met over the years. ::Of course she does. They were cloned from her, after all.::

She gives him a tentative smile. "You've grown up on me, Fox."

Mulder steps back so she can enter the house. "So have you. You don't look like the tree climber I remember."

"I guess not."

"Please, have a seat," Mulder tells her gesturing towards the arm chairs.

"Thanks."

There's a moment of mildly uncomfortable silence as they look at each other, but Mulder thinks of something to say. "How is Drew doing?"

Samantha shrugs. "As well as can be expected. He's in isolation for now because they need to destroy his immune system before he receives your bone marrow...Scott and I can't thank you enough for doing this."

"That's what family is for," Mulder says firmly.

"But still, not everyone would do that for a sister they haven't seen in decades. When I didn't match Drew, and Scott and the girls didn't either...we almost lost hope."

"Scott mentioned that you have girls too, but I don't know their names."

"Adrianna, my oldest, is thirteen. Ariel is ten, and Alyssa is eight. We waited a few years and decided to give having a boy one last shot, and we got Andrew," Samantha says with a smile. "When you told Scott that you have nine kids, were you-"

Mulder shakes his head. "I wasn't joking. Dana and I really do have nine."

"Wow. I'm going to have a lot of names and ages to remember."

"Unless you've changed a lot since you were a kid, that won't be too much of a challenge for you. I should probably tell you first that I named my oldest son after you. He's seven now," Mulder says quietly.

Samantha looks up, surprised. "Samantha isn't an easy name for a boy."

Mulder forces himself not to smile as he recalls saying the same thing to Scully when she suggested making Sammy his sister's namesake. He can tell that his sister is teasing him, but he pretends that he thinks she's serious. "Samuel," Mulder explains. "We named him Samuel Taylor Mulder."

"Wow," Samantha says again. "I never thought I'd have someone named after me."

"Promise me not to return the favor," Mulder insists, making her laugh. "I still haven't forgiven Mom and Dad for sticking me with Fox."

"If, in the very unlikely event that we have another baby, I promise not to name him Fox."

"I'll hold you to that. Anyway, Sammy has one older sister, Page, who is eight..." Mulder says, then tells her the names and ages of the rest. "...April considers that half to be very important, so I try not to forget it."

"She sounds serious."

"As far as my kids go, yes. Christopher is serious for a three-year-old too, but he has his moments."

"Oh?"

"After throwing a tantrum, he became the only one of my kids to see a baby born."

"Now that sounds like a story..."

Mulder obliges, and tells her the tale of Brianna's quick entry into the world. This has them both laughing. Eventually he becomes more somber.

"What really happened to you?" Mulder asks, trying to be more patient with Samantha than he had the last lifetime he talked to her.

Samantha spreads her hands. "There are things I still don't remember."

"That's okay. Just tell me what you do remember."

"You and I were playing a game-"

"- Stratego."

"That's the one. When some men broke into the house. One of them did something to you, I think they drugged you. You collapsed, and I thought they killed you when I screamed your name and you didn't answer."

::Did they drug me? Is that why I remember not being able to move? Did the drug cause hallucinations?::

"When they got me outside, they insisted that there was a fire, and that you were already dead, so that's why they didn't rescue you too. I didn't want to believe them, but they said you fell down because of the smoke..." Samantha shakes her head. "I shouldn't have believed them."

"It's not your fault," Mulder insists. "Kids are expected to believe adults, so how could you be at fault for doing what you were supposed to?"

"I was kept with some other kids for about a year, and then I was given to a new family, the Foresters."

"Were they okay?"

"They loved me, Fox. I missed you, Mom and Dad, but they loved me too, so it was hard not to love them back."

"Can I meet them?" Mulder asks impulsively. Mostly he wants assurance that the people who raised his sister weren't evil.

Samantha shakes her head. "I wish you could, but they passed away not long after Adrianna was born. Ruth had lung cancer, and Gary seemed to lose the will to live without her."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

"So Ruth and Gary raised you. How did you find out that you were lied to about my death?"

"Last year an old man who claimed to be our father told me that I'd been lied to. I know that he wasn't really our father, but I think I remembered him visiting the house. We didn't like him."

"I know who you're talking about," Mulder tells her.

"He made me promise not to bother you because you were happy. According to him it would be too big a shock for you if you found out that I was alive, since you'd been told I was dead too." She gives him an apologetic look. "I wasn't even sure that I believed him, about you being alive, until I was watching TV a couple of months ago. And there you were, alive and well."

"I knew something good would come from doing that show." Mulder smiles.

"Did you really used to be an FBI agent?"

"Dana and I both were, for years and years."

"I think I can picture that," Samantha tells him. Then she looks like she has something difficult to say. "Is Mom..."

"Mom would probably love to see you. I only wish Dad have lived long enough to, but he died last year."

"You really think she'd want to see me?" Samantha's voice is small.

"More than anything. She'd love to see you and meet the rest of her grandkids."

"Okay. Would you mind telling her about me, first?"

"Not at all. I do have one last question for you, though."

"What's that?"

"When are my kids going to meet their aunt Samantha and their 'new girl cousins'?" Mulder asks. "Page and April will be thrilled to death to find out that there are three more girls in the family, even if two of your girls are older."

"Pretty soon, Fox," Samantha promises.

"Good. If it's okay with you, I'd like to arrange that before I donate the marrow, before there are any holes drilled into me. My kids are good at sensing weakness," he deadpans.

"Sure, let's do that."

"Mulder?" He turns and sees Scully holding a tray of mugs. "Would you two like coffee?"

"I would."

"Nice to meet you, Dana," Samantha says, standing. "Though I feel like I know you a little already from the TV show."

"At least it's been good for something," Scully says, unknowingly echoing Mulder.

* * *

Mulder spends the rest of their first meeting torn between being grateful that their silly TV show made Samantha aware that he was alive, and regretting not having met with her in a diner years earlier because he'd concluded back then, due to not yet understand who she was, that they'd had nothing to offer each other. In the end he decides that meeting now needs to be good enough to satisfy him considering how many other could-have-beens he's been able to repair.

After Samantha leaves, Mulder walks across the room and gives the phone a contemplative look. He studies it for a minute, stalling for time before picking it up and dialing a number that he knows by heart.

He sits as the phone begins to ring. It only takes a moment before a distant voice greets him more warmly than it might have in the past. "Mom, are you sitting down? I have something to tell you."


	121. Late Nights With Dead Ringer

December 17, 2002

It's a cramped studio, but it's been a second home to the lone smoking resident within for almost thirty years. The musical intro fades out, and the red light blinks on when the DJ hits the mic button. "You've been listening to 'Dark Night of the Soul' by Loreena McKennitt," a warm, friendly voice says. "That wraps up the metaphysical mysteries, at least for tonight. Thanks to my guests, Rabbi Levi Markowitz, Father Leroy Schiaparelli, Dr. Morgan Eisenhower, and psychic Melissa Morton, and of course, each and every one of you listeners. This is Ted Ringer, of Late Nights with Dead Ringer, with you every night because strange things happen every day."

After hitting the mic button off and hitting a couple of buttons to switch the station to satellite programming and cutting the web streaming feed, the DJ leans back and sighs, looking content. "So, did any of you drive in, or should I call for cabs?" he asks his male guests. The lone woman, Miss Morton, was a call-in guest, and only came on in the first half hour of the two-hour program.

The doctor shakes his hand before leaving, "I drove," he says, and the rabbi does the same. The priest, however, pulls out a cell phone, "Don't worry, I'll call for a cab."

The DJ nods at him and smiles. "Okay, I'll just take care of some things for tomorrow's show, then." Then he turns his attention to his laptop, checks his e-mail and, after forwarding some of the more interesting entries to his program director, deletes a good deal before carefully perusing others. By the time he finishes with his official e-mails, the priest waves him goodbye, and the DJ waves back. Then he confirms that the guests for the next show are coming in, double-checks on any special arrangement (there is none, for once), and skims through the show prep, most of which is familiar to him after years of doing this kind of show. He highlights the various points he'll need to cover, plus new information, and copies it onto a new document. Then he saves everything, and, owing to his mild paranoia about technology, saves everything again before turning it off. He puts the laptop into a half-full briefcase, which looks worse for the wear than he does, but just barely.

The DJ grunts as he pushes his chair away from the soundboard, and when he stands, he's a lot bigger and taller than most of his listening audience would think, but his shoulders are bowed and his head hangs low, as if shouldering an invisible burden. The large man, clad in the old school uniform of suit and tie, grabs his now-empty coffee mug and half-empty cigarette carton, along with his briefcase carrying his laptop and large-print notes, and walks out of the studio.

Once he steps out of the radio station, he's no longer Ted Ringer, host of the paranormal and supernatural call-in show, but just Ted O'Neill, age 65, married five times and divorced just as many times, father to five girls and two boys, all of whom live with his ex-wives. Just a regular guy, really.

* * *

The Mulder-Scully home  
December 25, 2002

After holding Brianna and Zoe for two hours, she's given twin duty to her husband, who is currently sitting on the couch with said twins and William. "Merry Christmas!" Scully warmly hugs the next arrival. Or rather, set of arrivals, since Mattie is holding a squirming cat. "Merry Christmas, Bill, Tara," she says, hugging each in turn. "Food in the kitchen, presents under the tree."

"I think we'd know the drill by now," her older brother retorts, amused, as his son races inside with the hapless cat. "Let me guess, Santa's up in the chimney and monsters are under the bed to keep the kids company."

"Don't mind him," Tara shakes her head, "I think the long flights have messed with his brain as well as his sleep."

Scully chuckles as she closes the door behind them. "Those, I don't miss," she says, ushering them into the crowded house. "Bill, Tara, these are my friends John and Monica, and their children Hannah, Luke, and Gibson - David, no, that's not for eating," she groans, snatching the plastic candy cane out of the boy's mouth and putting it back on the tree. She taps a white-haired woman on the shoulder, and the woman spins around. "This is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Mulder," and her brother and sister-in-law shake the proffered hand. "And you should know these two," she waves at Melissa and Krycek, who are sharing a lazy-boy while Melissa holds Ryan. "Missy, is Addy with Christopher?"

Her red-haired sister nods, sending warning looks at both her brother and husband as both men start to glare at each other. "Dana, can you check on Emily? I think she and Page went upstairs to fix their dresses for the hundredth time," she rolls her eyes.

Scully laughs. "Like you never had a girly phase," she says, and her older sister wrinkles her nose. "I'll check on them after I check on Addy and Christopher." Melissa shoots her a relieved look before standing up to put a wedge between Krycek and Bill Jr.'s glaring contest.

The shorter red-haired woman makes her way to the kitchen, but finds herself deftly plucking Teliko out of Jared's clutches and putting him into Hannah's, steering Sammy and April away from shaking the presents again, and taking Doggett's and Reyes' cups before actually making it into the kitchen. "Hi," she says, finding her mother teaching her son and Missy's until recently estranged daughter how to decorate the Christmas cake.

All three look up, and two smile at her while one merely stares. "Hi, Mommy," Christopher says. "Look, we made a star!"

Scully puts the cups on the counter before inspecting the children's handiwork. "Wow, it's beautiful," she says, smiling.

"Of course it is," Mrs. Scully beams, her face, hands and clothes decorated with previous cooking efforts. "My grandchildren made it, after all." And she hugs both blond children, and to Scully's surprise, they both hug her back with equal affection.

Still marveling at the magic of her mother, Scully manages to remember some other important information. "Bill and his family just joined us," the red-haired daughter informs her brunette mother, "and they brought a cat."

"Kitty?" Addy says, looking interested.

Scully nods, remembering the first time her sister's daughter met Teliko and Piper - after the pair was captured - and was utterly enchanted. "So far, Mattie's holding on to it, but I doubt a cat will stay put for long," and she smiles.

After a beat, the little girl smiles back. "Good," Addy says, "kitties gotta play."

"That they do," Scully agrees.

"Which reminds me, we haven't made the Christmas cookies," Mrs. Scully says. "We can make cats," and she smiles at Addy, who smiles back, "stars, trees, bells, all sorts of things!"

"Cool!" Christopher crows, and the little blonde girl nods her head. "Mommy, you wanna make some?" he asks.

Scully shakes her head, refilling her friends' cups with coffee. "I made them when I was your age," she says, "now it's your turn. Have fun!" She raises the mugs before she leaves, and they wave back.

She's a little disappointed that Charlie and his family couldn't make it over, but they're spending it with his in-laws who live closer, which is understandable. It's not like she needs to fill this house to the brim, although the conversations, laughter, and even mild grudges from everyone within are more than enough to fill it with life.

After giving Doggett and Reyes their coffee cups and waving at Luke and Gibson on their way to play basketball outside, she gives Melissa a thumbs up before heading upstairs to check on their girls. Of course, if she'd stayed downstairs, she would've been the one to answer the door instead of her husband.

* * *

"I'll get it," Mulder says when there's a knock at the door. He limps over, his hip still bothering him from the marrow donation, smiling because he figures the Lone Gunmen have given up on their week-long stalking of some radio show host. "Merry Christmas," he says as he opens the door. Then his eyes widen when he sees who's actually standing there. "Wow, it's a Christmas miracle," he says, half-joking.

Even though he's seen them all before, the sight never fails to move him. His sister, once thought to be dead another lifetime ago, is standing before him, along with her movie star-looking husband and their four kids. "Shh, don't tell her we're here," Samantha says. "I want to surprise her."

"Oh, you'll do that, all right," Mulder chuckles, as Scott gives him a sheepish look and the kids are still in the polite stage of acquaintance. "Come on in before you freeze."

They do that, and are surprised to find the house rather full. "How many people are you related to?" Scott asks his wife in a low voice, before setting Drew down to remove his jacket.

She gives him a look. "I'm guessing these are Fox's friends and in-laws," she says, seeing a woman with red hair like her sister-in-law's.

"That they are," Mulder nods, and once they've removed their sweaters and jackets, he puts a finger to his lips as he leads the family through the living room. His mother has her back to them as she listens to April, and he taps his mother's shoulder. "Mom, there's someone here to see you."

"Oh?" she says, turning around. Then her eyes widen, and she puts a hand to her chest. "Samantha?"

The short woman with long, wavy brown hair nods. "Um, Merry Christmas," she says awkwardly.

And to her and her brother's surprise, Mrs. Mulder wraps her arms around Samantha, tears rushing to her eyes. "Fox told me you were alive, but I didn't," she chokes out, "I didn't know what to believe."

And her daughter's similarly affected, if the tears in her eyes are any indication. "I'm here," Samantha says with tears in her eyes, "I'm really here."

When they drop their arms, Mrs. Mulder pulls out a handkerchief from her purse and dabs at her eyes. "Oh my," she smiles, embarrassed by her tears, "this is a lovely surprise." And she hands her handkerchief to her daughter, who smiles a little before wiping her own eyes dry.

Samantha steps to the side so her mother can see her family. "Mom, this is my husband Scott Hill," she says, and holds her breath as her mother does a quick appraisal of her husband before shaking his hand, "and these are my children, Adrianna, Ariel, Alyssa, and Andrew."

"Hi, Grandma," Drew says from his father's shoulders. "Sorry I couldn't see you before, but I'm healthy now!"

Mrs. Mulder smiles, "Yes, I see."

"Why don't you guys take the dining table?" Mulder says, steering them in that direction. "I'm sure you have plenty to catch up on."

His mother nods, and they're already talking as they take their seats. Mulder smiles a little, then limps back to the couch where his little ones are. "You takin' anything for your hip?" Doggett asks, relinquishing the spot for the babies' father.

Mulder shrugs a little. "Some aspirin, but nothing much," he grunts, easing gently onto the couch. Then he turns William's head towards the scene at the dining table. "See that? That's your grandma with your long-lost auntie and her family. That's what's called 'surreal'."

Doggett snorts. "You and your family drama," he says, "do you ever have a normal Christmas?"

Mulder gives his friend an innocent look, which the other man's not buying. "This is normal," he says, then looks around. "Hey, where'd Monica go?"

Doggett smirks. "She went upstairs to tell your wife. You think she wants to miss out on this?"

Mulder blinks. "What would she do, scream 'Oh my God, Samantha, this is such a total surprise!'?" he says in a high-pitched voice, flapping his hands around like a bad imitation of a girl.

"You're a sick man," Doggett shakes his head, but chuckles anyways, ruining the effect. "No, I think it's more like-"

"Adrianna!" a young girlish voice suddenly screams. "Oh my God, Ariel, Alyssa, you're all here!" Mulder's head whips around so fast to follow the source, he almost hurts his neck. His daughter Page, however, only has eyes for her older cousins, and she's practically a blonde blur as she races to the dining table.

The eldest, Adrianna, turns and graces her with a smile. "Hi, Page. Who's your friend?"

Page turns and almost seems surprised that she's holding on to her cousin's hand. "This is my cousin Emily," she says, and Emily, suddenly shy, merely nods.

And now Mulder sees why the girls have been upstairs so long. They've been trying to imitate Samantha's daughters, who are all rather stylish, if such a thing can be attributed to pre-teens. Scully and Reyes have made their way down, and they share looks after seeing all the girls. This is gonna be fun, he thinks.

"Cousin?" Ariel looks at her.

Page nods. "She's one of Auntie Missy and Uncle Alex's kids," and she points to the couple on the lazy-boy, who wave. "That's their baby, Ryan. Emily's younger sister Addy's in the kitchen with my brother Christopher and Grandma Maggie."

"Welcome to the extended family," Mrs. Mulder says wryly. Then she looks at her new son-in-law, who's still processing all of this. "Let me guess, your family gatherings don't usually get this big."

He shakes his head. "No, ma'am. After my parents passed away, it's been just my older sister. This year, she's in the Bahamas with her new boyfriend." He smiles a little as the girls talk shop, er, shopping, leaving his son with a disgusted look on his face. "Looks like Drew needs to find someone to talk with, too."

"Talking's boring," the little boy grumbles, making a face when his mother ruffles his hair affectionately.

Then Mattie comes to the table. "Hey, have you guys seen my cat?" he asks.

They all look at him blankly, until they hear a girl crowing, "Kitty!" And then they hear crashes and muffled yelps.

"Never mind, I found him," the dark-haired boy says, running into the kitchen.

* * *

December 29, 2003

Doggett's stretching his arms out, having had quite the extended weekend. He yawns, then cracks his neck before sitting down behind the desk. Spending the holidays with Mulder's and Scully's families almost makes him want to spend it with his family - that is, until he remembers his older brother and the reason why it's "almost" want to rather than "definitely."

He looks at the pile in the "in" box and squints, wondering how it got to be so low. His memory, however fuzzy his brain might be from the mini-vacation and the extra time spent with the lovely Monica Reyes, serves him well enough to tally off the various cases they'd had and solved (or outright debunked). A brief glance at the headings of the 401s is enough to tell him that these are pretty small fry, too.

"Oh well, as long as the world ain't endin', I'm happy," he mumbles, wondering when his partner, in and out of the office, will show up. Nonetheless, he starts to give the case on the top of the scrawny pile his full attention, that is, until he hears footsteps approach, and his head perks up.

"Hey, partner," Reyes smiles as she walks in, waving a form. "Guess what we got."

He gives it a look, then gives her a look. "Doesn't appear to be a late Christmas present," he notes wryly.

She shakes her head, still smiling, and hands it over. "We're going to be guests on the Dead Ringer show," she says while he reads. "Isn't it great?"

He looks up, puzzled. "Says here it's some kinda radio show. I thought radio just played music."

Reyes tilts her head. "Not on the a.m. side," she says, "that's where the talk radio kings rule. What, don't you listen to Rush Limbaugh?"

"He's still on the radio?" Doggett says, surprised. "Naw, I just listen to country music."

"Which is probably why we don't listen to the radio on stakeout," she murmurs, and he sighs. "Anyways. Ted Ringer, that's the host of the show," and he nods, "he invited us to be on his show one night."

He starts to nod again, then his eyes fly open and he looks at the form again. "Wait, so this guy thinks we're gonna be free in February?" he frowns. "Who does he think we are?"

"The second coming of Mulder and Scully," she grins. "Come on, it'll be fun." Then she looks at the slim pickings in the "in" box. "Not like we're going to be busy anytime soon," she remarks.

"Not so loud," he groans, "I'd like to keep earning my paycheck while I can, thanks."

Reyes nods, smiling again as she sits beside him, turning on the computer. "In the meantime, what are we doing the day for New Year's?"

Doggett blinks. "Um, good question."

"Work on that problem first," she suggests, "I gotta call Mulder."

"Why?" he asks, curious.

She smiles far too brightly. "To gonna gloat, of course! It's like being on the Howard Stern Show, except for paranormal and conspiracy stuff!"

He sighs and rolls eyes. It was gonna be a long week, and it had barely started.

* * *

"So, why are we gonna be on that show and not Mulder and Scully?" Doggett wonders as they go shopping for party supplies.

Reyes shrugs a little. "Mulder said something about their contract with Federman, some exclusive blah-blah-blah, and he pouted."

Doggett gives her a look. "How could you tell he pouted over the phone?"

"Because there was a long, jealous pause," she says, straightforward.

"How could you tell it was a jea - never mind," he says, figuring it was a woman thing. "Uh, no, Monica," he says, pushing her hand away from the really tacky 2003 sunglasses and party hats. "I'd like to keep as many pictures after ringing in the New Year."

She pouts. "Hey, who says you can't have a little fun with silly accessories?"

Doggett sighs heavily, steering her away from the aisle. "We've got enough food and snacks for a couple of troops, I'd say that's enough for a party."

Reyes gives him a teasing smile. "John, was there some kind of childhood trauma that prevents you from wearing party hats?"

"No," he grumbles.

"Then party hats it is!" she declares gleefully, running back to the aisle and grabbing as many silly things as she can hold, as well as the aforementioned party hats. "This will go on my card, don't worry!"

"Oh, I'm already worried," he shakes his head, following behind her. "You're not even on a sugar high and you're as giddy as a kid."

"La la la, I don't hear you," She singsongs, heading, no, practically skipping, to the checkout counter.

Unseen, he rolls his eyes, then pushes the shopping cart down the direction she was headed. She's a grown woman, he thinks, she can wear her own party hats if she wants to. He knows she's going to take a million pictures, but he's determined not to wear anything ridiculous, or at least delete any pictures showing him in anything ridiculous.

Of course, when they get home, the boys are happy with all the food they brought back for the new year's party, while Hannah's the only one who shares Reyes' enthusiasm for the cheesy hats and glasses, among other things.

After dinner, they played ball with the kids, but that only got the kids revved up while Reyes and Doggett drag themselves to bed. It's not that they're sick, it's just that even though they're back to regular work hours, the fact that the kids are on holiday-slash-vacation mode gets Doggett and Reyes into the same, semi-lethargic mode when they're home. What that translates to is, at least during this winter break, the kids stay up late and wake up early, while the adults go to bed early (well, sometime around midnight) and drag themselves out of bed in time for work, but barely.

The tall brunette locks the bedroom door, but it's mostly out of habit rather than planning to get some, since she's fairly wiped out. "I swear, we could power half this country from our kids' and Scully's kids' energy," Reyes yawns as she stretches before getting into bed, clad in a t-shirt and shorts.

Doggett's already in bed, wearing a t-shirt and sweats, and he's got the radio on. "What are we listening to?" she asks before snuggling next to him, since they decided to forgo their usual news-viewing.

"That Ted Ringer show," he says, "if I'm lucky, I'll fall asleep before he says anything stupid."

She chuckles. "You mean, anything you don't believe in?" she teases.

He sighs. "Mon, you're staying with the kids if you don't behave," he grumbles.

"Can't make me," she sticks her tongue out, "I'm your partner, and there's no way I'm missing out on that interview."

"Speaking of which, the topic tonight is haunted houses," he says, turning the volume down slightly since it's a commercial break, "the guy's talking to ghost busters and psychics. I don't know where he gets these people from."

"I think a lot of them contact him rather than the other way around," she says, propping herself on an elbow. "It's not very often that people like us are invited."

"People like us?" he asks.

She nods. "People in the government," she says. "Once in a while, he's got some retired military guy who used to work at Groom Lake," and Doggett snorts, which she ignores, "or some physicist who worked on some top secret aircraft. But I don't know if they're invited or they invite themselves."

Doggett shakes his head. "Either way, this is a pretty weird setup," he comments, then turns up the radio when it declares that the show is back on. "What're you doing?" he asks when she pulls out her laptop.

"Looking them up," she says, "Ted Ringer has links to his guests on his home page."

"Nice," Doggett notes, then a thought hits him. "Wait, if he links his guests, people can look us up. And that'll mean more weirdoes e-mailing us," he comes to his gloomy conclusion.

Reyes chuckles. "More cases for us, you mean," she says, typing in her password at the prompt.

* * *

During a commercial break, Doggett turns to Reyes, who is surfing the net beside him. A small smile on his lips, he says, "Too bad we're going to be the only boring guests on his show."

"What are you talking about?" she retorts, pulling her eyes away from her laptop. "You've seen a dead man come to life, been raised from the dead yourself, encountered BEK, met a boy who brought nightmares to life, foiled a terrorist plot, witnessed a miracle, investigated a conspiracy-slash-mafia hit without getting killed, and you're on the X-Files when you don't believe half the things you investigate. I'd say that's pretty non-boring."

"Wait, what do you mean, I was raised from the dead?" Doggett wonders. "Are you talking about that Lukesh case?"

Reyes sighs. "Yes, I do. It makes more sense if your consciousness was aware of both planes like myself, however."

"I won't even try to explain that one," he groans. "Anyways, we went through them together, for the most part."

She nods. "Besides, my New Orleans story outdoes the haunted house guy's story."

"You haven't even heard that guy's story," Doggett says, "how would you know?"

She gives him a look. "Have you ever asked Mulder or Scully about their New Orleans vacation?"

He shakes his head. "I'm guessing you were involved somehow?"

She nods. "Like I said, whatever he's got, mine's ten times better."

"I could say that about a lot of things about you," Doggett murmurs, and she snorts.

The rest of the program, much as Doggett is loathe to admit it, is rather normal, in spite of the topic, hell, in spite of the show. Thanks to his older brother Joey, he's heard his fair share of boring talk shows, and this sounds like most of them. The host chats up the guests on certain subjects, then lets the audience in on the questioning after a while, or at least gets some feedback, with commercials and brief musical interludes.

And while the haunted house stories were entertaining, the one Reyes told him during one of the commercial breaks had him in stitches. "Maybe you shouldn't share that one," he says, wiping his eyes. "I know it was your first time working with Mulder and Scully, but honestly, braniac chickens taking over the factory?" And it sends him into another fit of laughter.

She makes a face. "When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous," Reyes mutters. "You had to be there."

"Apparently," Doggett agrees when he catches his breath. "Then again, to this audience, it might make sense."

"You don't give them enough credit," she disagrees. "Granted, there are a few truly insane ones in the bunch, but that's statistically true for any social group. The rest are a mix, ranging from the mildly curious to the true believers who do their homework on any or all given topics." She smirks at his surprise. "Sometimes I find the forum discussions on case-related topics informative."

He shakes his head. "You're resourceful, that's for sure," he says, smiling a little when she beams. Before he can add anything regrettable to that compliment, however, the program resumes.

Ted Ringer is adept at handling even the more unruly callers, which is a skill not found very often in either old-school or novice DJs. Then again, the man's got years of experience, according to the website, and the fact that he runs his own board as well as handling all sorts of topics and people with ease is quite a feat, at least according to Reyes.

"And you know this how?" Doggett asks during another break.

"Me and a broadcast major ran a radio show for a semester," she grins. "It was our cheap knockoff version of Delilah's program, um, she plays love songs and dispenses love advice," she explains quickly to his confused face. "Anyways, it was more of a sociological project for me, and more of a personal challenge for him," she chuckles. "It does require some physical and mental coordination to run a soundboard and answer broken-heart questions while trying to deal with some of those issues yourself, so after a while, I was the one answering questions while he ran the board and played the sad songs."

"Hoo boy," he comments.

"Some of the male callers said other things, but yeah," Reyes agrees. "What surprises me is that Ted Ringer's work hasn't followed him home yet."

He looks at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, working on the X-Files takes a certain kind of willpower and dedication," she says, "and sooner or later, it becomes a very large part of your life, if it doesn't consume it entirely. I'm sure if Scully was never assigned to the X-Files, Mulder would still be toiling away diligently to this day, his life dedicated to the work."

Doggett thinks so, too, but out of curiosity, he prompts her, "Why do you say that?"

"Because he and I are alike that way," she replies. "But when I saw him with Scully, and later when Gibson became a part of my life, I realized that I wanted my relationships to be more permanent rather than a sidenote to my work." And she puts a hand on his arm to emphasize her point.

Doggett puts his hand on hers, half-smiling. "Guess I owe those three a lot, then," and she nods. "But I've got a feeling that after, what, twenty-plus years of doing this kind of a show, his work has followed him home. Guess we'll find out when we meet him, huh?" They're both distracted when the program, and the callers' varied questions, pour in to pursue that point.

And when the program ends, he turns off the radio. "All things considering, that didn't sound too bad," Doggett grudgingly admits. "He sounds like a fair person, even if more than a few of those callers were off their rockers."

"John," Reyes sighs. "Remember that he'll be as fair to us, okay?"

"Okay," he says, then yawns. "Oh man, I can hardly wait for Thursday and our early vacation," he mumbles, his blue eyes closing.

"Mm, you're not the only one," Reyes says, kissing his cheek before starting to shut down her laptop. "Goodnight, John."

"Night, Mon," he murmurs, his breathing already slowing down.

* * *

The Lone Gunmen Headquarters  
December 31, 2002  
11:50 p.m.

The Lone Gunmen, Mulder's family, Doggett's family, and assorted acquaintances, are gathered to ring in the New Year as festively as possible. This means, for the most part, an abundance of food, music, and people, as well as the requisite sparklers and party hats.

"You know, for a secret hideout, this is getting to be pretty not-so-secret," Jimmy Bond says.

The Lone Gunmen look at their blonde linebacker-like friend, then at each other. "You know, the goof has a point," Langly says as several children run by with cupcake-smeared faces. "Then again, who knew we'd know this many people?"

Frohike shakes his head, then smiles at Scully and Reyes sharing a toast and laughing. "Oh, but how glad I am that we do," he says.

The balding man's compatriots shake their heads when they see who he's looking at. "I believe both ladies are taken," Byers reminds him gently, steering him away.

"Yeah, yeah," Frohike says, "for now."

The other three roll their eyes above his head, including Jimmy. "Hey, Mulder," Jimmy grins and waves.

Mulder grins, but can't wave because both his arms are occupied by adorable little baby girls. "Hey, Jimmy, guys," he nods at the other three, "where are you off to?"

"Fireworks," Langly says quickly, "before this guy," he jerks his head at Frohike, "can start any that'll get him killed."

Mulder raises his eyebrows, but says nothing as Byers and Langly haul Frohike away, with a goofily-grinning Jimmy following behind. He just thinks it's a hoot that it was the Gunmen's idea to host it here, considering how they used to pride themselves on their privacy.

Perhaps their near-death experience and losing Yves for a second time is loosening them up, he thinks, and makes his way past Luke and Gibson making bets over to his lovely wife. "I am surrounded by beauty," he deadpans, "I can tell this is going to be a very good year."

Scully snorts, with William in her arms, while Reyes smiles behind her 2003 glasses and gaudy party hat. "How much have you had to drink?" his wife asks as he kisses the top of her head.

"Nothing, actually," he says, "Brianna and Zoe are making sure their daddy stays out of trouble, while the rest of our offspring are making merry, as they should." Then he spies his sons with cupcake faces and grins. "Definitely making their mark on what's left of the old year, I say."

"You are such a silly," Scully smiles, "Monica, if I stop making sense from now on, you know why."

Mulder nods wisely. "Yes, standing beside such a handsome man would make most women lose their mind," he says, and his beloved wife whacks him with her free hand. "Ow, what?" he says in a normal voice, pretending to ignore Reyes' boisterous laughter.

"Hey, what's up?" Doggett asks, wrapping an arm around Reyes' shoulders.

She smiles and leans against him. "Mulder was just saying that standing beside such a handsome man would make most women lose their minds," she parrots his tone.

Doggett raises an eyebrow, and Mulder merely nods. "I beg to differ," the new X-File division head says.

Mulder tilts his head, then gives the other man a once-over. "Well, I must admit you are a fine specimen in that tight t-shirt and jeans, John," he says seriously, "and with those washboard abs and nicely toned arms, you probably work out more than I do. Hell, if I weren't straight or married, I'd probably kiss you into the new year."

Doggett simply rolls his eyes while their significant others laugh. "Mulder, do I have to tie you up and put you in the corner to make you behave?" he says in a long-suffering tone.

Mulder bats his eyes rapidly. "Ooh, I always knew you were kinky," he says, and winks.

The other man groans, but before he can form an appropriate retort, the music's cut off and Jimmy yells into a bullhorn, "Okay, everybody! One minute to New Year's! Come on outside, we're gonna shoot off the fireworks!"

Obediently, but in a merry way, everyone does so, spilling out of the warehouse and into the road. The Gunmen have cordoned off their area, which holds a good number of most-likely illegal aerials, and the crowd point their flashlights in their direction.

"Hey, hey, that's enough light," Frohike protests. "Okay, Byers, give us a countdown."

The neat Gunman, who is still in a suit and tie in spite of his friends' best efforts, lifts his arm, which reveals a watch with a glow-in-the-dark face. "Thirty seconds," he declares.

"Anyone got a light?" Langly asks, and Reyes hands her lighter over while Frohike pulls his own out. "Thanks, Man."

"Ten seconds," Byers says.

Jimmy asks, "What?"

The bearded man takes the bullhorn from his less-brilliant friend. "Nine!" he shouts through the bullhorn.

As he continues to count down, everyone joins in, well, those who are old enough to count, that is. "Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

And Langly and Frohike whoop while shooting off their rows of fireworks, lighting up the Takoma Park, Maryland sky, giving their friends (and some surprised airline pilots) an unforgettable night show. Mulder and Scully kiss, and so do Doggett and Reyes, while Luke pays Gibson, Page and April and Hannah dance around with sparklers, and Sammy, David, Jared and Christopher have a food fight. Byers and Jimmy think of their respective mystery women and sigh, then wish each other a happy new year before going inside to get the fire extinguishers, just in case.

* * *

February 2, 2003  
9:42 a.m.

The Doggett children are lined up in front of their father in a manner that reminds Reyes of a similar scene in "The Sound of Music", but she's got a feeling Doggett probably wouldn't know or appreciate the reference. "Remember, three square meals, no snacks in bed, TV's off before midnight, and curfew at 10," Doggett rattles off the list, standing military straight.

"Dad, come on, we've done this a thousand times before," Luke groans. "You and Monica have fun on the conspiracy show."

"Yeah, we're taping this one," Gibson grins, and only Reyes grins back.

"Thanks," Reyes hugs him, then hugs Luke and Hannah. "See you Sunday."

"Will you get to have new clothes like Uncle Fox and Auntie Dana?" Hannah asks.

"Um, no, Sweetie, it's for radio, not TV, so we could come in a t-shirt and jeans if we wanted," Reyes smiles.

"Which we won't," Doggett gives her a look.

"We won't," Reyes agrees belatedly, heading out the door. "See ya!"

"Yeah, you don't wanna be late for your plane," Luke prompts them.

Gibson nods. "Or for the extra time going through security," he adds.

Doggett looks at him, then at his other children, who are looking up at him innocently. Hmph. Fine. "Bye," he says as he heads out the door, "don't burn the house down."

"Dad!" Gibson groans, then pulls out a dollar bill. "Oh, Man!"

"Told ya," Luke smirks, shoving it into his jeans with one hand and waving at their departing parents with the other. When the door closes, the angelic faces drop, with all of them smirking at each other.

"TV!" Hannah flies to the couch, where the remote control is sitting. In seconds, a kiddie show is on, full of annoying music and bright colors.

"I think I hear the potato chips calling my name," Luke grins, heading for the kitchen.

"I think this is gonna be a crazy weekend," Gibson shakes his head, but grabs a video game controller. "Bet you I can beat you at 3 out of 5 games on Halo, and I get my dollar back."

"Dream on," Luke says from the kitchen, "three cans of Coke say you can't."

"You're on," the shorter brother shoots back, and they're busy yelling at each other and the video game in minutes.

* * *

"So, John," Reyes says when they're waiting to board, "what was that all about?"

"What?" he asks innocently.

She gives him a look. "The whole riot act before we left the house. Like they said, they've done it before. What brought on the whole 1950s dad thing?"

He gives her a look right back. "Normally, I'd agree with you, but," he pauses, "dads have a kind of radar."

"Daddy radar?" Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Like mommy eyes in the back of the head?"

After a beat, he answers. "Something like that. I just got a feeling that my kids will be up to no good this weekend," he finishes grimly.

"So, if they do something incredibly stupid and we're not there, you can say that at least you told them so?" Reyes tilts her head.

He smiles a small smile. "Something like that," he says again.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and massages it briefly. "Then relax. We won't be in front of the firing squad until ten tonight," she smiles.

"Way to take the worry off," Doggett rolls his eyes. "Distract me from one problem with another."

"Is it really a problem?" Reyes asks. "You could've said no to the interview if you didn't feel comfortable."

He shrugs. "I guess it's just part of my background as a cop to distrust the media, legit or not."

"Uh-huh," she says. "You better let me handle the tough questions, then."

"Why?" he asks, surprised.

She laughs. "Because if you give Ted Ringer the same look you gave me when saying 'the media', he might think you're out to get him," she answers. "That, or you looked like you swallowed a pint of unsweetened lemon juice."

"Sorry," he says, a little surprised, but smiles anyways. "Okay, I'll try not to look at him too much, then."

Reyes smiles and puts her arms around his shoulders. "I think when we get back, we should get you into a media relations class. In the meantime, we're going to do a bit of role-playing before we meet Mr. Ringer, okay?"

"Okay," he sighs. It was going to be a long flight, Doggett thinks, even though it's only a couple of hours long.

* * *

Dallas, Texas  
10:13 PM

Doggett and Reyes find themselves in front of a small two-story building with the correct media name emblazoned on the marquee. They look at each other, since it's one of the smallest structures they've seen in Texas, then walk inside. Inside, it's air-conditioned, well-lit with eggshell-colored walls, mottled blue carpet and a big man sitting behind the secretary's desk. Doggett gives the man a quick appraisal before asking, "Ted Ringer?"

The slightly-heavyset man smiles, his eyes crinkling as he does so. "Thanks for coming in, Agents Doggett and Reyes," he says, standing, and they see he's a little taller than Doggett. Like Doggett, he's wearing a suit and tie, and shakes the man's hand, then Reyes'. "I can't begin to say how pleased I am that you're here. Follow me, the studio's upstairs."

They take an elevator upstairs, then follow him to a small studio. Once inside, he motions them to sit down, then pulls a couple of forms from his briefcase. "Okay, according to this, Agent Reyes, you've had some experience with radio, and you haven't," he nods at Doggett, who nods back.

"Okay, some ground rules," he says, smiling a little. "If you're even slightly familiar with this show, you know we don't tolerate discrimination of any kind. We also don't tolerate foul language, but that's got a little something to do with the FCC and heavy fines as well. However, we do our best to embrace all sorts of ideas and information, and to present them as truthfully as we can to our listeners. I realize that you may not be able to disclose the entire nature of your cases with our audience, but I'd like you to do your best. If you've got any questions, feel free to ask them now, and we may cover them on-air as well."

"Okay," Doggett says, "how much of this stuff do you actually believe?"

Ted Ringer laughs. "Boy, you shoot straight from the hip, don't you?" he chuckles. "Good. Well, over the years, I believe more and more. Granted, I like my guests to provide as much proof as they can for our listeners, but some more than others aren't able to. Working on the X-Files, I'm sure there have been cases you haven't quite sewn up, haven't you?"

"We try our best," Reyes interjects smoothly, smiling as she does so.

"Agent Reyes," he turns to her, "you've got quite an interesting resume. This must be your dream job, considering your interests."

She nods. "And I bet this is yours," she says, looking around. "What's it like, to go from working with a board operator to running everything yourself?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Actually, I was a board operator and engineer before I became a DJ," he answers. "It's made the transition much easier, as opposed to a lot of my colleagues, who are still dependent on a producer or board op to run things. But I won't bore you with the details."

"Trust me, it'll be a learning experience for the both of us," Reyes smiles, nudging Doggett. "We've got some time before the show, tell us what it was like before everything went to computers."

"I'm both oddly complimented and obscurely insulted by that remark," Ted Ringer grins. "But since we all know I'm older than dirt," and he winks at Doggett, "fine. Back in those days, I grew my own tobacco in the backyard for my cigarettes, did backbreaking labor for the evil radio gods who would deign to drop a scrap of wisdom for a scrawny teenaged boy still playing with a ham radio, and clawing my way my way up the ladder while kicking the undeserving down." He finishes this with a mock-haughty pose.

"Ted!" Reyes huffs, half-exasperated and half-laughing. "Come on!"

"What, you think my life story's all that interesting? I'm just a radio show host, you two are the ones with the guns and glory," he says.

Doggett snorts. "Guns, yeah, glory, no. For glory, we'd have to do your job."

Ringer grins. "Yeah, all the glory, but not all the pay. Syndication's how I make most of my paycheck," he pats the soundboard, "and folks paying online to download the shows. And the random person here and there buying kitschy things from the online store." He shrugs. "A guy's gotta make a living, but I honestly never thought I'd be a radio man this long."

"Really?" Reyes wonders. "Why not?"

He shrugs again. "Back when I started, TV was just starting out, too, but radio was king. I was better at the mechanics but fascinated by the personalities, and radio had more fascinating personalities. As a board op, I worked with the best, and watched how they worked, listened to how they treated guests and staff alike. I was still in high school, but I was able to get a late night show, thanks to supportive parents," he pauses at Doggett's disbelieving look, "no, really. My mom was pretty much my cheerleader, while my dad appreciated the fact that I got paid. And after that small taste of power, it was pretty hard to stop," he grins.

"Power, huh?" Reyes raises an eyebrow.

He shrugs a little. "Well, I guess it's more of an addiction," he admits. "Even after that station folded, I worked for another station as an engineer and part-time board op. I did that for a couple more stations until one of them gave me a shot, covering for a talk show host on weekends and holidays. Eventually, I got another late-night show, which grew into the monster you're going to be on in about," he checks his watch, "twenty minutes, and thus ends our tale."

"Not quite," Doggett says. "What got you into the paranormal in the first place?"

Ringer nods. "Ghost stories. You could say it was my gateway drug for both radio and the paranormal. Both involve some kind of investment from the audience, some curiosity, a little bit of knowledge, and a lot of persistence. And my math teacher was the best ghost storyteller ever."

"Your math teacher?" Doggett's eyebrows are way up.

Ringer chuckles. "Yeah. Mr. Riker, seventh and eighth grade math. He was quite a character, strict when it came to formulas and writing out the steps to the answers, and strict when it came to following school rules as well. But on rainy days, which weren't often, he'd close the windows and doors, turn on a flashlight, and tell the scariest stories than would make your hair curl and your stomach turn," he smiles with remembered relish.

"I was one of those kids who had to find out if they were true stories or not. We didn't have the internet back then," he grins, "so I had to do it the old-fashioned way, by asking other adults and looking them up in the library. I found some of those stories in ghost story collections, but others, whoo, they came from newspaper articles and thick World War II books. Later on, I even found out that a few of those were from his own personal experience. You kind of remind me of him, Agent Doggett."

Doggett's surprised. "I do?"

The talk show host nods. "Yep. A real no-nonsense kind of guy, but you've seen all kinds of things on the job, haven't you? And I'm not talking about just the X-Files, but also your time as a police officer for NYPD and as a Marine." He smiles slightly at Doggett's reaction before going on. "Believe it or not, Agent Doggett, I do have a real respect for my guests, whether they come with crystals or badges."

Then he checks his watch. "Okay, we've got about eleven minutes. Now's the time to hit the bathrooms, which down the hallway to the left, or the kitchen for a cup of coffee, which is down to the right," he intones with well-practiced delivery as he shoves the papers back in and closes his briefcase, "but as for me, I'm taking a smoke break outside. Anyone care to join me?"

Reyes smiles. "I'll join you after I go to the ladies' room," she says, then heads out the door, while Doggett shakes his head.

"I take it you don't smoke, Agent Doggett," Ringer says, and Doggett shakes his head affirmatively. "Well, see you in ten." And he walks out with briefcase in hand, already pulling out a cigarette carton as he does so.

Now that everyone's gone, Doggett takes his time looking around the studio. Along with the soundboard, there's a couple of computer monitors, a keyboard with a wireless mouse and a couple of CPUs beneath the counter, a phone bank with seven rows of three columns of buttons (two columns with alternating orange and green lights) along with the numerical buttons, a large digital clock with an hour: minute: second counter, under which is a couple of shelves with CDs, two CD players and a CD burner.

One of the computer monitors shows what's been playing in the background, some show entitled "The Tom Torrent Show," which Doggett's never heard of, and next in line is the "Late Nights with Dead Ringer Show." Goody. To calm his nerves, he goes to the kitchen and gets himself a cup of coffee, which, thankfully, smells freshly made.

* * *

The first hour and a half, however, goes by more smoothly and quickly than Doggett would've thought. In part because of Reyes' preparation, and also in part because Ted Ringer is actually a good host, that his nervousness is forgotten faster than he would've thought. In fact, he finds himself telling the guy more than he would've expected, and at one point, they're all cracking up at some crazy remark on cars, of all things. "Maybe I should fear for my job," Ringer jokes, "with Monica Reyes' smooth voice and John Doggett's mechanical know-how, I think I know who my next replacements are."

"I don't know the first thing about running that soundboard of yours," Doggett disagrees, "watching you hit all those buttons reminds me of those science fiction movies with people hitting flashing buttons to make the spaceships go."

"You actually watch science fiction?" Ringer teases him.

Doggett groans. "Don't all Americans watch some 'Star Trek' or 'Star Wars' at some point?"

"You heard it, folks, as God-fearing, red-blooded Americans, you should all go out and rent 'Star Trek' or 'Star Wars'," Ringer winks at him while Doggett rolls his eyes, "at least, according to an actual FBI division head."

"Thanks," Doggett shakes his head with a rueful look. "I'm sure that'll make headlines."

"Wouldn't that be cool?" Reyes grins. "What?" she says to Doggett's "hush, you" look.

"It's a lovely idea," Ringer agrees, shutting off their mics, "ladies and gents, we'll be right back after this commercial break. You're listening to Late Nights with Dead Ringer." Then he hits the music outro from a mini-array on the touch screen monitor as he kills his own mic, then slowly fades it out on the soundboard before hitting the start button on the monitor for the commercials, their pots already raised.

"Oops, we're back on in a minute, agents, I suggest you put on those headsets so you can hear the callers." He hits the music bumper after the last commercial plays, waits for them to adjust their headsets, and then opens their mics. "And we're back," he says smoothly while fading the music out. "I'm Ted Ringer, in the studio with Agents Doggett and Reyes of the FBI's X-Files division. We're opening this to callers now, the number is 1-800-555-RING, that's 1-800-555-7464. We're looking forward to taking your questions and comments. Before they flood you with questions, however, there's something I'm wondering."

"What's that?" Reyes leans forward.

"Are you ready to go through the gauntlet?" When they make affirmative noises, he grins. "Good, because we've got quite a few callers," Ringer says, "the phone's all lit up like my Aunt Martha! Hi, you're on the Dead Ringer Show," he hits the first phone line and raises the phone pot, "who's this?"

"Hi," the caller says, and feedback assaults their ears, making the agents wince.

Ringer merely lowers the phone pot and says, "You'll have to turn your radio off, that goes for the rest of you callers as well, you know the game rules." Then he slowly raises the phone pot, "Hello, are you still there?"

"Whoops. Oh, yeah. Hello?" the caller says, his speech punctuated by a quick, stop-start manner of speaking.

"Hello, who's this and where are you calling from?" Ringer says.

"Mitch. From Albany," the caller replies. "Just. Agent Doggett. Just wanted to let you know. I like Mulder and Scully much better. Just wanted to know why they never came on? And why you're here? Because Mulder and Scully. They're more qualified. Neither of you really have much experience. Mulder and Scully should be here."

Ringer's thick eyebrows are raised, but tilts his head at Doggett expectantly for the answer. Doggett narrows his eyes, but his voice is even as he answers, "If you've got a TV set, you can see Mulder and Scully on the 'Jose Chung' show. As to your other questions, I don't know why they've never been on Mr. Ringer's show, honestly. And we're here because we were invited. You're entitled to your opinion, but obviously I don't share it. That about do it for you?"

Reyes laughs when the caller hangs up abruptly. "It seems like we've got a feisty caller," she says, "wonder who's next?"

Ringer grins, then hits the next phone button. The next five callers are similarly "feisty", and Doggett's looking more and more like the grim tight-lipped cop Reyes had teased him about being earlier, while Reyes still looks unruffled, even after some personal attacks. Then comes a call from left field, so to speak.

"Hi, you're on the Dead Ringer show, where are you calling from?"

"Um, Amy, I'm calling from Kent, Washington?" a mild voice says.

"Amy, honey, speak up a little," Ringer prompts her, while raising the phone pot.

"Hi?" she says, a little louder. "I was wondering? Is the X-Files just a guy-girl thing? Or can it be guy-guy or girl-girl?"

"What exactly do you mean?" Ringer asks, while Reyes miming a big "I don't know" and Doggett's frowning.

"Well, it sounds like there's always a guy-girl pairing?" Amy says in her curious way of raising the tone at the end of her sentence, whether or not it's a question. "Because there was Mulder and Scully? And at one time there was Fowley and Spender? Who was a girl and a guy? And now there's Doggett and Reyes?"

"Hm, you've got a point," Ringer says, now looking at the pair. "Is it part of the hiring process?"

Doggett wonders how this girl, or young lady who sounds like a girl, got the information about Fowley and Spender. Jeez, it sounds like there's more people out there like the Lone Gunmen, like Reyes said. "No, that's kind of the way it turned out," he says, "it's always been a rather small division. And as you might know, it was just Agent Mulder at one time. At the most, there've been four people, with equal representation of gender," he says, and wonders why he's sounding like an FBI promo tonight. "Honestly, it could just as easily have been two men or two women, or four women, for that matter. We just try to make sure that it's the best person for the job, whether it's a man or a woman."

"Oh, okay?" Amy says. "Thanks?" And hangs up.

"We'll be taking a break," Ringer says, "and we'll get back to the calls when we come back. Remember, the number is 1-800-555-RING, that's 1-800-555-7464." He hits the music bumper and slowly raises the pot. "Once again, 1-800-555-7464. We'll be right back." Then he kills all three mics, letting the music play a little before starting the next commercial set. "There, that wasn't so bad, wasn't it?" Ringer says, but looks at Doggett.

"Are you kidding? Any more vicious and I'd have to shoot them in self-defense," Doggett says, only half-joking.

"Well, now that you've got a sample of what our audience thinks, are you ready to handle the next hour?" Ringer asks.

Doggett makes a face. "Sure, I'll just make sure not to hold back since they aren't," and grins when Reyes sighs. "In any case, that Amy's given me an idea."

"What, make it official that we only hire one man and one woman for our replacements, or turn the X-Files into a dating pool?" Reyes jokes.

He shakes his head. "I'd like to stick around long enough to retire, like Mulder and Scully, but I can't promise that'll happen. But if I do, I'd like to train the next batch of replacements. Doesn't have to be two, if the caseload gets bigger, maybe three agents," Doggett says. "I can handle three kids, we can probably handle three new recruits."

"John, why do you look like a drill sergeant ready to break some fresh meat?" Reyes crosses her arms. "We've still got quite some time before we need replacements."

Doggett's still got that mildly bloodthirsty grin on his face. "Let's just say I've got a new plan for the future," he says, and Ringer chuckles while Reyes sighs again.

The next hour goes by in quite the same way, with mostly Doggett and Reyes bashers, a handful of supporters, and a quarter of really random questions like Amy's. After the baptism by fire, so to speak, Doggett held his own, and even won a couple of grudging admirers, while Reyes managed to convince a couple of other callers that she was on their side, but for the most part, the calling audience were still very much Mulder and Scully supporters.

"Just a reminder to our listening audience, the reason why the previous X-Files agents aren't on this show tonight is because they have legal, contractual obligations preventing them from doing so, thank you," Ted Ringer says, just barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, he expected better from his audience.

"And that wraps up tonight's program with our guests, Special Agent John Doggett and Special Agent Monica Reyes of the FBI's X-File division. I'm Ted Ringer, of Late Nights with Dead Ringer, with you every night because strange things happen every day." He hits the music outro with a flourish, killing all their mics, and turns to his guests with a pleasant smile.

They smile back, just as pleasantly. "Now tell us the real reason why we're here, Mr. O'Neill," Doggett says.

* * *

Ted Ringer, that is, Ted O'Neill raises his eyebrows, but is still smiling. "You really earn that government paycheck, don't you?" he says.

"Don't forget I was a cop before being a fed," Doggett says. "Now dish."

He doesn't answer at first, fading out the music before hitting the computer command to switch the station to satellite and turning off the website feed. When he turns back to them, the smile drops from the talk show host's face to be replaced with a deep frown, adding years to his already craggy features. "I have a really big favor to ask of you two," he says.

"What is it?" Reyes asks.

"I need you to kill me," he says.

They stare at him. "What?" Doggett's the first to speak, after more than a few moments of silence. "Are you serious?" he asks.

"As a heart attack," the heavyset man says. "What do you say?"

"No, of course not," Reyes' brow furrows. "Why would you want us to do that? Why ask anyone?"

Ringer looks up at the ceiling. "Ever heard of the phrase 'taking your work home with you'?" he says.

"Yeah," Doggett says, unsure of where this is going.

The talk show host says, "In my case, I don't have that problem. Because I can't go home. The farthest I can get is maybe a few steps away from my car, which, if you haven't noticed, is the beat-up piece of crap Taurus sitting in the parking lot, and I find myself back in the studio again. I haven't been able to go leave in three months. Thankfully, there's a shower here and delivery, but still! I'm not sure if it's a compulsion or a curse, but there's something preventing me from getting away. None of my guests have that problem, and I've asked more than a few psychics to help me with it. But they find themselves leading me back here when they try."

Doggett gives him a look. "You're kidding, right? I mean, you've got a home to go to and everything-"

"But I don't have a family," he says. "Well, I've got five of them, but thanks to a handy thing called divorce, they're all living their separate lives in different states and countries." He sighs. "Heck, I've even called for cabs, but they either pass by or don't show up at all. I tried asking my last couple of guests to take me home, but," he shrugs, "one forgot I asked, and the other started to take me, but then remembered there was only room for one on his bicycle." He smiles wanly. "It's a pity I can't fit on the handlebars like I used to."

"So this is like your Bermuda Triangle," Reyes says, "or some kind of vortex you're trapped in."

"Pretty much," Ringer says. He looks at Doggett's skeptical face and nods. "Okay, you try, then."

"Fine," the gruff agent says, and grabs the guy by the arm. "I swear, if you're trying to pull one on us, I will shoot you."

The radio host shrugs with his free shoulder as he's being dragged to the elevator. "Everyone at work thinks I'm just super-dedicated and I really love my job. Well, I do love my job, but not this much." They step into the elevator, and it's a quick flight down. "But this is starting to drive me nuts."

"And you think the best way to solve it is by dying?" Doggett shakes his head. "Come on." He marches the guy in front of him as if he's guiding a prisoner.

"So far, so good," Ringer murmurs as they step outside.

"Duh," Doggett says from behind. "Keep walking."

They keep walking until they're almost by Ringer's car, which truly looks like a wreck, and Doggett's not sure the car can move even if they do make it there. Then, out of nowhere, some crazy biker gang comes thundering down the road and nearly runs them over, hooting and waving chains as they pass by. Ringer is pushed by one of the bikers, and he falls on his back, while Doggett automatically throws himself out of the way, rolling to a stop.

When the dust clears, Doggett gets to his feet and squints at the breathing radio host. "You okay over there?" he asks, walking over. Ringer nods, staring up at the night sky. "Good," he says, pulling the man to his feet. "Come on, your car's just a foot away."

Ringer nods again, but as he walks, his breathing's heavy and his steps are slow. "Sorry, I think I'm just a bit winded," he says, and the agent, who's practically a couple of steps away from the car, stops and starts to turn.

And then a biker, perhaps a last-minute straggler, knocks him off his feet. If he'd seen the bastard coming, his arm stretched out like a wrestling move and bolstered by a speed of over 40 miles an hour, he would've gotten out of the way like any sane person. Instead, he goes flying and hits the car, then bounces off the metal frame like a rag doll, landing at Ringer's feet.

"Oh, shit, Agent, can you hear me?" the talk show host asks, going down on his knees with a wheeze.

Doggett blinks, then rasps, "Get the hell over to your car." He winces as breathing's hurting, and slowly puts a hand to his side. Damn, a rib might be broken, but he's hoping it's just dented. "Move it."

Ringer nods, walking backwards, as if on the lookout for any other bikers. He's almost at his car when Reyes screams, "Freeze!"

Doggett groans as Ringer does so, his hands in the air. He watches as Reyes questions the talk show host at gunpoint, then marches the guy over to where he's lying. "Mon," he gasps, "let him go and get me an ambulance."

She nods, then pulls out her cell phone. "Yes, federal agent down," she says, and rattles off the address.

However, Ringer hasn't moved, even when Doggett scowls at him. "You got run over instead of me," he says, "don't worry, I'll get to my car as soon as the ambulance gets here." And when the ambulance comes, he gets out of the way, and is almost at the car when Doggett's rolled inside the white vehicle with Reyes jumping in. Then he finds himself slowly walking back into the building, as if he's forgotten why he came out in the first place.

* * *

South Dallas General Hospital  
February 3, 2003  
9:01 a.m.

The next morning finds one agent with a stiff neck and the other with enough meds to knock out a small animal. As he'd feared, he did have a broken rib, but all they could do at this point was give him as much painkillers as was allowable and have him under observation. "Hey, Mon," he says, cracking open his eyes to see his partner slowly rotate her head. "How's your neck?"

"Not as bad as your rib," she says, slowly smiling. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad if I don't breathe," he says, and she shakes her head. Then his phone rings, startling them both. "Damn. Could you get that?"

She nods and roots around his clothes, then seeing the number, answers, "Hey, how's things at home?"

"Monica? Where's Dad?" Luke's voice sounds surprised.

"In the hospital, because some biker ran him over," she replies. "Here, let me pass this to him."

"Uh, Dad?" Luke's voice sounds a bit too casual, even over the phone.

"Yeah?" Doggett replies, shifting his phone to his other hand.

"How are you feeling?"

I could use all the curse words in the world and it still wouldn't describe it, is what's on the tip of his tongue. But he says instead, "Like hell. What's up?"

There's a long pause, and then a deep breath. "We, uh, kinda borrowed the car," his eldest son starts off quickly, "and then-"

"I don't wanna hear it," Doggett cuts him off. "You can tell me the graphic details when we get back home, but consider you and Gibson grounded from now."

"Me, too?" Gibson yelps from the other house phone.

"Yeah, you," Doggett scowls, "you didn't exactly stop him, did you?"

"No, sir," the younger teen sighs.

"Other than that, anything else I should know about?" Doggett asks his sons.

"No, sir," they chorus.

"Good," he sighs, "make sure it stays that way when we get back. See ya."

"See ya," they chorus before hanging up.

Doggett sighs, then sags against the hospital bed, wincing. "Mon?"

Reyes smiles slightly as she takes the cell phone away. "So, how's everything back at the ranch?" she asks.

He groans. "Is my hair white? It feels like it should be," he mutters, staring up at the ceiling.

She chuckles. "No, John, it's not. Come on, it can't be that bad, whatever they said."

He gives her a look. "When teenaged boys start off a conversation using the phrase 'kinda borrowed the car' and they're not legal yet, it's never a good thing."

"Oh," she says, raising her eyebrows. "So, how are we gonna kill them?"

He grins suddenly. "God, I love you, woman," he says.

She grins back. "Duh," she retorts, "so how did the rest of the conversation go?"

"It didn't," Doggett says sheepishly, "I told them they were grounded and I figure after Hannah spills, we can decide how we're gonna kill them."

Reyes nods, "Sounds like a plan." Then she says, "Sorry, I have to go. I told the doctor I'd notify him as soon as you woke up."

He blinks his assent, then closes his eyes when she leaves. There was something important he had to do, he thinks, but for now, he can't remember what it was.

* * *

The doctor, a stern-faced man with the improbable name of Happi, accompanied by a nonverbal male nurse, checks out Doggett and is satisfied that there have been no further negative developments concerning the rib. He pulls out an X-ray and holds it up against the light. "Lucky for you, it's a hairline fracture, so it hasn't pulled away from the lung, nor has it punctured anything. Just make sure you don't do anything strenuous, take some deep breaths every few minutes and some ibuprofen, and it should heal by itself within a couple of months."

"A couple of months?" Doggett asks, now sitting up, wondering how long he can stay on the job while doing nothing.

Reyes smirks. "Looks like you'll be a desk jockey for a couple of months, hm?" she says, folding her arms.

He gives her a look. "Ha, ha." He takes a deep breath, then winces. "Damn."

"Yeah, it'll hurt," Dr. Happi says drily, his mouth turned down. "But that should help your rib regain its former shape. Any questions?"

His forbidding look would discourage most, except he's dealing a different kind of patient, namely, the impatient kind. "Yeah, when you said strenuous, did that include stretches? Or how about driving? Does shooting someone count as strenuous?"

Dr. Happi stares at the man in the bed, then checks the man's folder. Oh, FBI. "Yes, that includes stretches, no, driving's safe, and I wouldn't recommend shooting someone, but I suppose if you had some kind of support or prop, you could do it."

"Good to know," Doggett says, smiling grimly. "So I'm good to go?"

The doctor hands him a note. "You can pick up your ibuprofen at the front desk," he says, "but for further medication, you'd have to get it over-the-counter."

"Thanks," Doggett says, and after the doctor and nurse leaves, he looks at Reyes. "I just remembered."

She frowns slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Something important," he says, wincing as he stands, then gets his cell phone. He dials, and then waits. "Yeah, this is Agent Doggett. Are you home?" He ignores his partner's curious look, then scowls at the answer. "What do you mean, you never left? You said as soon as the ambulance got me, you'd leave, dammit!" There's some noise at the other end, but he interrupts, saying, "We're gonna get you out of there, got it? See you," and hangs up.

"Who were you talking to?" Reyes wonders.

He says, "Ted Ringer. Remember, the crazy guy who can't leave his job and asked us to kill him?" When she looks at him blankly, he groans. "Dammit. Come on, we've got a radio show host to rescue."

She shakes her head, but helps him into his clothes and follows his lead.

* * *

It doesn't take the agents long to return to the two-story building, and find the heavyset man behind the counter. "You are one determined son of a gun," Ringer remarks when he sees the grim-faced agent along with a slightly confused agent. "Honestly, I tried leaving, but I found myself here."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Doggett says, his eyes narrowed like a gunslinger's. "Agent, cuff him."

Reyes stares at her partner. "What?"

He looks at her. "We're not playing his game. Just cuff him and put him in the back of the car," he says. "We're taking him home."

She shrugs, but does as he says. "Sorry," she says, then goes to the car.

Ringer shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry," he says, turning around to face Doggett, who's walking behind in pain, "I didn't realize it would go as far as hurting you."

"Just walk," Doggett says, out of patience and breath.

The three go to the rental car, which is parked in front of the door, and Reyes has to hold Ringer's head down so he won't bump his head. She's about to get in the driver's seat, but Doggett's somehow beaten her there, and she raises her eyebrows. "You're up to driving?" she asks.

He nods. "Stay in the backseat and keep an eye on him," he says, "I don't trust him not to do something crazy."

She shakes her head, but gets in the backseat with Ringer. "Jeez, should I put a gun on him, too, while I'm at it?" she asks sarcastically.

"Might be a good idea," Doggett says, and starts the car. When they're about a few feet away from the radio station, the rental car breaks down. "You've got to be kidding!" he exclaims, then hits the steering wheel. "Ow!"

Reyes sighs, then says, "Pop the hood. Maybe it's just a small thing." She gets out and walks to the front of the car.

He nods, wincing as he bends down and grabs the release. He watches as she lifts the hood up and props it up. Slowly, he gets out of the car and walks around to see if there's anything that can be fixed. "You've gotta be kidding," he says again, but muttering it in disgust this time. Somehow, some small mammal, maybe a rat or a squirrel, got inside the car, chewed the water line and one of the cables, and got itself fried on the battery. "Wonder if the FBI can cover the rental."

She makes a face. "I doubt it." She sighs, pulling out her cell phone and her wallet.

"Who're you calling?" he asks.

"Triple-A," she replies, "we need this towed and maybe the guy can get Mr. Ringer home on the way. Yes, my name's Monica Reyes," she says, apparently getting an operator. "That's M-O-N-I-C-A, no, N-I, wait, let me spell it again," and rolls her eyes as Doggett goes to the back passenger door of the car.

"Get out of the car," Doggett tells Ringer. "I need to get those cuffs off."

"What now?" Ringer asks, but doesn't seem surprised at the turn of events. When he steps out, Doggett motions him to turn around.

"We're getting a tow truck," he says, unlocking the cuffs and taking them back, "it'd be pretty complicated if we had to explain to the driver why you're locked up."

Ringer nods, then shakes his hands out. "So we wait?"

Doggett nods. Reyes joins them and he asks, "How long?"

She sighs. "For some reason, today's a busy day for them, so it'll take a couple of hours."

Doggett looks at the talk show host. "How far away is your house?"

"My trailer's about twenty miles away," Ringer answers.

"Figures," Doggett sighs, then winces. Then an idea comes to him. "The nearest strip mall is less than a mile away. Go there."

"What?" Reyes and Ringer chorus.

Doggett looks at Ringer. "You said you couldn't go home. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Well, try someplace close by. The strip mall's not too far, it's in walking distance, practically."

"I haven't walked that far in ages," the heavyset man says.

"Maybe it's about time you start," Doggett says unsympathetically. "Reyes, go with him."

She gives him a look. "He's a grown man, he can walk by himself."

He returns that look in spades. "If you don't remember, he's got this crazy idea that he can't go farther than a few feet from the radio station," and points at their current location. "If he decides to turn around, tackle him. I'd do it, but the doctor would probably classify that as strenuous exercise."

"Fine," she shakes her head, smiling a little, "here, take my card." She hands the AAA card over, then takes Ringer's arm in hers. "Come on, we should be there and back by the time the tow truck gets here."

The tall heavyset man takes a deep breath, then nods. "Okay, I'm ready."

She grins up at him, takes a step forward, then stops. "I don't feel so good," she says, then topples to the ground.

* * *

Doggett forces himself not to run as he makes his way over to Reyes' prone body, Ringer kneeling beside her. "Monica," he says when he's beside her, "what's wrong?" He feels her forehead, and it's rather hot. He's not sure if she's had anything for breakfast, he knows he sure hasn't. Shit. "Ringer, get inside and get some food and cold water," he says, "she's got a fever and I'm not sure when's the last time she ate."

The talk show host nods, getting to his feet and lumbering as quickly as he can inside the station. When he comes back, he finds the male agent vainly fanning his partner with his wallet. "Here," he says, handing over a muffin, a cup of water, and wadded-up damp paper towels. He puts the soggy towels on the female agent's forehead, while Doggett props Reyes' head up and tries to coax her to drink.

"Mon, Mon, drink up," Doggett says hoarsely, but the water spills out of her mouth. "Dammit."

Ringer looks on helplessly as Doggett takes a gulp of water, then puts his mouth over hers and empties the contents down her throat. The FBI agent does this a few times, as it seems to have gone down the right tube, but she doesn't seem to be waking up. He starts when the agent barks at him. "What?"

"I said, carry her inside," Doggett snaps, his nerves frayed with worry. "I can't do it, thanks to this damned broken rib. There's a nice couch in the lobby, put her there." The heavyset man nods, then gets to his knees as Doggett topples her onto his back, dislodging the wet towels from her forehead. He pulls Reyes' arms around his shoulders like a cape, then pulls her to her feet and half-drags her to the lobby and gently lays her down on the couch.

After getting their overnight bags, Doggett follows behind, empty cup and muffin in hand. He hates feeling so helpless, especially when it concerns someone he loves. He leans against the wall, and says tiredly, "Could you get a bigger cup of water with a straw? Thanks." When the radio host leaves, he opens his bag and pulls out a t-shirt, then dumps the bag on the floor. He hauls himself to the men's room and soaks the t-shirt in cold water, wringing it out so it won't drip all over the place, then returns to Reyes' unconscious body and puts it on her forehead.

Seeing her sweat-soaked body lying on the couch reminds him of some kind of painting, but he's not sure what, only that it was depressing. And he promptly banishes that thought, frowning as he does so. "Thanks," he says again when Ringer comes back with the requested large cup of water and straw.

Ringer shakes his head. "This all happened because of me," he says.

"What, you gave her a fever?" Doggett says sarcastically, sitting down on a nearby chair. "Look, we just had a run of bad luck."

The other man shakes his head again, sitting heavily on the chair facing the agent's. "The secretary isn't here because she broke both her legs trying to drive me out," he says, "some asshole crashed into her side. A freak hailstorm hit when I tried to catch a cab. And Pizza Hut doesn't deliver here any more because three of their drivers got into accidents."

"You could've told us that earlier," Doggett says as evenly as he can. "Someone got a grudge against you or what?"

Ringer hangs his head miserably. "No," he says, "but whenever someone comes even close to really getting me away from here, they get hurt. And that's why I want you to kill me."

"Tempting as it sounds right now, there's gotta be another way," Doggett says. He looks down at Reyes, who he figures is more acquainted with weird shit than he is. "Since my paranormal expert is currently out of commission, give me some ideas of what you think might be behind this."

Ringer shakes his head. "Some of my guests say that it's not a curse, but a benevolent aura that surrounds me. Others say they sense no ill will towards me, all they see is prosperity in my future. No matter who I consult, even online, nobody knows who's behind it." He shrugs. "Well, I don't tell the online folks who I am, but I've told them as much as I've told you, and I've got nothing."

Doggett's scowl gets deeper. "Same here." He looks over at his partner, who is sleeping soundly, then looks at the radio host, who is looking guilty. Dammit. "Well, while we're here, might as well tell me some stories," he says.

"What?" Ringer looks startled.

Doggett shrugs, then winces. Jeez, even a shrug set off that broken rib? Anyways. "We got nothing better to do, and I wanna be here when she wakes up," he says, tilting his head at Reyes. He knows there's a TV in the kitchen and there's probably wireless availability for his laptop, but he wants to be here for his partner and keep an eye on Ringer. That way, when Reyes wakes up, he can tell her to strangle the guy, and he grins at the thought. "Start off with those ghost stories your math teacher used to tell."

Ringer's surprised and a little relieved. "Okay, but don't blame me if I don't remember how some of them end. It's been years."

"Oh, I'm sure you remember," Doggett says. "Go on."

And for the rest of the day and most of the night, the men tell tales, some taller than most.

* * *

"Geas!" Reyes shouts when she wakes up.

Doggett, who's lying on Ringer's sleeping bag on the floor, wakes up with a start. "What the hell?" he yelps, then groans, his broken rib reminding him not to move too quickly. "Son of a bitch," he breathes, putting a hand to his right side. He slowly sits up to find Reyes looking at him with her dark eyes wide. "What?"

"Ringer," she says, still lying down but clear-eyed. "He's got a geas on him."

"What's that?" Doggett squints at her.

"According to Celtic mythology, it could be considered a curse," she says, "but it's more like a rule or a powerful compulsion. If you obey it, you're blessed and you live a long life. But there are countless stories detailing how men disobeyed it and died."

"Oh, goody," he deadpans, then looks around. "Son of a bitch, where'd he go," he murmurs, when he hears a toilet flush. "Never mind." Then he looks at her. "Are you hungry?"

She nods, slowly sitting up, then puts a hand to the damp cloth on her forehead. She smiles when she sees it's his t-shirt. "What do you have?" she asks.

He looks around and holds up a half-empty pizza carton. "Pizza," he says, "apparently, Papa John delivers."

"Apparently," she agrees, helping herself to a slice. She waves at Ringer, because her mouth is full of pizza.

He waves back. "Good to see you're feeling better," he says.

She nods and swallows, then sees the big plastic cup of water and takes a big gulp. "Definitely better," she says, "and you're under a geas."

"What?" he says, echoing Doggett as he stares at her.

"I think I heard some of what you guys were talking about," she says, "and while I was dreaming, I put it all together. Your work is your geas."

"My," Ringer pauses, "my work is my geas?" He stands there for a while, not saying anything.

"You've pretty much given up everything else in your life for your work," Reyes says, "your kids, your wives, a decent home or a car, or even an outside life. And your work has rewarded you by placing a geas on you." She tilts her head a little. "In a way, it's a compliment. You've been faithful to this job more than anything else, and it's rewarding you by allowing you to be the best at what you do. It's just that when you have the all-too-human urge to leave the building, or work, as it were, you incur the geas' side effect."

He nods tiredly. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I can see how that works out."

Doggett looks from one person to the other. "This still doesn't make sense to me. So it's not a person doing it to you, but your work?"

Ringer shrugs. "Guess that's why all the psychics couldn't really pinpoint anything when I asked them about it. We were in the studio and it was pretty much all around us." He sighs. "Well, I could always put on a happy face and do this for the rest of my life. Like the lady said, I've been terrible at everything else, might as well do this right."

"I didn't mean it like that!" Reyes says hurriedly.

The talk show host chuckles. "I know, but I guess getting wrapped up in something, even as wide-ranging as this job, can give someone a single-track mind. And really, as long as no one else gets hurt, I don't mind having this kind of geas, now that I know what it is."

"In other words, you don't wanna leave," Doggett reiterates, making sure the guy wants to stick with the new game plan of staying put.

"Who knows, it could kill me next, and that would pretty much suck," Ringer grins lopsidedly. Then a loud horn honks outside, and they all look. It's the tow truck, finally arrived for their rental. He looks at them both. "Are you two okay to leave?"

Doggett looks at Reyes. "I think after swallowing more pills, I should be fine."

She nods. "Ditto." And after they down a couple of pills each, finishing up their dinners, she says, "I think we've still got those hotel and plane reservations, right?" Doggett nods, and as they both get to their feet, she shakes Ringer's hand. "Take care."

He nods. "You, too. Hey, if you're ever in this neck of the woods again, come in and say hi, no matter what my audience says."

She smiles, grabbing their overnight bags as Doggett shakes the man's hand. "You try anything stupid and I'll shoot you myself," Doggett says.

Ringer chuckles. "You really do sound like my math teacher. Too bad Mr. Riker's dead, I think you two would've gotten along great."

"Yikes," Doggett shakes his head, but smiles anyway. "See ya." He waves as he and Reyes take their leave, and the talk show host waves back. When they reach the tow truck, Ringer follows them as far as the door, watching them from that vantage point as he pulls out a carton and shakes out a cigarette. "You think he'll be okay?" he asks Reyes once she's gotten her card back from Doggett and given the truck driver her information.

She looks back, and the man in question is taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Yeah," she says, and helps Doggett into the truck.

"How do you know?" he asks, after wincing from the pain.

She smiles slightly. "Smoker's intuition."

He snorts, and when the truck driver asks them their destination, he says, "Airport. Return the car there, and we'll be staying at the hotel nearby."

The driver nods, and they watch the smoking figure in front of the radio station from the rear view mirror getting smaller and smaller as they go farther and farther, until a turn and a few miles takes Ted Ringer out of their sight.

* * *

The Doggett home  
February 4th, 2003  
12:23 p.m.

"Hello?" Doggett says when he and Reyes open the door. And what a sight meets his eyes. The place is clean, his boys are sitting ramrod straight on the couch and staring straight ahead, their bodies still but their foreheads sweating. Only Hannah is playing normally at the coffee table with her dolls and looks up when she sees her father and Monica.

"Hi, Daddy!" Hannah says, jumping up.

"Whoa, whoa," Reyes says, running interference. "He broke one of his ribs, so he can't pick you up, okay, Sweetie?"

The little girl looks surprised, but her father nods, so she wraps herself around his legs. Doggett allows himself to smile before looking at his sons. "I've seen the car," he says, and it was pretty hard to miss in the garage, looking like something took a giant baseball bat and hit the front passenger side. As he slowly makes his way to a chair, hampered by a little girl-leg shackle, he says, "So, what happened?"

Luke and Gibson look at each other, then look down. "Well, I thought I'd get some practice driving time while you two were gone," Luke says quietly, "and just go around the block."

"And I wanted to take a turn when he was done," Gibson adds, in the same quiet voice. "So I didn't think anything would happen."

"We told Hannah to stay home and listen for the phone," Luke says, "just in case you called."

"Well, we told her to cover for us," Gibson clarifies. "We didn't think we'd be gone that long, but thought it would be a good idea just in case."

"So I started to drive down the block," Luke says, "and everything was okay. But then we saw some girls from school, and I just wanted to show 'em what I got, and Gib said it was his turn to drive, and we started arguing, and then I took my eyes off the road for a minute, maybe longer, and we hit a tree."

"Thank goodness that's all we hit," Gibson says, "and the girls ended up laughing at us. Well, they started screaming, but once they saw we were okay, they laughed. And fortunately, one of them had a cell phone, so she called her father, who was a tow truck driver, and he towed it back to our place." He sighs. "And then we called you guys." Then both boys look up at Doggett, eyeing him nervously.

After a long, tense silence, their father finally speaks. "Well, it's a good thing I broke my rib," he says, his eyes narrow, "or I'd be personally strangling you right now." He takes a deep breath, then winces. "And it's a good thing Monica took my gun before we stepped out of the taxi, or I'd shoot you where you sit."

Their eyes widen, and Hannah's grip on his leg tightens, and he sighs. "Fortunately for you two, you're both gonna stay healthy and grounded, which includes revoking your drivers' permits until next year."

"What?" both teens chorus. "You can't-"

"I can and I will," Doggett interrupts, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. "You're lucky you didn't get hurt, and you're also lucky you didn't hurt anyone else while you were at it. But you've shown that you're not ready for the responsibility of driving, by sneaking out, by making your sister lie, and by using someone else's vehicle."

He smiles grimly, and both teens stiffen, since it's a very unfriendly smile. "Guess my recuperation time won't be wasted, since I'll be supervising the both of you. First off, we're gonna get that girl's daddy's number and find out how much you owe." He nods at their surprised expressions. "Oh yeah, you're gonna work that off, sons. Then you're gonna work off the repair for the car, and if you have to, you're gonna have to help repair it as well. Got it?" They nod, their eyes on him. "Second thing, take out all the video games and equipment from your rooms and bring them out here. Same goes for the computer. If I have to, I will send Hannah in as clean-up, got it?" They nod again. "And third..."

He stands up, gently prying Hannah's arms from his leg, and walks over to his sons. Reyes starts to stop him, but he shakes his head, and she subsides. They watch him nervously as he leans over without saying a word. Then he knocks their heads together, and they yell, "OW!" Rubbing their heads, they wince while their father smiles briefly, and hugs them hard. "Ugh, Dad, can't breathe," Luke gasps.

But he doesn't release his grip. "Thank God you two are all right," Doggett says, meaning it. Then he releases them, just as suddenly. Looking from one boy to the next, he says, their shoulders firmly in his hands, "But if you ever do anything stupid like that again-"

"We're dead," Gibson nods. "Man, you're scary," he breathes.

"Damn straight," Doggett says, but part of his mouth goes up. "The tow truck number?"

Gibson rattles it off, and Doggett nods at Reyes, who pulls out her cell phone. "Guess we have to take out the computer and video stuff now?" he asks.

Doggett says, "You got it." Then he stands up. "Up and at 'em, boys."

"Yes, sir," they chorus, look at each other glumly, and head to their rooms.

"Wow," Hannah says when they're out of sight. "You busted 'em good, Daddy."

He sighs, then sinks into the couch. "You're gonna be a good girl for Daddy, right?" he asks his little girl who makes her way to her father's lap. "When you get to be a teenager, you're gonna be sugar and spice, right?"

"Right!" she smiles, about to throw her arms around him, but remembers his injury and holds on to his arm instead.

He smiles at her, "You can lean on this side, Sweetie, it doesn't hurt," he says, patting the left side of his chest. As his daughter rests on his left side, he asks Reyes, who just hung up, "So, what's the damage?"

"Twenty," she says, "since he's not with Triple-A." She shakes her head, joining father and daughter on the couch. "Wow, considering all the stupid things I did as a teen, I'm glad nobody got hurt, either."

"Best not to share that with the boys just yet," Doggett smiles wanly, "judging by the exterior and axle damage to the car, it's gonna take a while for them to pay me back."

She nods, smiling a little. "You're a good father, you know that?" she says, ruffling his short hair.

He grimaces, brushing his hair, even though not a hair's out of place. "I'm just thinking that, as bad as things might seem now, it's not all that bad," he says, thinking of Ringer's predicament.

Reyes looks at him, then nods again. "Yeah, it's not," she agrees, and leans against him.

And that's what the two grounded teens find when they come out with the first trip from their room with the computer equipment. Luke and Gibson look at them, then at each other, and make a face, making the threesome on the couch laugh.

"Keep moving," Doggett tells them, and the boys groan before heading back to their room for the video games. But he's still smiling, holding his best girls and being in charge of his sons. Yeah, all things considering, life's not all that bad.


	122. The Red Carpet

Early February 2003

After the close of a rather spirited episode about chupacarbra, Wayne runs up to Mulder and Scully as they try to head back to their respective dressing rooms. "Hold up. I have something I need to talk to you both about."

Mulder gives him a wary look. There's something excited about Federman's expression. That worries him. "What's on your mind, Wayne?"

If anything, Federman gets more keyed up. "I have just learned of a fantastic opportunity for the two of you."

Now Scully looks apprehensive as well. "An opportunity? What sort of opportunity?"

"The two of you being involved with the X-Files for all those years, you must be science fiction fans as well, right?" he asks looking at them expectantly.

"I guess," Mulder says, "We've seen some Star Trek episodes from most of the series' incarnations, if that's what you're getting at."

"And a few of those terrible movies on the sci-fi channel," Scully says, shaking her head at the memory of the cringe-worthy flicks about killer fungus and bats run amuck.

"If you're been watching any sci-fi shows, you must've heard of the Saturn awards." He gives them an even more expectant look.

They both return it with blank stares.

Federman immediately looks slightly deflated. "It's only the biggest award show for science fiction films ever."

"Wayne, what are you getting at?" Mulder asks, hoping that they might eventually get to a point.

"I was just called and asked if the two of you would be willing to be the host for this year's award show," Wayne says enthusiastically. "It's going to be in Roswell, New Mexico on March 13th. Roswell. They couldn't pick a more fitting place, huh?"

Mulder and Scully exchange a look. He looks more intrigued by the idea that she does, but her expression doesn't suggest that it's out of the question.

"We're flattered, Wayne," Scully tells him. "But aren't the people putting on the show more likely to want Reed to be the host? He is, after all, far more involved in the science fiction realm than we are."

Wayne shakes his head rapidly. "Oh no, they asked for 'Mulder and Scully' specifically. You two have quite the reputation."

Mulder smiles on them. "No thanks to you."

"You're welcome," Wayne says without a trace of irony. "Say you'll do it."

"Well..." Scully stammers.

Wayne gives her a sympathetic look. "I know when I asked you to do the Jose Chung show I told you that there wouldn't be much traveling involved, and I really did mean that. Being selected for TV awards show hosting is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I know that your kids will miss you, but think of how proud they will be to be able to tell all their classmates that you presided over the awards for very important event."

When he glances at his wife's face, Mulder knows that Federman has just scored a direct hit. This is confirmed when she says, "I think the kids could bear to be away from us for a few days, don't you, Mulder?"

"Sure. And I'm sure our mothers will stop by to keep them entertained," Mulder says, thinking about how much more involved with his children and Samantha's his mother has become over the past several months.

Wayne practically levitates with excitement. "Does that mean that you're going to do it?"

"Exactly how long are we talking about, though?" Mulder asks.

"Three days. Including travel."

They exchanged another quick look. "We're in."

"Yes!" Wayne pumps his fist in the air. "I've got to go call them back."

Once Wayne runs off, Mulder puts his arm around Scully shoulder. "Maybe this will be fun."

"Maybe it will be a complete disaster," she says, but she smiles. "Either way, I think we'll have some stories to tell when we get back."

"Maybe we can ask Wayne to let us stay an extra day," Mulder suggests.

"Why would we do that?"

"Scully, haven't you always wanted to investigate the original crash site?"

"Oh brother."

When Mulder sees Wayne in the distance, he calls out to him. Wayne returns immediately. "What's up?"

"Did Scully and I ever tell you that our ninth anniversary is on Valentine's Day?"

"No. Congratulations. Are you doing anything special this year?"

"Well, we are shooting the show that day..." Mulder lets his voice trailed off.

"Oh. Did you need the day off?" Wayne asks.

"That would be nice," Scully says, getting in on the act. "If having the day off wouldn't be too disruptive."

"No, no. Make a long weekend of it."

Mulder gives him a good-natured thump to the shoulder. "You're the best boss, Wayne."

Wayne beams. "I am, aren't I?" Before Wayne can expound on how cool of a boss he actually is, he is called away by another voice in the studio.

"Mulder, what did you have in mind for our anniversary?" Scully asked as soon as Wayne wanders off to his next task.

He shrugs. "Nothing yet. It just seemed like too good an opportunity to waste. We'll think of something fun."

She gives him a slow smile, and then leans her head in close. "I'm glad it didn't take three months for your two samples to come back clear."

"Me too, Scully. Me too."

* * *

Early That Evening

While they fold tiny baby clothes in Zoe and Brianna's room, Scully and Michelle talk about the upcoming trip. The babies sleep peacefully despite the conversation going on around them.

"...so, it's only supposed to be three days," Scully says, concluding her explanation of the award show to Michelle.

"Wow, I didn't really expect the two of you to be traveling for business again."

"We didn't either," Scully admits. "But, as Wayne says this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I'm sure there can't be too many other award shows that would be clamoring for our attention."

"You'd be surprised," Michelle says, startling Scully. "My friend Marcos is into all that science fiction stuff big time. You had better hope that your boss never finds out what a sci-fi convention is, or you may end up doing other celebrity guest appearances."

Scully laughs. "Celebrity? I hardly think that Mulder and I are celebrities."

Michelle looks at her askance but doesn't say anything.

"You're going away?" a small voice asks behind them. Scully turns and sees April, who is giving her a concerned look.

"Just for three days, Sweetheart. Daddy and I are going to do a favor for Wayne."

"What kind of favor?"

"Remember when we watched part of the Academy Awards?" Scully asks, and April nods. "Well, Daddy and I are going to host an awards show like that. But for crazy science fiction movies instead of good ones."

"Oh. That sounds kind of fun," April says wistfully.

"I guess it's possible that it might be," Scully tells her just before Brianna wakes up with a shriek.

* * *

9:30 p.m.

There's a timid knock at their bedroom door, and Mulder opens it to find Page looking up at him.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Mulder asks reflexively.

"Can I talk to you and Mommy for a minute?"

"Of course you can, Page," Scully calls from the bed. She has a sleepy Zoe in her arms, who has just finished nursing.

Page scampers in and climbs on the bed. Mulder shrugs and shuts the bedroom door before joining them. "Well, what's on your mind?"

"I wanted to talk to you about how you're going away to be hosts for the awards show."

"What about it?" Scully asks, sounding wary.

To Mulder's surprise, Page says, "April really wants to go with you."

"She told you that?" Mulder asks her.

"Not really," Page admits before looking earnestly at her mother. "But I can tell. Mommy, can't you tell sometimes what Aunt Missy is thinking about from what she says, but what she doesn't say too?"

"Sometimes," Scully allows.

"Trust me, she wants to go with you," Page says firmly, and her father has to hide his smile. "Can she?"

"That wouldn't be up to us, Page," Mulder explains. "Wayne is the one who is making arrangements, so it would be up to him." He stands up, and takes Zoe from Scully, preparing to bring the infant back to her crib.

"But will you ask him?" Page persists.

"We'll think about it," Scully tells her. "How come you decided to ask us for her?"

"It sounds like fun. I know Sammy and I can't miss school, but April can. 'sides, sisters need to look out for each other. Right?"

"Right," Scully says before making Page giggle by suddenly swinging her off the bed and putting her on her feet. "Bed, now."

"Okay!"

"What do you think, Mulder?" Scully asks once they're alone again.

"First we should ask April if she wants to go in the first place," Mulder points out. "Just in case Page's helpfulness is misdirected. Then, if Page is right, we'll have to explain to April that we don't have the final say in the situation."

"Okay, we'll talk to her tomorrow."

They paused when they hear the distant fussing. Mulder looks down at Zoe. "Looks like it's time to swap babies."

"At least they don't wake up hungry at the same time," Scully says, thinking about her one attempt to feed David and Jared at the same time. It had not been pretty.

* * *

The Next Morning

Sammy and Page shove their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, and run upstairs to get their backpacks. April is about to join them, when Mulder stops her. "One second, April."

She sits down and gives him an expectant look.

"So," Mulder says, looking back at her. "A little birdie told me that you want to go with mom and me, if possible, when we do that awards show. Is that true?"

April tilts her head. "A bird named Page," she mutters.

"That doesn't answer my question, Sweetie."

Mulder's lips twitch with the effort of not smiling with his daughter heaves a sigh. "Yes, Daddy. I want to go with you and Mommy."

He ruffles her hair. "There. Telling the truth wasn't so hard, was it?"

His daughter just stares at him.

"Mommy and I will ask Wayne if you can come too."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Mulder watches as his daughter scrambles to her feet. "Where you going?"

"To punch Page for telling my secrets."

April is already out of the room before it occurs to him to tell her not to hit her sister. At a loss, he just shakes his head.

* * *

Film Studio

"Wayne, I know this is probably too much to ask, but one of our daughters is dying to go with us when we do the award show," Mulder says early that morning. "Is there any way that Scully and I can convince you to let us bring April with us?"

"April?" Wayne asks. "Forgive me, but I have to ask: which one is that?"

"Our second daughter," Mulder tells him.

"Is that the little redhead?"

"Yes."

"Oh sure, go ahead and bring her. I like that one," Wayne says, sounding genuine. "She didn't give me a hard time and ate dinner with you guys."

"You really don't mind?" Mulder asks, surprised.

Wayne shrugs his shoulders. "A kid's fare on the plane, couple of extra meals, it won't cost me much. Besides, you'll be thinking about this when it comes time to renew your contracts."

"Don't you think you're showing your hand a little bit there, Wayne?" Scully asks, smiling.

"Am I wrong?"

They shake their heads.

"Exactly. I'll have somebody buy the ticket, and let the hotel know you'll need a trundle bed."

"Thanks Wayne!" Mulder calls to his retreating back. Wayne doesn't turn around to look. Instead he just waves his hand behind him.

Later that evening April looks both astonished and pleased when her parents inform her that she is going to be able to go with them. To their relief none of the other kids reacts with jealousy.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
February 14th, 2003

It's a glorious, albeit cold as hell, Friday morning with love in the air and chocolate and cards in various children's bags. On this particular morning, however, one couple is sleeping in. "Morning, honey," Mulder kisses his wife in bed.

"Mm," Scully kisses him back without opening her eyes. "You brushed your teeth."

He chuckles. "I decided to be nice on our anniversary. Happy ninth, Dana."

She smiles, slowly opening her eyes. "Happy ninth, Mulder." Then she pouts, "But you let me kiss you with morning breath."

He shrugs, "Yeah, well, you let me make out with you with morning wood, I'd say we're even."

She laughs, then swings her pillow at him. "So much for romance," she giggles when he blocks her successfully.

Mulder waggles his eyebrows. "Oh, baby," he leers at her in an over-the-top fashion, "you ain't seen nothin' yet."

Scully doesn't trust the look in his eyes, humorous though the delivery may be. "Where are the kids?" she asks, noting how suspiciously quiet the house sounds.

He smiles and snuggles next to her. "The older ones are in school," he answers, brushing her hair out of her face, "my mom wanted to take the younger ones to a museum to culturize them."

" 'Culturize'?" Scully raises an eyebrow at the word.

He nods. "In her words, she wants to 'develop an appreciation for the finer things in life', and when I told her we could take them window-shopping at expensive shops, she looked like she could cheerfully shoot my other shoulder."

"And she would've been within her rights," Scully retorts. "So they're with your mom."

Mulder nods again. "And I've got breakfast downstairs. I would've brought you breakfast in bed, but I wasn't sure if you were up for food or," he waggles his eyebrows again, "whatever else might come up."

She rolls her eyes, but laughs. "Food first, Mr. Smarty Pants," she says, pulling on a robe, "and we'll get to, you know, whatever, after that."

He smiles, then kisses the top of her head. "You're so cute when you get all modest, Scully."

She sticks her tongue out, then gets out of bed with as much dignity as a just-woken up woman can muster. "I'll be brushing my teeth," she says, "and that food better be warm by the time I get downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder salutes her, and rushes downstairs, making her laugh.

* * *

3:11 p.m.

They've spent the day making love, watching chick movies (after Mulder promised not to tease her), and making out some more, and now they're having a late lunch at the table. "You know, you've spent all day spoiling me," Scully says, after he kisses her cheek, "I think I should return the favor. After all, it's OUR anniversary, not just mine."

Mulder smiles. "Well, what do you have in mind, O Wife of Mine?"

The redhead smirks, then puts the cut of meat in her mouth in a very suggestive manner. "I was thinking," she says after she (and Mulder) swallows, "that we could take our anniversary outside."

"Doing what?" he asks, having to clear his throat when she goes down on, er, downs another cut of steak.

She shrugs, but runs her socked foot up and down his leg, making him raise his eyebrows. "Oh, nothing much, maybe walking past those expensive shops and pretending like we'll buy something, but we won't. And we'll actually buy something so tacky and cheap, and walk past those same expensive stores and flaunt it."

He does an exaggerated gasp. "You tease!" he says, in a mock-outraged voice, a hand to his chest.

Scully rolls her eyes. "Please. You know you want to."

Mulder starts to protest, then grins. "You are definitely my one in a million, aren't you?" he says fondly.

"Duh," she smiles, "and it's one in kajillion. Sammy said so."

He raises his eyebrows again. "Oh, now we're using his word? Kajillion? Pray tell," he says, walking over and lifting her up, making her squeal in the process, "scientifically, how much is a kajillion?"

"Well," Scully attempts to be aloof and objective, which is difficult when one's husband is carrying one up the stairs, kissing her on every other step, "a kajillion, ah, is certainly, mm, definitely more than a billion."

"A lot of things are more than a billion," Mulder smiles at her, and not for the first time in their partnership, she feels her stomach drop, "can you be more specific?"

The redhead in his arms sees they're back in the bedroom, and also sees neither has any desire to leave it any time soon. When he gently deposits her on the bed, she sighs, then undoes the robe. "I have a feeling we'll be here for a while," she says, patting the space beside her once she gets under the covers.

He grins, jumping under the covers beside her. "If someone told me I'd be spending our ninth anniversary totally making out with my wife, I'd give them a high five," he says, then ducks as she swings another pillow at him.

Scully pouts, then works on divesting him of his clothes. "I do know that we'll be out of here tonight," she says, "I've made reservations."

"Where at?" Mulder asks, then gasps when her cold fingers wrap around his manhood. "Whoa!"

"Whoa?" Scully repeats.

He nods, hating to take her hands off him, but knowing he'll probably freeze down there if she leaves them on. "Cold hands," he tells her.

She looks surprised, then smirks. "Then I'll put on something warm," and when he's about to ask, she dives under the covers, the answer engulfing him with lips and tongue.

He moans, his eyes rolling upwards. "Oh, God," he groans, putting a hand on her head, "that's, uh, yeah, that's warm." It isn't long before he's completely unintelligible, and so is she.

* * *

6:50 p.m.

A petite redhead is leading a tall blindfolded man into a restaurant, making more than a few people smile at the couple. "It was weird enough while you were driving," Mulder complains, "but I know we're inside the place now. This is weirder than when we were on the X-Files, and I hope there's not going to be a gray alien sitting at the table."

Scully smiles. "Don't worry, there's nothing like that here," she says, guiding him to his chair. "You can take the blindfold off now."

He does so, blinking at the lights. Then he looks around, and sees that the place is full of people sitting at simply-decorated tables, with splashes of gold here and there, and a stage with a catwalk that reaches into the audience. He gives her a questioning look, but gets no answer, and when the lights dim, he's even more curious.

An MC steps up to the lone mic, his smile as bright as Wayne Federman's on a crazy new idea. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to A Night of A Hundred Elvises! I guarantee that you'll never see the King like you will tonight, and see him in every phase of his life! If you see your favorite Elvis, he or she will personally serenade you for the rest of the night! Enjoy!"

Then bright music, sprinkled with a horn section, announces the first several Elvises, and they all strut out, to the tune of the original's TV special, striking various poses. Mulder turns to his wife, his eyes shining. "God, I love you," he says, clasping her small hands in his.

She smiles, "I know." Then she nods her head at the stage. "See any one you want?"

Mulder pretends to put on a critical eye. "Well, the ones on the left are cute," he says with an exaggerated lisp, "but oh my darling, that one on the far right is a sweetie!"

Scully lightly socks her husband. "Never mind," she rolls her eyes, "just make sure to tip whichever Elvis you choose, okay?"

"Okay!" he continues in his over-the-top gay impersonation. Then he kisses his wife. "Thanks, Scully."

She smiles back. "I didn't feel like going all the way to Vegas, so I thought it was nice that it came here for tonight," she says.

"It is nice," he agrees, as more Elvises (Elvii?) pose up a storm, doing something like karate kicks. "Hey, they weren't kidding, there are chick Elvises," he points to a couple.

Scully nods. "Yeah, they're really good," she says, a little surprised that they are.

Mulder smiles at her, then leans back. "I'm waiting for the big guys," he tells her in a confidential whisper, "those usually tend to be the best singers."

"Really?" his wife's eyebrows go up.

He nods. "Call it an unofficial study, but I've noticed that Big Elvis usually has to be, I guess to make up for the tummy."

She laughs until she snorts, and glares when he thumps her back lightly. "I'm fine," she says, trying to have some dignity.

He shakes his head. "No, fine is when we get our Big Elvis," he says.

And to Scully's delight and Mulder's satisfaction, their Big Elvis really is a good singer, white brightly sequined jumpsuit and all, serenading them through their ninth anniversary with every request Mulder throws at him.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
March 7th, 2003

Scully and Michelle have just come back from walking Sammy, Page, and April to the bus stop when they hear Mulder in the living room.

"Hey, come watch this!"

When they reach him, he's got the new Tivo paused. "What?"

"Just watch."

As he unpauses, a reporter on the morning show begins to talk about a high profile murder case. Then a familiar figure appears in the background.

"It's Amy!" Scully says, looking amazed.

"Who's Amy?" Michelle asks blankly.

"Our first nanny," she explains. "She left for law school when Sammy was a baby."

"Yup, we found out that we were expecting April that same month," Mulder remembers. "Looks like she's doing well."

"Doesn't she? She already looks completely at home in the courtroom," Scully comments fondly. "I wouldn't have minded her prosecuting a case for us."

"Maybe she will, but for John and Monica instead of us."

"She looks happy," Michelle says wistfully, and then blushes when they both turn to look at her. "Not that I'm not. I mean, we're not."

* * *

New Mexico  
March 11th, 2003

The sunlight is dazzling when they step off the plane. Scully notices that April is squinting, so she quickly pulls a child sized pair of sunglasses out of her carry-on travel bag. April looks relieved when she has them on her face.

She reaches up to tug on her father's shirt. "It's like the desert."

"I guess they don't have a gardener here at the airport," Mulder says, smiling at her.

"There's the kiosk for the car rental place," Scully says, looking over to the right. She rifles through her carry-on bag for a moment and comes up with a handful of paper. "And here are the directions to Roswell."

"We better go pick up our car then," Mulder replies, taking the papers from her hand.

They leave the car rental place 15 minutes later, and Mulder has a smile on his face. "A convertible! I was expecting a Ford Taurus or something pedestrian like that." He turns to his wife. "Scully, do you have something to tie back your hair?"

"Of course, Mulder."

"Good. We're going to ride with the top down."

Scully smiles at him, and fishes hair scrunchies for her and April out of her bag.

He grins broadly when the top folds down at the push of a button. "Ladies, this is the life."

They can't help but to agree with him.

* * *

Roswell, New Mexico

April spends most of the ride looking out at the scenery as it passes them by. She seems fascinated that there is not the same sort of plant life that she sees every day in Washington. When they stop at a red light, she points her finger. "Daddy, what's that?"

Mulder turns, expecting to have to defer to Scully's more comprehensive knowledge of flora, when he sees where she's pointing. A small building decorated with garish cartoon aliens, occupies a corner lot. A sign declaring it to be the Alien Tourist Bureau takes up most of the front above the windows.

"April, I don't know what that is," Mulder admits, these are he promised himself that they will go and see it before they leave.

"Mulder, right there," Scully says urgently, pointing at the opposite side of the road. Down a side street he can see the building that she's indicated. Much like the building where the film Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There, this one lacks impressiveness from the outside. The name however, does indeed match the name but Wayne Federman gave them before they left.

When the light turns green, Mulder takes a left, and pulls up in front of The Karloff theater. Though the building certainly appears to be spacious, and has a large parking lot, it also seems to be built out of cinderblock.

April says what's on all three of their minds. "This isn't very pretty."

"It doesn't need to be," Mulder tells her. "When it's full of people, no one will notice what looks like anyway."

His daughter nods and slips her hand into his.

* * *

Mulder almost gasps in surprise when they open the door to the very utilitarian style building. The inside looks nothing like one would imagine from the exterior. For a second he feels as though he was again transported through time, and has landed this time in a theater from the turn of the last century. In the far distance, past rows and rows of chairs, is a stage hung with thick blue velvet curtains.

"It's something isn't it?" A voice asks behind them. They all turned to look.

The man looking back at them gives them a small smile. He is in his early 30s, has very short dark hair, and wire rim glasses. After a moment he holds out his hand to Mulder. "Hi, I'm, Josh Wentworth, the building manager. What do you think?"

Scully shakes his hand as well before answering him. "I'm impressed."

"No, I'm the one that's impressed. We like to think that the Saturn awards are a big deal, but it doesn't take a finely honed sense of realism to know that they are not. I bet you never even heard of them before you were asked to be the hosts." At this Mulder and Scully exchange a look, but neither of them admits that the building manager is right. "How someone managed to talk the two of you into doing this, I'll never know."

"You say that like we're some sort of big deal," Mulder protests.

"Let me ask you a question. How often do you check on the ratings for your show?"

"Um... never."

To their surprise the building manager begins to chuckle. "Do me a favor. When it comes time for contract renewal, make sure you've checked out the numbers by then. You'll easily be able to get more money out of them."

"Wow," a soft voice says that the vicinity of everyone's waists.

Looking down, Wentworth asks, "And who is this?"

April's response is to immediately hide her face against Mulder's hip. He places a calming hand on her shoulder. "This is our daughter April."

"Kind of shy, huh? Is she your only child?"

This time it's Scully's turn to laugh. "Hardly. April is third of nine. And before you ask, no, none of them are adopted. We've left that to our friend John."

"Nine kids? How do you people find time to work?" The building manager asks with a good-natured grin.

"We've had a succession of wonderful nannies since this one's two older siblings were babies," Mulder admits. "We've been lucky, because none of our children have suffered any of that severe separation anxiety you always hear about in parenting magazines. From what the nanny says, even the four and a half month old twins don't seem to notice that we're gone, and unlike during the infancies all of their older siblings, we haven't traveled for work since they were born."

"I guess you've really lucked out then."

"And you had better believe that we realize that," Scully says.

By this point April has lost some of her bashfulness. Looking up at, she asks, "Is that where they're going to be when they're on TV?" One of her small fingers points at the very center of the stage.

"Yup," Wentworth tells her. "And, if the three of you will follow me-" he leads them down through the chairs to the right side of the front row. Then he points at a chair which is set slightly apart with just a five others. "And this is where you will be. One of the nice people who works here will sit with you. You'll be able to see everything, but this part of the row never appears on TV, so you don't have to worry about strangers seeing you."

This is the exact right name to say to April. She immediately looks relieved. "Good."

Mulder grins down at her. If it'd been Page or Sammy, either one would have been put out to learn that they would not be on TV themselves. April, however, has never shown any interest in being in the spotlight. Which is just one of the reasons why having red hair has been more difficult on her, than on Sammy. He has always greeted comments about his pretty hair with enthusiasm, while his younger sister has always seemed to wish that no one noticed her at all. It is far too early to tell how William or Ryan will feel about being a redhead.

* * *

They continue their tour of the theater, and Wentworth stops every now and then to introduce them to some key member of the theater staff. Everyone is professional and polite, and Mulder, at least, feels a sense that things should go smoothly here. Everyone seems to know what they are doing, and they're far more composed than most TV or movie depictions of theaters. It's hard not to find that reassuring

Eventually Wentworth taps a short, stout boy in his late teens on the shoulder. When he turns to see what's going on, Mulder and Scully can see that he has Downs syndrome. "This is Davey. He's in charge of bringing people things they need. Right, Davey?"

"Yup," Davey agrees cheerfully. "It's my job."

"A pretty important one," Wentworth praises him. "This is Mulder and Scully and their little girl, April. I bet that they haven't eaten breakfast yet."

"We have, but April only picked at hers," Mulder tells them. He hadn't been thrilled by their plane breakfast, either, but it had more of an appetite for it. "I wouldn't be surprised if she's still hungry."

"Do you like donuts?" Davey asks April, and she gives him a shy nod. "What kind? I've got lots of kinds."

"I like honey dip."

"Okay! You stay right here, and I'll bring you one. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You'll stay right here?" Davey asks suspiciously.

"Sure."

Davey rushes off, leaving April to stare up at her parents.

"What a nice boy," Scully tells her, and April relaxes.

"Yeah."

Wentworth nods. "Davey is the son of one soundmen. He does a good job for us now that he has graduated high school."

"It looks like it," Mulder agrees when he sees Davey returning with a donut carefully centered on a small paper plate.

"Not everyone is thrilled about him being here," Wentworth admits just before the boy reenters the range of overhearing. "We've had some nasty remarks from entitled people."

"Well, you won't hear any from us," Scully assures the building manager.

From the slightly sad look on her face, Mulder suspects that she's thinking about the case that convinced her to leave the X-Files in favor of doing the TV show. A small selfish part of him is glad to have been spared meeting with the woman who'd lost her son.

As Wentworth tells him a little bit more about the theater operation, April and Davey chatter to each other. Mulder had been slightly worried that that there would be no children there for April to talk to, but it seems as though she has found a kindred spirit in the errand boy.

The building manager conducts them to a large, spacious dressing room. It's much nicer than either of theirs at the studio back at home. "This should give you a lot of room to get ready the night of the awards show."

"It sure will."

The building manager looks down at April. "See that empty corner over there? We're having a small table and chair brought in tonight so you can color there while your folks are changing."

"Thanks," April says shyly. She then studies that corner of the room intently for no reason that Mulder can discern. He makes a mental note to ask her what's so interesting, later.

"The night of the show we'll have people stationed in the hallway to make sure there aren't any flow issues. That way we can all stick to the time schedule."

"Good idea," Scully replies. "You sound like you've had a lot of experience with shows. What goes on here when it's not the location of an awards show?"

"The Karloff is used for a lot of plays and a few concerts. With the balconies it's not the best place acoustically for electric instruments, but a lot of bands do 'unplugged' sets here. There's usually something going on here at least a couple of weeks a month."

"It sounds like the show was lucky to get this venue, then," Mulder says.

"Well, the schedule is empty until International Kiss and Xanthic have a show a week from tomorrow, so the Saturn awards are timed just right."

They follow the building manager through The Karloff for another half an hour, seeing more of a theater than most people ever get to. At last, Wentworth says, "Well, that's it. We would like you to come in tomorrow morning at nine for a dress reversal. I think that the rest of the afternoon is yours."

This surprises Mulder. He is expected a much more arduous schedule. Shaking the building manager's hand, he says "We'll see you then. Nine sharp."

Davey calls goodbye to April as they leave, and the small redhead looks over her shoulder and waves.

"Now what?" Mulder asks as they stand in the parking lot once more.

"I thought that the Alien Tourist Bureau looked interesting," Scully says. "Why don't we go and check that out?"

Mulder stares at her. "Really?"

"Mulder, how long has it been since we've gone to cheesy tourist attraction? Even I like them once in a while."

"I love you," he tells her, sounding very sincere.

"I know."

* * *

Alien Tourist Bureau

If the outside looks gaudy, Mulder doesn't have a word to describe the interior of the small building. Every square inch of the place is decorated with alien-themed memorabilia. It's more of a museum than a store, however. A small gift shop counter is crammed into the front.

"Hi, can I help you folks?" A cheerful voice asks.

Mulder looks up to see a woman in a gypsy-like dress float into the room. "Hi. We were wondering what this place is."

"Alien Tourist Bureau."

"Okay..." he says, trying to maintain his smile. "What's the function of the business, though?"

"Oh, sorry. We're partly a museum as you've probably worked out for yourself. We also conduct tours of the crash site." From the tone of the woman's words, one can be certain that she believes that everyone would know exactly which crash site she was referring to.

"Isn't that interesting," Scully murmurs.

The woman hands her a brochure. "We do nightly tours from ten p.m. to four a.m. hourly."

Mulder smiles at her. "We may have to take you up on this."

"We may not," Scully hisses, but he pretends not to hear.

"Daddy, can I buy an alien?" April asks, pointing to the display case.

"Only if you can find seven of the same thing."

"Okay," she agrees, ready for the challenge.

Mulder looks at his wife, wondering how much of a challenge he has ahead of him when it comes to convincing her to take the tour.

* * *

The Next Morning

The impression of order and efficiency that Mulder had noted the day before seems lacking when they arrive at The Karloff at exactly 9 o'clock the next morning. He can't make out any of the conversations he hears throughout the theater, but there's a clear sense of unhappiness to the tones of most people speaking.

When Wentworth appears before them, the younger man looks stressed.

"Good morning," Scully greets him.

"Morning, no doubt. Good on the other hand..."

"I take it that something has gone wrong," Mulder says.

Wentworth shakes his head. "You haven't noticed the stage yet, then."

When Mulder looks past the harried building manager, at first he has trouble making sense of what he's seeing. The floor of the stage is dappled with what seem to be pink and white splatters. At that distance he can't tell what might be the cause, the pink ones look sticky.

"What in the world?" Scully asks.

"Donuts," Wentworth sighs. "Four dozen jelly or cream filled donuts."

"Yikes," Mulder says. Now he understands what he seeing. Obviously the pink is jelly, and the white is from powdered donuts and the cream filling. "Who would do such a thing?"

"And that's the topic on everyone's mind. No one will confess to it. The only one who said they saw anything was Davey..." The building manager shakes his head.

"What did he say he saw?"

"Davey is a really good kid. Everyone has to understand that. But he's... somewhat limited. That doesn't make him a terribly reliable eyewitness."

"What did he say he saw?" Mulder repeats his wife's question.

Wentworth spreads his hands. "Davey told me that little gray men did it. Obviously some people have been telling him about the Roswell crash, and that influenced his imagination."

"I can see how you would think so," Scully says diplomatically, but her eyes dart towards Mulder's. Her expression clearly says 'don't even start'. He gives her a wounded look in return.

The building manager has apparently missed the silent exchange, because the next thing he says is, "I tried to leave a message at your hotel room, but they said you'd already left. We are going to start the rehearsal in two hours. Hopefully by then I will have found a way to clean the damn stage. Why don't you go and explore for a little while."

Scully smiles down at April. "When we were driving here this morning I saw the toy store. Why don't we go and pick out presents for your brothers and sisters?"

"Okay, Mommy."

She snags the back of Mulder shirt. "Come on, Mulder."

"Sure," Mulder says, but he's caught sight of Davey in the distance. The boy looks distraught. Whatever happened, he doesn't think that Davey believes that he was making up stories.

* * *

"Well, you might as well say it," Scully says as they get in the car.

"Say what?" Mulder asked innocently.

"You believe Davey's story about little gray men."

"Scully, we are in Roswell after all-"

"Which of course means that if there is such a thing as aliens they will pepper stages with donuts. Mulder, how does that make any sense to you?"

"Roswell, Scully. Roswell."

"Donuts, Mulder. Donuts." She sighs in exasperation. "Have you ever heard of aliens playing practical jokes before?"

"Do cow mutilations count? Ouch," he complains, rubbing his it suddenly sore arm.

April it's them that she has been paying attention, when she says, "I'm worried that Davey is going to get in trouble."

"Why is that, Sweetheart?"

"Donuts are Davey's job. If somebody did something bad with the donuts..."

Mulder frowns to himself. Unfortunately, April is probably right. Suspicion probably will eventually fall on the boy if things continue in the same vein.

* * *

11 a.m.

When they return to The Karloff things have settled down. The first place that Mulder looks as the stage, and it is so clean that it seems to gleam under the lights. Whatever they had found to clean up the donuts it'd done an admirable job.

"Mulder!" Both Mulder and Scully turned to look to see Wentworth waving frantically. He is accompanied by two people who look vaguely familiar. A flawlessly dressed older woman in a stunning silver gown stands to his left, and to his right is a gentleman and talks to Mulder believes that he'd seen in at least one movie.

"Hi," Scully says as she, April, and Mulder join the other trio.

"You probably know who these two are but I'll introduce them anyway," Wentworth says, giving them all a smile. "Lana Carter and Stone Roberts."

"Lana Carter!" Scully says, sounding surprised. "My brother Bill and I watched all of your movies back during the 70s."

Lana gives Scully an indulgent smile. "During 70s? You must've been quite young then."

Too polite to possibly insult the older woman, Scully does not tell her how old she really was then.

"Mr. Roberts," Mulder says, "I know I've heard of you, but forgive me-"

Stone laughs. "But you don't recognize me. No surprise there, I spent most of my time in costume."

"You were... you were the robot!" Mulder feels proud of himself for dredging that up from his memories. "On that show, The Distant Sun."

The other man nods, and looks pleased. Wentworth interrupts. "Stone and Lana will be the first presenters tomorrow night. I thought we'd start with a run through of the opening right now."

"What about me?" April asks, looking around.

"Davey!" Wentworth calls, and the boy jogs over.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you sit with April?"

"Okay!"

Mulder and Scully go through the motions of introducing the show to an audience that only consists of two people, and Lana and Stone likewise present an award for best action sequence to the still nonexistent audience.

Over the course of the next few hours, Mulder and Scully get to meet several other celebrities. Most of them are either retired, or so new to the scene that that they are still generously referred to as up and coming.

Things go without a hitch right up until the best kiss goodbye award. The young starlet who is supposed to be offering a list of nominees shrieks when all of a sudden one of the curtains falls from above, and lands on her. It seems as though everyone, except for Davey and April, rush up on the stage and try to de-tangle the distraught actress.

The girl's face has just cleared the curtain when Davey stands up and points, "He's getting away!"

Wentworth and a few other people descended upon Davey, and start asking him questions. He answers a few, but it's clear that he's a more upset that they're ignoring the fact that the culprit is getting away. He points again. "He was right there. You let him get away."

By the time Mulder and Scully clicked April, Davey looks like he's near tears. It's clear that this does not escape their daughter's notice, because as Mulder picks April up, she says, "See. It wasn't Davey. He stayed with me the whole time."

"We know wasn't Davey," Scully says.

The little girl shakes her head. "You didn't hear them, lots of people said that Davey did it. But Davey didn't do it. He didn't even move."

Mulder gives her confused look. "Who said he knocked down the curtains?"

"Not the curtains, Daddy. The donuts."

"Oh."

In the distance they hear Wentworth shout, "Places in fifteen. We're going to finish this rehearsal come hell or high water."

* * *

Dressing Room

Mulder sits April on the edge of the dresser. "Maybe you should stay here and color."

"Why?"

"Somebody's playing pranks. I hope nobody gets hurt."

"Can Davey stay with me?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, April."

"Why not?"

"Davey's here to work, Honey," Scully says lightly, but Mulder can tell from the look on her face that she's not sure that the boy will be returning to his duties tonight. It probably depends on how wound up he still is when they return to the stage in a few minutes.

"So I've got to stay here all alone?"

Before Mulder or Scully can answer that, Wentworth appears with an elderly woman in tow. "This is Alice. She's going to sit with April while we finish the rehearsal."

"Josh, you've read our minds."

April gives the older woman an apprehensive look, but settles at the table with crayons and paper. Alice gives her an innocuous smile, and opens the thick novel she's brought with her.

Before she leaves the room Scully goes to her daughter and kisses her on the cheek. "I know I don't have to tell you to behave for Alice, but..."

"I Will, Mommy," April promises.

* * *

As soon as April is settled, Mulder and Scully head back out towards the stage. Wentworth looks ready to pull his short hair out by the roots.

"Is Davey all right?" Scully asks.

He gives her a weak smile. "We sent him to one of the dressing rooms to calm down."

"Do people still think he's responsible for what's been going on?" Mulder wants to know.

Wentworth shakes his head. "I know it's not Davey. We've had issues like this in the past. It's been months though, so I had hoped they were just in the past tense," he concludes with a sigh.

"What, like Phantom of the Opera?" Mulder asks with a chuckle.

"Something like that," Wentworth mutters, and does not look amused by a Mulder's comment. "This place has had many strange incidents since it opened five years ago."

"You have any disgruntled staff members?" Scully asks.

"No, people who work in the theater business usually thrive on stress. The staff here has been no exception to that."

"You must suspect someone," Mulder insists, and Wentworth shakes his head.

"No. Until Davey insisted he saw 'the little gray men' no one has ever seen a damn thing."

The rest of the dress reversal goes off without a hitch, but there's a sense of unease running through everyone in the entire building. It's clear that everyone is anxiously awaiting the next disaster strike.

* * *

When Mulder and Scully reenter their dressing room they discover that Alice, the woman assigned to mind April, is sound asleep. When they wake her up she looks embarrassed and says that April was an angel before rushing off.

"Did you see any little gray men?" Mulder jokingly asks his daughter.

"A little gray man," April corrects him.

Mulder blinks. "Are you teasing me, or did you really see someone?"

"I really did see him!" April insists earnestly. "But Daddy, he's not an alien. It's a real man."

"April, tell us what happened." Scully looks worried.

"I colored and Alice read her book. Then she fell asleep and began to snore, which was kind of funny." April grins. "I kept coloring but I heard a noise so I got up to look for it."

"Did you leave the room?" Mulder asks sternly.

"No. The noise came from over there." She points to far corner of the room.

"What kind of noise?"

"Tap, tap, tap. Like somebody hitting metal. Then that metal thing-" April pauses, looking frustrated.

"The grate?" Scully supplies.

"Yeah, that. It fell out. When I looked in, a little man looked out at me! He made a little scream noise and pulled the grate back on."

Mulder gives the grate a doubtful look. "He would have to have been a have very little man."

"He was," April agrees. "I think he was in Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs."

"That's a cartoon, Sweetie," Scully points out gently.

"I know," April says, looking half exasperated. "But Michelle says that some people on TV and in movies are based on real people, like that movie about you and Daddy. I thought that maybe it was like that."

"Why? Because he was little?" Mulder asks.

"Yup. And he had an axe like they did."

"And axe? For chopping wood?" Scully asked, confused and obviously thinking of the woodcutter in the story.

"I think she means a pick axe."

"For diamond mines!" April exclaims.

"Scully, do you have your phone?"

"Yes, why?"

"I want to call Monica."

* * *

Doggett's House

A good part of the home is filled with the scent of fresh paint, and Reyes tries to hear Mulder over the grumbling of the reluctant painters in the next room. Painting the kitchen is the latest of the chores Luke and Gibson have been assigned to help work off their debt to their father.

Reyes repeats what Mulder has told her. "Okay, so you said that April heard knocking, swears that she saw one of the seven dwarves, and there have been pranks played? Hold on. I want to look something up."

Laying aside the cell phone, she grabs a book of world mythology from the shelf that she has claimed in Doggett's living room, and flips to the index. A couple of minutes later she picks the phone back up. "See if you can find out if there's ever been a quarry in the area."

"Why?" Mulder's voice comes back to her.

"Did you ever read that terrible Stephen King novel, The Tommy Knockers? He got the tommy knockers all wrong. They aren't aliens, but mine spirits."

"Mine spirits?"

"Yeah. You've heard The Elves and the Shoemaker story, right? Though they were called elves, the description was more like brownies, which are helpful spirits that live in homes."

"The thing in the theater doesn't seem too helpful to me."

"Unlike brownies, tommy knockers play pranks if they're not pacified."

"How do you pacify them?"

"The book says miners used to leave them pastries."

"But they hated the donuts, apparently," Mulder protests.

"Not that kind of pastry, Mulder. More like a meat pie."

"Okay, thanks."

When she hangs up her phone, Reyes notices how bored Hannah looks. The little girl offered to help paint the kitchen a couple of times, but her father told her that it was the boys punishment, obviously not realizing that she kept wanting to be included.

"Hey, do you feel like ice cream?" Reyes asks her.

"Why?"

"I was thinking, since your dad and your brothers are busy, you and I could go and have some sundays by ourselves. Wanna?"

"I do! Thanks, Mom! Oops, I meant Monica." Hannah looks embarrassed by her slip up.

Knowing that the girl has been practically motherless since the age of three, Reyes cuts her slack and pretends not to have noticed. "Put your shoes on, and I will let your dad know where we are going."

"Sure!"

* * *

"Mulder, where are you going?" Scully asks when he starts to walk off after finishing his conversation with Reyes.

"I need to grab my laptop out of the car. I'll be right back."

"I wonder what Monica said to him," Scully says, and her daughter shrugs.

Mulder returns and sets the laptop on top of the vanity table. "Okay, Reyes said that we should look to see if there was ever a quarry in the area."

"A quarry?"

"Yes. Like that one-" He says, poking his finger at something on the screen. "Roswell gravel quarry, still in operation. If there's one open, there probably were others over the years."

"You think this theater was built on an old quarry?"

"Maybe."

"And that it's haunted?"

"No. Well, sort of, but not by ghosts. Reyes suspects that the place might be infested with tommy knockers, which are a fae creature that liked to hang out in mines."

"Like the dwarves," April says.

"Sure," Mulder agrees.

"Did she say how to get rid of them?" Scully asks.

"We need to bring some meat pies with us tomorrow."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not," he protests. "It's a good thing that there's a microwave in here."

* * *

The Karloff  
March 13th, 2003  
3:50 p.m.

Josh Wentworth looks surprised to see them when they arrive the next afternoon laden down with bags from the local grocery store. "You don't need to be here until five. There's been another incident, and I want to get it cleaned up-" Looking around they can see that someone has shredded what looks like a box of programs and strewn the pieces through the seating area. "Luckily, I was able to get the printers to agree to a rush job for the replacements."

"Josh, do you consider yourself an open-minded man?" Mulder asks him quietly.

"I guess so..." Wentworth looks slightly doubtful.

"You know what we did before the TV show, right?" Scully asks. "We investigated the paranormal."

"I've heard that. You really saw some stuff, huh?"

"We did. And we think we know what's been going on around here. We need your permission, and your help setting things up before the show," Mulder tells him.

"You're not performing an exorcism, are you?" The building manager asks with a nervous laugh.

"No," Scully tells him before handing him a grocery bag. "But we're going to need to use every microwave in the place."

Wentworth looks surprised, but doesn't object.

* * *

The four of them meet back near the stage with the heated meat pies that Mulder was able to find in the frozen foods aisle. "So, what we're going to do is pull off some grates and leave the pies in the ventilation shafts. We won't put them in any of the dressing rooms but ours, though, because it would be too hard to explain to the presenters. If they're still there tomorrow, you probably will want to toss them out then."

"You don't think there will be any left, though, do you?"

"No, Josh, we don't. April told us what she saw, which collaborates Davey's story, and all the details fit."

"This is some pretty weird stuff," the younger man mutters.

"Mulder!" Scully calls to him from a hallway near the stage.

"What?"

"This vent doesn't have any screws, just like the one in our dressing room."

They soon discover that half of the grates in the building have no screws, so they pick those vents to place the heated pies into.

* * *

That Night

"I'd like to thank the universe for allowing me to win this award. And all you good people at home for..."

April cranes her neck, looking for the cameras that she's supposed to be invisible to. They're behind her, and all the people in the audience. The grown ups are all dressed up, but none of the women look as pretty as her mother does in her green dress. Even though she's not supposed to be seen, April is dressed up too, and her dress looks a little bit like her Mommy's.

The awards show is kind of boring, and she wishes that Davey was sitting with her instead of the nice old woman named Mabel, but he's working. Her Daddy said that it's important that he do his job too. The other reason the awards show is boring is because nothing bad has happened. All those people are there which seems like it could be the makings of really bad things, but nothing has gone wrong.

"And the award for Best Crash Landing goes to..."

A small sound makes April turn her head. It's the tap tapping again, just like the first time she was in her parents' dressing room, and just like after Alice fell asleep with her book on her knees.

The tapping get louder and closer before it stops. April looks at the grate in the hallway, where she watched the adults put a pie before the show started. While she watches a small hand darts out and pulls the pie into the darkness of the ventilation shaft. April giggles and turns back to the stage.

"Our next presenters are known for portraying Zanda and Quark on the Scifi hit..."

* * *

After the show, the B and C list actors funnel out of the building, and many of the crew members follow suit. Before long there are only a handful of people left. No one seems to notice what Mulder and Josh Wentworth are doing as they peer into the grates.

"They're all gone," Wentworth says, sounding dazed. "I'll be damned. I can't thank you enough for figuring this out."

"Don't thank me. Stock up on O'Henry's meat pies before your next show."

"Believe me, I will be doing that," Wentworth tells him.

"Davey!" Mulder turns when he hears his daughter. The teenage boy is making his way to the child. While he watches, she gives him a hug. "You did a good job, Davey."

"Thanks." The boy beams at her.

"Ready to go?" Scully asks a couple of minutes later.

"I think so," Mulder tells her before turning back to Wentworth. "Thanks for having us."

Wentworth shakes Mulder's hand. "No, thank you both. Seriously."

They collect their daughter and proceed out to the parking lot.

"I told you this would be fun," April reminds her mother from Mulder's shoulder.

"You sure did."

"Thank you for letting me come. This was so cool."

"I'm glad we all had fun," Mulder tells her.

He means it. For a short while it has felt like being back on the X-Files, but without the high stakes and danger that he and Scully were used to. It was nice to help out without anyone ending up in the hospital.

"So, Scully. What about that crash site?" he asks, turning on his puppy dog eyes.

She throws up her hands and laughs. "Sure, why not?"


	123. Isn't it Romantic?

The underground den of love, um, the X-Files basement office  
June 4, 2003

It's been a week since they started on their case, and they're in the office, not to catch up on any paperwork, but for a respite from the new clients. They'd go home, except their kids would be there, fully energized from being on summer vacation, and they just wanted some peace and quiet. So, here they are, bathed in the orange glow of sunset, no closer to figuring out who exactly the suspects are.

The current head of the X-Files division looks rather weary, even though it's barely 7:30 PM. "Why did we become bodyguards?" Doggett grumbles, not for the first time, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his collar.

Reyes, simply clad in black top and slacks, smiles a little, "Since you accepted the assignment. Remember, just because you prevent the suspect from shooting the clients doesn't mean that you can."

Her partner sighs heavily. "I think I musta had a screw loose to take this job to protect Those People," he mutters, his head in his hands.

The tall brunette nods. "It's not every day there's a husband-and-wife team of romance writers who've had their lives threatened. Then again, it's not every day we get a non-paranormal request and you take it."

He looks up, his eyes weary. "Stupid me, doing a favor for an old friend," he says. "Thanks to Agent Warburton, I get some crazy guy who insists on narrating everything like it was a book. Wonder if Mulder and Scully had to go through this when that Federman guy was making that movie."

"It's not that bad," Reyes smiles, sitting on the desk that he's leaning heavily on. "Janet's quite sweet, I just love those chocolate chip cookies of hers."

Doggett gives her a look. "Mind if we switch?" he says. "Then you can have the crazy talking guy and I get cookies."

She laughs, tossing her head back. "Fat chance," she says, then pats his head consolingly. "The sooner we solve this, the sooner you get to have a narrator-less life."

He narrows his eyes, looking much like his boys when an adult pats their head in the same manner. "Next time I think about doing someone a favor, hit me," he juts out his lower lip.

Reyes shakes her head, then hops off the desk. "Consider this a kind of R&R rather than a test of patience, okay?" she says, heading for the office door. She stops before stepping through the doorway and looks over her shoulder. "And it wouldn't kill you to read their stuff once in a while, at least as a diversion." A corner of her mouth goes up and then she walks away, leaving him in the emptiness of the basement office.

* * *

The Mulder-Scully household

Mulder's taken most of the kids over to his mother's house for the day, along with Samantha's kids, for something between a mini-family get-together and kids' playtime, leaving his wife with their infant twins and the company of a dark-haired guest. Scully, however, isn't complaining, because she's catching up on the gossip, er, excitement of what's been happening for the basement crew with Reyes.

"I can't believe you get to bodyguard Devon and Janelle Letourmaine!" Scully sighs enviously, holding Brianna to her breast. "Why couldn't this have happened while I, I mean, Mulder and I were on the X-Files?"

Reyes, holding Zoe on her shoulder, smiles. "Even though Fox is open-minded, I think he'd probably be of the same mind as John when it comes to romance novel writers," the brunette chuckles. "John's there right now, most likely plotting of ways to get me back for leaving him alone with Those People."

Scully raises an eyebrow. " 'Those People'?" she repeats.

"Their crazy fan already knows them as Dick and Janet Ackerman, which is why we're at their home or with them as often as possible," Reyes nods. "But John doesn't even bother to call them 'the Ackermans', it's become 'Those People', although he's polite enough never to say it to their faces," she sighs. "If he doesn't watch out, he'll grind his teeth into powder trying not to say anything regrettable."

The two women give each other a long look after that statement, then Scully breaks the impasse by sputtering, snorting, and finally giving into laughter, joined quickly by Reyes. It's only when the twin baby girls start fretting that the ladies' mirth is interrupted, and Scully dabs at her eyes with her fingers. "Before I suggest he get some dentures, isn't there some way to make it more palatable for him?" the redhead wonders.

Her brunette friend shrugs. "I have no idea. I wanted to try rewards, but when we get home, we're either too tired for sex or doing split shifts. And when I'm talking with the Ackermans, he either leaves the room or does the barest in conversation. You know, the male grunting thing?" she says, and Scully nods, making a face. "Yeah, that."

"Oh, Monica, I'm so sorry," Scully says, patting her friend's arm with her free hand. "I suppose the best thing would be to do the job quickly, since I can't think of anything else right now." Then she smiles wryly. "He really is a guy, isn't he?"

Reyes nods, and her smile returns, "I wouldn't have it any other way." Then she pats Zoe's back when she starts fussing again. "I think Zoe wants her turn," she says.

Scully notices how her friend's expression has gotten wistful. "Monica? Have you ever wanted children of your own?"

Reyes blinks. "Where did that come from?" she laughs, startled.

Scully gives her a look. "Don't give me that," she says, "are you still on the pill?"

Reyes' dark eyes go from "innocent" wide to a resigned but normal size in a matter of seconds. "I haven't been for quite some time, but John still uses condoms," she says, "and like I said, ever since we've been on this assignment, neither of us have the energy or timing for sex. Besides, he's got three kids already, why would he want more?"

"You never know," Scully says consolingly. "And so what if he's got three kids? If he's got enough love for you and Gibson, I'm sure there's enough for one or," and she looks down at her baby girls, "two more."

Reyes's smile is lopsided. "That's what I keep hoping," she admits, "but what if I'm wrong?"

The redhead is silent for a few moments, which is starting to worry her dark-haired friend, until a gleam in her blue eyes spark, which worries her friend even more. "We could always take a cue from the Letourmaines," she says with a devious smile.

"What are you talking about?" Reyes is starting to feel nervous, which is a strange, since this feeling usually doesn't occur outside of a casefile.

"I mean," Scully says, eagerly leaning forward, "we steal their idea from 'You, Me, and Baby Makes Three'!"

Reyes stares at her, and then comprehension comes. "Wait, you're not suggesting I borrow some random person's kid in order to gauge what John thinks about me having babies, do you? That only worked because millionaire playboy Tony Sardonis wanted to settle down with a nice, down-to-earth girl, which school teacher Lana Shepherd was. I am not a nice girl, and John is no millionaire playboy."

Scully shakes her head. "Minor details," she says, firmly resolute now that she's got a plan in mind. "The main thing is, Brianna and Zoe will give John a visual cue about your future together!"

And now Reyes looks at Scully like she's grown another head. "Are you sure you want to entrust two new babies to my care while I'm on assignment?" she asks.

"And that's where we enlist some inside help," Scully plows on, her excitement undiminished. "You've got two teens and a little girl, we can see how open they are to the idea. With Luke, Gibson and Hannah, they'll get hands-on practice in caring for babies, and get used to the idea of having them around. Besides, unlike Lana and Tony, I figure a weekend is long enough, don't you think?"

"And if they say no?" Reyes says.

Scully shrugs. "Then we scuttle that plan and think of something else," she says, "but they won't say no."

"They won't?" the brunette asks.

"They won't," the redhead says firmly. "They love you as part of their family. I've even heard Hannah call you 'Mom' when she talks with April."

"Yeah," Reyes smiles a little, "I've heard that, too. I kinda like it."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Scully says, picking up Reyes' cell phone from the coffee table. "Call them!"

* * *

When Doggett comes back from babysitting Those People, as he's already put it in his mind, he's surprised to find his home a little fuller and louder than expected. "Um, whose are those?" he asks when he finds Reyes on the couch holding a couple of babies in her arms. "I know they're not yours."

Reyes chuckles. "They're Brianna and Zoe, Mulder and Scully's daughters. They want us to watch them for the weekend."

"They want us to what?" Doggett asks.

"It's just the weekend," Hannah says, her pouting face much stronger than any puppy eyes either teen boy could ever hope to try for, although they're both crossing their fingers. "Pretty please?"

The word 'no' is on the tip of his tongue, but when he sees how excited everyone is, especially his little girl, his expression softens. "Sure," he says, patting her head gently. "Although I have no idea what they're thinking."

"Thanks, Daddy!" his dark-haired girl hugs him, then bounces over to Reyes, who is holding a twin in each arm. "He said yes!"

Reyes smiles, a genuine one of relief and happiness. "I know," she says, "would you like to hold one?"

"Sure," Hannah beams, "can I hold her?" She points to the baby in Reyes' left arm.

"This would be Zoe," she says, bending down. "Careful."

The little girl nods. "I've held Auntie Dana's babies before," she says, reaching out over Reyes' knees.

"Okay," Reyes says, placing the baby on Hannah's shoulder rather than in her arms, to allow Zoe's weight to fall more on the girl's torso rather than her arms. "Got her?" she asks as Hannah, as she expected, holds the baby to herself.

Hannah nods, her eyes bright, then turns her head and sniffs the baby. "She smells so good."

"You won't be saying that in a couple of hours," Luke grins, "you were pretty stinky as a baby, Hannah."

His little sister glares up at him, holding little Zoe securely to herself. "I was not!"

"Was too!"

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

Doggett groans, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Before they can get any louder, he puts his hands in the classic T-shape and says, "Time out, guys. Those People are waiting outside because Monica has to take over for me, so she can't watch over Brianna. Hope you big guys up to handling a baby, 'cause I gotta take a nap," he says, heading upstairs.

Luke and Gibson look at each other. "Rock, paper, scissors?" Luke says.

Gibson shrugs. "Sure." They go at it, and Gibson's paper loses to Luke's scissors. "Aw, man."

His slightly-older brother grins. "Have fun," he says, grabbing the TV remote.

"Switch off when Dad wakes up," Gibson says quickly while Reyes hands over the small baby. "Right?"

Reyes nods, getting her car keys. "Switch off every three hours after that until I get back."

"Okay," the boys chorus.

But Reyes still hears them bickering after she closes the door and waves at the Ackermans. She really, really hopes Scully's idea works. That, or it'll totally turn John off to the idea of babies AND his own kids, she thinks, uncharacteristically negative.

* * *

Denny's

While she realizes they've got a deadline, in a way, so does Reyes, as she asks them to break their routine and eat out. The Ackermans chose Denny's, albeit with curiosity burning.

"Trouble in paradise?" Janet Ackerman asks when they're seated.

Reyes gives her a look. "Need you ask?"

Then the silver-haired woman elbows her husband in the side. "I told you to stop narrating around that boy," she scolds him. "Even that drives me nuts after a week!"

Dick Ackerman rubs his ribs, wisely choosing not to comment on his wife's bony elbows. "But he's so inspiring," he pouts. "He's the classic hero, tenacious in the face of great odds, loyal to friends and family, and ruggedly handsome, to boot."

Reyes snorts, chuckling. "You sound just like Mulder when he's teasing Doggett," she smiles. "No, it's not just that," she says. "Usually, when people make threats, they step up their activities when they see the object of their vitriol being protected. That makes it easier for us to flush them out and find them, but so far, there hasn't been any follow-up. I'm inclined to think we might have scared him or her off, but the strong language in the threats seems to indicate they wouldn't be that put off." She looks around speculatively. "It's strange."

"Isn't that your specialty, investigating the strange?" the heavyset old man asks.

She favors him with a half-smile. "Well, that might actually make this case an X-File, wouldn't it?" Then she pauses. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm borrowing something from a book of yours."

"What do you mean?" Janet wonders.

"I mean," Reyes says, and pauses, feeling embarrassed, "not for the case, but for me. Actually, it was a friend of mine who suggested it, and, well, I'm not sure it'll work, especially since my partner seems so frazzled."

"You're killing me here," Dick says dramatically, putting a hand to his chest, "what did you do?"

"Well, it's what I'm do-ing," Reyes clarifies, "with some help from his, our family. Remember what Lana did to Tony in 'You, Me, and Baby Make Three'? Well, my friend is lending me her twin baby girls and his sons and daughter are helping me look after them." A rare blush creeps across her cheeks, and she puts her hands on her face. "Wow, saying that out loud makes it sound even crazier than it already is."

The Ackermans look at each other, then laugh. Janet reaches over and pats the brunette's shoulders. "Don't worry, dear, you're not the only one," she says, "in fact, we find many of our fans do the same. We've gotten," now she looks a little embarrassed, "not-so-nice calls to our publisher telling them they've gotten arrested for something they copied out of one of our books. We try to stress, especially with the more adventurous or risqué titles, that this sort of thing shouldn't be attempted in real life, but I suppose with reality shows and home videos being sillier than scripted comedies, nobody can tell the difference any more."

Reyes puts her hands down and stares at them. "So, I'm not the only one?" she says incredulously.

Dick shakes his head, his face solemn but his eyes dancing behind his bifocals. "I'm sure if they had our phone number, it would be ringing off the hook with people doing foolish things for love."

"But love, or at least infatuation, makes you do crazy things," Janet smiles.

She's about to say more, but the waiter comes with their orders of two glasses of orange juice and a cup of coffee, the last for Reyes. "I just hope Brianna and Zoe survive this okay, because I'm not sure our house will," Reyes sighs before taking a sip of coffee.

The elderly couple looks at each other, then say nothing, taking a gulp from their respective glasses.

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, er, Doggett's home, the three children find that taking care of babies is a lot harder than expected, especially when there's two of them. "I don't wanna change diapers any more," Hannah declares, her eyes still watery from the pungent experience.

"Tough," Luke says, "told you you were a stinky baby."

"I'm not a stinky baby any more!" the dark-haired girl puts her hands on her hips. "Besides, you didn't change diapers, Gibson did."

"Thank goodness," the tow-headed teen sighs while his bespectacled brother glares at him. "What?"

"Switch off is when Dad wakes up," Gibson reminds him. "Don't make me wake him up earlier and grumpier than he has to be."

"Fine," Luke mumbles, then his stomach grumbles. "So, you guys want pizza or tacos?"

"Pizza," they chorus, and Luke scrounges around in the freezer.

"Maybe we should feed the babies, too," Hannah says, then looks around. "Um, where did you put the babies?"

"Where did I-?" Gibson stares at her, then at the space where Brianna formerly occupied. "I'm sure I put her on the couch... Oh, no..." They both rush into living room, but there are no baby girls to be found.

"Zoe! Zoeeeeeeeee!" Hannah calls out, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Gibson winces, putting his hands over his ears. "They're babies, not dogs," he says, and then a thought comes to him, "wait, stop talking for a min."

"Why?" Hannah's about to unleash a mountain of questions, but Luke puts his hands over her mouth. She glares up at her oldest brother, but stands still.

"Thanks," Gibson smiles at Luke, then narrows his eyes. He's never tried to listen for infants before, since he's always tried to block out regular voices. He can hear Doggett's dreaming, Hannah's bubbly questions, and Luke mentally placing bets, but he can't hear anything else. Whoa, wait, what's that weird noise? He walks down the hallway, and the other two follow him, not saying a word. The noise is louder on the left side, and then he runs, pulling open the bathroom door. "Thank God!" he says, wrapping his arms around the babies, still lying in the tub. "I'm so sorry!"

Luke stares, perplexed. "Why did you guys put them in the tub?" he asks. He never really took care of Hannah as a kid, but he remembers his parents, well, mostly Dad, changing her diapers on a flat surface and the bathroom being really stinky.

"It was easy to clean them off that way," Gibson explains, relieved that they're still fully diapered and clothed and out of reach of any chemicals. "I've never changed a baby before, so once I got rid of the diapers, I just hosed them down, then washed them and dried them off, and put talcum on because I heard that's what you're supposed to do." He pauses. "You're supposed to put it on their bottoms, right?"

Luke shrugs. "Sounds right."

"Wait, you've never done it before, either?" Gibson looks at him incredulously. "Great."

"Well, I watched over her and stuff," Luke mumbles.

Gibson makes a face, but hands Zoe over to Brianna. "Man, I don't know how grownups do it," he says. "We nearly lost them and they were just sitting right here."

"I think they have radar," Luke says, unconsciously echoing his father from a couple months ago. "Man, I don't know how many times Dad would run right to the place where I was hiding after Mom would take hours trying to find me. Hide and seek was pretty funny with a cop for a dad," he grins.

"So why didn't he wake up when we couldn't find the babies?" Gibson asks. "Is it because they're not his kids?"

Luke starts to answer flippantly, then stops when he sees Hannah looking up at him, seriously and expectantly. "No," he answers after a beat, "I think it's because they were safe where they were at. I'm pretty sure that if they were in trouble, he'd wake up."

Hannah smiles, carrying Zoe out with her. "Nice save," Gibson says in an undertone. "I think Hannah would've cried if you said he would've only woken up if they took the car out for a spin and crashed it into a tree."

Luke makes a face. "But it was still funny."

Gibson snorts, hefting Brianna on his shoulder. "Yeah, but I'm hoping these girls have a short memory. I don't understand baby talk, but they seemed pretty pissed at me and Hannah." He walks out of the bathroom, telling himself he'll keep a paranoid eye on the girl.

"Oh boy," Luke says, not looking forward to his turn. Maybe Dad will take care of both of them, he hopes.

"Keep dreaming," Gibson grins, not looking back.

* * *

After a good meal in her stomach, along with a healthy dose of caffeine in her system, Reyes is in a better frame of mind to think about things. Okay, she and Dana may have been carried away with their idea, but it was only for the weekend, right? And it wasn't like it wasn't going to change things drastically, even though that was kind of the original intent. John would still be happy with his current kids, and she'll probably have to poke holes in his condoms or something for an "accidental" baby. Bleagh. That still sounds like it's in the realm of the Letourmaines, not real life.

Oh well, it's not like she'll be home to deal with the fireworks any time soon, and for that, she breathes a silent prayer of relief. Besides, she's currently better able to deal with the case at hand rather than the craziness she started at home. "Do you have records of the people who called your publisher from jail?" she asks.

"You think one of them might be writing those threats?" Dick says, surprised.

Janet shakes her head, just barely stopping herself from rolling her eyes. "I told you, but you said it was too far-fetched," she says, then snorts. "Imagine, too far-fetched, and this coming from the man who comes up with the crazy schemes for our stories!"

"Somehow, I'm not surprised," Reyes smiles, getting out a pen and paper. "Or do I have to contact your publisher?"

"Yes, you'll have to contact our publisher for those jail calls," Janet says, getting up, her husband following belatedly. "We'll give Terry a heads up so she can get the information ready."

Reyes nods. "Thanks." She pulls out a credit card and hands it over to the waiter when he comes over. "If we're lucky, there'll be a death threat waiting for us at the house."

"You've got a strange idea of lucky," Janet gives her an odd look.

The brunette laughs. "I said, 'if'. There's no guarantee that the threats will escalate, since they've been playing the opposite of what we've been expecting."

"Let's hope they keep playing that way," Dick sighs, pulling his car key out.

"Don't you want them to catch whoever's terrorizing us?" Janet asks.

"Well, yes, but I do like having them around," he admits.

Now the old woman rolls her eyes before getting in the car.

* * *

Unable to come to an agreement on what channels and shows to watch, the kids decide to put the babies to sleep so they can go to sleep. "Best way to do it is to read to them," Luke says, "Dad used to read to Hannah and it knocked her right out."

"Are you sure?" Gibson asks, now doubtful of Luke's babysitting experience.

"Hey, Dad did it, and it worked," his brother would put his hands up, but he's got Zoe now that Hannah's distracted from her "older sister duty". "That, or he'd drive around the block, but since we're still grounded from driving forever, that's not an option," he shrugs.

That led to Gibson raiding the guest room, that is, Reyes' room, for her stash of quote-unquote homework for her current case. They decided to start off with Luke reading first, since, according to Gibson, his voice is so dry Hannah wouldn't notice it was a "sexy book." As Luke started on the first chapter, Gibson heated up the milk bottles for the twins, then got some iced tea for the rest of them, since the night was getting somewhat stagnant and muggy rather than cool. When he joins his brother on the couch, he notices Luke's glass is barely a quarter full, and hands over a milk bottle.

Luke takes it, thankful for the break, and silently hopes it helps put the mildly fussy baby to sleep. "Jeez, when do they get to the good stuff?" Luke whines, albeit softly, when he notices Hannah's out for the count. "Zoe's still awake, how's Brianna?"

Gibson shifts his head so he can see the baby on his shoulder. "Same here. Man, romance writers must get paid by the word," he grumbles in a similarly low voice.

"No, that's what Mrs. Johnson said about Charles Dickens," Luke corrects him, and when his brother looks at him, surprised, he makes a face. "What? I pay attention once in a while."

Gibson smirks, but takes a gulp of his iced tea. "Keep reading."

Luke sighs. "Good thing the chapter's almost over. This is almost as boring as school books." Once he's got baby, book, and bottle balanced, he goes on in his slight monotone. "Amelie wondered if there would be anything exciting waiting for her once she reached the New World." In an undertone, he mutters, "I'm wondering the same thing."

Gibson chuckles, "Luke!"

"Okay, okay," the other teen sighs. "She put a hand to her locket, hoping against hope that her aunt and uncle would recognize her and greet her at the dock. Brushing a lock of mahogany hair back, she set her green eyes resolutely on the horizon, determined to make her way and not be a burden on anyone." He makes a face. "Too late." He goes on quickly, before Gibson can chide him, "The petite woman held on to the railing, the salty sea wind blowing against her face and hair, rendering her features similar to that of the brave figurehead born on the ship's bow." Then he hands it over to Gibson. "Your turn."

"Goody," Gibson says dryly, trying not to shift Brianna's bottle as he takes the book. "Chapter Two. A tall, brooding man watched as he saw yet another British refugee rush to the ship's upper deck. Captain Jameson Richards couldn't help but notice how the sea breeze blew about her threadbare clothes, revealing her shapely body. He felt his loins stirring, but told himself she'd be emptying her stomach soon, and turned away." He pauses. "You know, it seems the rest of the chapter's looking pretty boring. Or stalkery, I can't tell."

"Great," Luke makes a face. "Talk about deceptive packaging, there's some dark-haired movie-star guy holding on to a Jennifer Love Hewitt girl on the cover, and on the back, it talks about sex and passion," he rolls his eyes. "What a rip-off!"

"Mind if I skip ahead?" Gibson asks.

Luke shrugs. "Go for it."

"Cool," the slightly-younger teen says, and flips through until he finds what he's looking for. "Okay, here we go. Jameson Richards stared at her with lust in his eyes. 'I need you,' he declared, holding her tightly to him, pressing his lips firmly on hers before she could brook an argument.

"The kiss, like their love, was as sudden and swift as a fire. Amelie felt her knees go weak, the very thing she'd scoffed at earlier to her aunt. But here she was, with the devastatingly handsome Captain Richards, kissing him, and weak-kneed, to boot. When their lips parted, she moaned, opening her eyes slowly, her bosom heaving with passion. 'I need you, too,' she admitted softly, her lips feeling lonely without his on them.

" 'Oh, Amelie!' he groaned, his fingers impatiently tugging at the fastenings of her dress, and soon her perfect, lovely breasts were in his hands.

" 'Jameson,' she gasped, then she felt something firm and hard come up between them. 'Oh my!' " By this time, Luke's practically shoulder-to-shoulder so he can see, too, but Gibson's too wrapped up in the scene to notice. "When he lifted her up and hiked up her skirt, she knew there was no going back. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her bare breasts against his-"

"What the hell?" a gravelly voice startles them. The boys look up to see a very dumbfounded man staring back at them. "Why are you reading one of Monica's books?"

"Uh," Luke looks at Gibson, who shakes his head. There's no way he can rationally explain this one, so he gives up.

"Gimme that," Doggett growls, snatching the book out of Gibson's hand. "I put the basinets in my bedroom, so take the twins up there," he sighs. "I'm gonna put Hannah to bed."

"Yes, sir," both teens say, red-faced.

"And you'd better go to bed, too. It's late," he continues to grumble, going over to pick up his little girl.

"Yes, sir," they sigh.

Doggett shakes his head, then carries Hannah to her bed. He kisses her on the forehead, then pulls the sheet up. "'Night, sweetheart," he whispers. As his sons go to their beds, he shakes his head. Jeez. Babysitting twins, reading trashy books, sleeping odd hours, his family's going nuts. He sighs, pouring himself a glass of iced tea, then notices the book still in his hand and tosses it to the side. Everybody's going nuts, but he's determined not to be one of them.

* * *

The problem is, while he might not be nuts, things are definitely not normal around here, Doggett sighs inwardly. The twins wake up three hours later, right when he's starting to doze off again, and when he went to pick them up, he realized quickly why. "Ugh," he grimaces at the smell of stinky diapers. "Hang on a minute."

A few minutes later, he's back, clothespin holding a handkerchief on his nose, and he takes them to the downstairs bathroom, since that's where the babies' things are. "Zoe, you're first," he says, since she's squalling louder, and changes her diapers as fast as he can. He does the same for Brianna, although more efficiently than Zoe's, having relearned from the first girl. "Okay, are you guys happy now?" he asks rhetorically, since he knows better than to expect coherent answers from them at this stage.

The twin girls blink at him, then start crying again. "Greaaaaaaaat," Doggett groans. "Shoulda known." He picks them up, one at a time, and starts rocking them. "So, what is it this time, back to sleep or milk?" he murmurs, hoping for the former.

Of course, it's the latter. "I don't know why they thought it was a good idea to let us take care of you guys," Doggett murmurs, holding the babies in his arms. "I'm sure it's one of Mulder's crazy ideas." Then he smiles. "You know your dad's crazy, don't you?" They stare up at him, uncomprehending, and the smile stays on his face. "Yeah, you do, don't you? But that must mean I'm almost as crazy, because me and your Auntie Monica have taken over his job at the FBI. Don't tell your dad I said that, though," he continues in his same low sing-song voice.

And then he flashes to a mental picture of Reyes holding both babies in her arms like he is. Instead of it seeming strange, like he would have expected, it seems almost normal. "Mon as a mom, that sounds nice," he says, and startles himself when he realizes he said it out loud. "Don't tell your Auntie Monica I said that, okay?" he says to the twin girls, who are still busy sucking away at their bottles. "'Cause that's really selfish of me."

Still, he can't shake the picture of Reyes as a mother of a newborn, and part of him doesn't want to.

* * *

Sitting at the Ackermans' living room table, the elder couple having gone to bed a couple of hours ago, Reyes is hoping there will be at least one hit on her computer. After taking a gulp of now-lukewarm coffee, she squints from the aftertaste, and makes a face. "Bleagh." Reyes glances at her laptop, which is still running through various databases in several windows, and gets up to nuke the coffee mug in the kitchen. She knows she could probably call up some rookies at the FBI or even the Gunmen to get the job done quicker, but so far, it seems like the letter writer is taking their time now that she and Doggett are guarding the Ackermans.

When she walks through the hallway, her coffee now nice and hot, she notices something odd. "That wasn't there before," she murmurs to herself, seeing an envelope on the floor near the front door. It's likely Dick forgot to mail it, so she walks over to pick it up. It's only when she's bent over it that she notices it doesn't have a stamp, and she pulls out her cell phone and takes a picture. Then she dials and waits for the other person to pick up. "Hi, this is Agent Reyes, I need you to process a new piece of evidence for fingerprints and what-have-you," she says. "I'll leave for you guys to take care of it." Then she rolls her eyes. "No, I didn't see who delivered it, it just got here in a five-minute window, probably shoved under the door like the others." And, although she's tempted to open it, she leaves it by the door, and goes back to her laptop.

Taking a swig of hot coffee, she smiles a little as she sits down. The more evidence the letter writer gives them, the closer they are to catching him or her. She hopes the criminal databases will come up with a hit, or maybe two. And as one window after another stops scrolling through various information, all she's getting is the infamous three-word hope-killer, "NO MATCHES FOUND." "Hope the crime lab has better luck," she murmurs to herself.

It doesn't take long for the professionals to come in and do their job, promising to call as soon as they have some helpful information. But if the letter writer keeps up their lack of evidence like they've done so far, they'll have nothing. She knows she'll have to do a little explaining to the Ackermans once they wake up so they can explain to their neighbors about the midnight visit, but figures it'll be no big deal.

And then the last of the windows stops scrolling, and Reyes holds her breath, although she's sure it's going to read the same as the others. But this one says "ONE MATCH."

Holy shit. Reyes calls Doggett, hoping he'll be awake by now. When he picks up, she smiles. "Hi, John," she says.

"Hey," he answers, his voice less gravelly now that he's got a few hours of being awake and a glass of iced tea down his throat. "How's it going?"

"I think I made a breakthrough," Reyes says excitedly, "remember how the Ackermans said they had no enemies they knew of?"

"Which is hard to believe, if they're getting death threats," Doggett says sarcastically, "so the bastard finally tipped his hand?"

"Looks like it," she replies, "we finally got a new letter. And after talking with the Ackermans over dinner, they told me that they've had some people blame them for their romantic failures." She decides to edit how she came about that little revelation and continues, "After getting in touch with their publisher, who kept a record of calls made from jail from unsuccessful 'romantic' tries, I ran the names against various criminal databases and got a match."

"Great," he says, surprised. "Got an address, too?"

Reyes smiles. "Yeah. Wanna come with?"

"Hell, yeah," he grins at the other end of the line. "Lemme wake up the kids to take care of the twins before I go. See ya."

"See ya," she says back, and hangs up. Wow, who knew her embarrassing story would get them this far? Then she sighs, picking up her keys. Well, she'll tell Doggett about the other part once they finish the case.

* * *

They pull up to a small apartment complex, one of those brownstone types in the redeveloped neighborhoods. Walking down to the fifth door on the left, Reyes raps smartly on the door. "Geraldine Van Dusen?"

"You sure that's her real name?" Doggett squints at her.

Reyes shrugs. "It's the one that's on her driver's license, home address, and overnight prison record."

"Goody," he grunts. "How long do we wait before breaking in?"

She gives him a look. "I know you want to break the case, but aside from threats, she hasn't posed a viable threat just yet."

He jerks a thumb at the window. "Lights are on, but is anyone home?"

Then the door opens to a short, heavyset woman with ratty brown hair, thick glasses, and frumpy clothes. "Hello?" she squints up at them.

"Geraldine Van Dusen?" Doggett asks.

She nods, nervously. "Yes?"

"Mind if we ask you a few questions?" he says, flipping out his badge.

Her eyes widen noticeably behind her thick glasses, and she shrinks back. "What? What did I do?"

The FBI agents walk in, irregardless of not exactly being invited in. As they look around, they see the apartment is bare of any sort of decoration other than paperback books and discarded food cartons lying in all sorts of places. A shrill whistle sounds, and they both turn to see it's a teapot, and she rushes over to turn down the stove. It was a little disturbing to see how the woman was practically a walking stereotype of a romance reader, minus the cats. "So, it's just you living here?" Doggett asks, half-expecting several dozen cats to materialize.

Geraldine nods. "Do I look like I have a boyfriend?" she says, bitterly.

Reyes pulls out a copy of one of the death threats. "Did you write this?" she asks.

The absurdly-plain woman looks at it, then at them. "What?" she gasps.

The agents look at each other. It's hard for Doggett to believe that this woman was ever arrested for anything just by looking at her, but he knows looks can be deceiving. Besides, this woman was arrested for not only breaking and entering, but also for disregarding the TRO against her. According to her account, she was trying to imitate the "romantic gestures" described in one of the Letourmaines' books, but the man, who was already affianced at the time, considered it harassment. "Don't give me that," Doggett makes a face. "You're sneaky enough to break into someone's apartment, you're sneaky enough to leave death threats on someone else's doorstep."

"No, I, I, I," Geraldine protests, but her eyes are darting left and right, as if looking for an escape from her own home.

Reyes picks up a magazine and flips through it. "This has a lot of holes in it," she notes, "I'll bet your other magazines are in the same shape."

"No, that's not," the mousy woman tries to deny it, but tears leak from her eyes. "It's not fair!"

The two agents stare at each other, baffled. "What, that we caught you?" Doggett asks.

"NO!" Geraldine shouts. "You wouldn't know!" Then she glares at Reyes. "You especially wouldn't know!"

"What are you talking about?" Reyes asks her, confused.

"You, with your perfect looks, and perfect boyfriend, and take-charge job," the shorter woman sniffles, then wipes her nose with the back of her sleeve. "You have no idea how I feel, or how those people betrayed me!"

Doggett stares at the suspect, then at his partner. Forget trashy novels, this was starting to sound like a soap opera. "What?" he unconsciously echoes Geraldine.

"How do you think we found you?" Reyes shoots back. "I have a woman's heart, too, no matter how perfect you might think I am! And don't blame the Letourmaines, you knew what you were doing was wrong but you did it anyway, and then went on to threaten them for your own mess!"

"But they-!" Geraldine tries again.

"I don't give a rat's ass!" Reyes interrupts her angrily, surprising Doggett. "You're going to confess and apologize to those nice people, and then we're booking you, got it?"

And to Geraldine Van Dusen's surprise, that's exactly what they do.

* * *

Now that their case is wrapped up, tied with a bow, so to speak, the FBI agents head back to Doggett's home, where they find it's refreshingly quiet, for once. Mostly because the twins are sleeping on the boys' laps, with Hannah curled next to them on the couch.

Reyes smiles, then yawns. "There's a pretty picture," she notes in a quiet voice, then goes over and moves Hannah so the girl can sleep on her lap. "Now I've got a Hannah blanket," she grins.

Doggett shakes his head, but smiles. "Say cheese," he says, taking a picture of them with his cell phone.

She looks up at him, bemused. "What was that for?" she asks.

"Enjoying a quiet moment while I can," is all he says before he joins her and everyone else on the couch. "Move over a little."

Reyes does so, and smiles. "What, you didn't want to be left out?" she teases.

"Heck, no," he says, smiling back, and kisses her nose. "Besides, you guys look good together."

"Babies included?" she asks, hopeful inside while her tone is light.

He nods. "Babies included," he murmurs, then yawns. "But if we ever get twins, the boys are definitely on diaper-changing duty," he mumbles, closing his eyes.

"Promise?" Reyes asks, but there's no answer, because he's out like a light. Then she smiles, "Well, I'll try not to make it twins, but there's no guarantee. 'Night, John." And she kisses his cheek before closing her eyes. "Sweet dreams."

And for more than one of them sleeping on the couch, there is sweet dreams.

* * *

June 30, 2003

Reyes stares down at the readings in her hand. Just to be sure, she'd peed on three tests, and all of them show that she's positive. "I'm pregnant," she murmurs, then a huge smile lights up her face. "I'm pregnant! Whoo!"

"Mon, you okay in there?" Doggett's muffled voice says from behind the door.

Her eyes widen, and she hurriedly wipes up and flushes the toilet. "I'm fine," she calls out, then washes her hands. Pregnant! She looks in the mirror. Well, it's not like it'll show just yet, and she looks down at her stomach. "Hot damn," she smiles, borrowing Doggett's phrase. Then she looks nervously at the door. Oh yeah, let's see how well he takes to the news, she thinks, and wipes her hands twice before unlocking the door.

"What was the screaming about?" he looks at her curiously, standing in his t-shirt and boxers.

"Um, John, I, uh," she stammers, trying to think of how to put it, but simply blurts out, "I'm pregnant."

"What?" he stares at her in disbelief.

Reyes pats her tummy, which looks rather flat under her tank top. "We're having a baby," she says.

"We're having a baby?" Doggett repeats numbly.

She nods, still unsure since she can't figure out if he thinks it's a good thing or not. Tough. No matter what he thinks, she's still having one. "Isn't it great?" she asks, putting a smile on her face, hoping he'll smile back or do something positive.

He nods, and walks over to her, his face still the picture of shock. "Wow," he says, putting a hand on her stomach. "Really?"

She nods again. "Really. If you don't believe me, there are three pee sticks in there saying the same thing," she says, jerking a thumb at the bathroom.

He looks up at her face, then snorts. "Three? Jeez, Mon, isn't that overkill?"

She makes a face. "I had to be sure," she says, but inside she's screaming like a little girl, Yay, he wants a baby, too!

Then he puts his hands on her shoulders, his face serious, making her nervous all over again. "Monica, there's something I wanna ask you," he says.

"What?" Reyes breathes, her eyes huge.

"Will you marry me?"

She stares at him. "What?"

He sighs, but he looks as nervous as she feels. "Mon, I just wanna do the right thing by you," Doggett says, "will you marry me?"

Reyes rolls her eyes. "I think this baby shows just how committed I am," she replies, putting a hand on her stomach. "I think us being a family is the right thing. We don't need to get married, all right?" she says, smiling to show she doesn't mean ill will.

He looks at her, then sighs again. "Okay," he says, reluctantly giving in. "What'll we tell the kids?"

She shrugs. "That we're having a baby, and they're all gonna take turns changing diapers."

He chuckles. "Stick with the first part, they'll do the second part soon enough," he says, happy to share the chores with his kids.

Reyes smiles, then kisses him. "I love you," she says.

"I love you, too," Doggett says back, smiling, "although I really don't understand you at times."

She hugs him and laughs. "Same here." And they go downstairs to tell everyone the good news.

* * *

July 12, 2003

Doggett and Reyes come home to find their sons cracking up, with Hannah asking, "What? What's so funny? Why won't you tell me?"

"What's going on?" Reyes asks, a smile on her face.

Gibson and Luke look at them, then at each other, and start laughing madly all over again. Hannah looks at them, then pouts at her parents, "They've been doing that ever since we got the mail. I dunno what's so funny!"

"The mail?" Doggett raises his eyebrows at Reyes, who shrugs. Then he sees the teens are holding on to a small paperback book, and swipes it from them. " 'Guarding Her Heart' by Devon and Janelle Letourmaine," he reads the cover aloud, noticing that the couple embracing looks somewhat familiar. Frowning, he reads the back, then looks at Reyes. "I think this is supposed to be about us," he says, then tosses it to her.

She catches it, reads the back, and grins. "Cool," she says.

"No, it's not cool," he corrects her, then glares at the two boys, who are now trying to keep a straight face. "That what you've been reading just now?" he demands.

Luke and Gibson look at each other, then at him and nod. "They wrote a note for you at the beginning," Luke says, and Reyes flips to the front. "So, are you gonna read it?"

"Do I look like I read those kinds of books?" Doggett glares at them.

In an undertone to his brother, Gibson mutters, "His piercing blue eyes flashed with anger, although they couldn't help but notice her heaving bosoms."

Luke snorts in spite of himself, and Doggett's jaw clenches. The two teens straighten up under his steely gaze, but Luke's eyes are still dancing.

He stares at them before speaking. "Go to your room," Doggett says, "before I strangle you." And with that, Gibson and Luke practically fly out of the living room to their safe haven.

"John, it's not that bad," Reyes says, putting a reassuring hand on Hannah's head, since the little girl's eyes are practically huge with fear. "It's just a book."

Doggett forces himself to relax, since it's not Hannah's fault that her brothers and the Ackermans are idiots. Exhaling, he says, "Yeah, just a book," then shakes his head. Squatting down, he says, "Hannah, sweetie, sorry about that. Daddy's not mad at you, okay?"

His dark-haired little girl stares at him, then nods. "Okay," she finally says. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, baby?" he says.

"How come that book makes Gib and Luke laugh, but it makes you mad?" she asks.

He blinks, then looks at Reyes, who is unhelpfully reading said book. "It's complicated," he says, "but it's something you shouldn't read until you're older. Much older than Luke or Gibson," he adds.

"Oh, okay," she says, and goes to her room, presumably to play with her dolls.

I hope she stays that innocent forever, he thinks, although he knows she'll probably wind up reading those trashy books in her teens. He's not looking forward to that time, that's for sure. Then he stands up and looks at his partner, who is still absorbed in the troublesome book. "Is it that good?" he asks.

She looks up, blinking, then smiles. "You should really read this," she says, handing it over, "especially the dedication."

"Why?" he says, and reads it, curious.

The dedication is handwritten, although one seems to have made the effort to write somewhat legibly, while the other is in a neat cursive style. The former reads, "Thank you for your courageous efforts in protecting my wife and myself. You've inspired us, not only as writers, but as a couple. Agent Reyes, you are a lovely woman and thank you for your sunny smile. Agent Doggett, you are a good man, but you should smile more often." Doggett growls to himself, not noticing Reyes' smile as he does so, then reads Mrs. Ackerman's neat dedication. "Thank you both for all that you've done. I hope you learn from us as much as we've learned from you. Take care of your children, and any ones to come along." Then he looks at her. "How did she know?" he asks.

Reyes shrugs. "Women's intuition, I suppose," she smiles. If he bothers to read the book, he'll find out soon enough.

It isn't until after the kids are asleep that Doggett finally musters up the courage to read the trashy, er, romance novel. Reyes read it while everyone was watching TV, and merely smiled when the teens asked her how it ended. So, safely out of sight from his sons, John Doggett goes past the dedication and title pages and into the story.

And Monica Reyes crawls into bed next to him with an earlier Letourmaine book, reading hers until he's done with his. "So, what do you think?" she asks when he finally puts down the book.

"Are you sure we're the main characters?" he squints at his partner in disbelief.

Reyes nods, smiling a little. "Yeah," she answers. "Why, don't you think I look like a raven-haired beauty?" she asks, tossing her dark hair.

He snorts, but smiles. "You're drop-dead gorgeous," he says, standing and putting his arms around her. "But you knew that already."

She smirks. "Yeah, but it's nice to hear you say that," she says, leaning against him.

He shakes his head. "It almost sounds like our case, except it reads more like a screwball comedy," he says. "I mean, would you really do something crazy like take an idea from a romance book?"

Reyes freezes, then sighs. "Um, yeah," she admits.

"What?"

She silences any further questions from him with a kiss. "I learned that from romance books, too," she smiles, "and this..."

And they spend the rest of the night exploring what exactly she's learned from "trashy books".


	124. Myths and Blood

Samantha's Home  
July 13th, 2003

"Fox, do you remember the vacations we took in the White Mountains?" Samantha asks one night when she has his family over for a cookout. Their kids have scattered through the house, and Scott and Scully have wandered off too, so she and Mulder have been reminiscing about their childhoods.

"I remember Dad getting us really lost," Mulder tells her, thinking of how hard Bill fought to keep his temper when they took a wrong turn on a hiking trail and got hopelessly lost for two hours.

"Besides that it was kind of fun, though, wasn't it?"

"Sure. I loved the cabin. And fishing with Dad." Mulder feels wistful as he thinks about how Bill had baited hooks for Samantha, but insisted that his son was big enough to bait his own.

"You know, that place is still open."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Scott and I were thinking about bring the kids there for a week in August. We haven't had a vacation since before Drew got sick, and I think it would be good for us." Samantha's face looks pained as she mentions her youngest child's illness, but the little boy's check ups have been looking good, so everyone has been hopeful that he's cured.

"That sounds like fun."

"Does it?" She leans forward, and gives him a hopeful smile, "because I was hoping to convince you to take your vacation there too."

"How did you know that we have our vacation in August?" Mulder asks, curious. His wife and sister haven't talked much on their own that he knows of, so he doubts that Scully told her that they were told by the studio when they'll have a break from taping the show.

"Mom mentioned it."

"Oh." Mulder is surprised, but pleased to hear that they're talking. "I'll ask Dana what she thinks, okay?"

"Great." Samantha stands and hugs him. "If anyone had told me a few years ago that it was possible that I could go on a family vacation where 'family' didn't just mean my husband and kids, I would have thought that they were crazy."

"I know what you mean," he admits, reminded of how surprising his father's offer to take the family on vacation had been. "Do you think Mom would want to come with us?"

"No, actually. You vacation came up after I invited her and she said that she didn't like 'roughing it.'"

"That's too bad. Though cabins with electricity and running water aren't exactly roughing it."

"You know Mom." The look in her eyes silently adds 'better than I do' but he pretends not to notice.

"You're right. She considered living in Massachusetts the boonies, so I guess we shouldn't be surprised that she won't go 'camping' with us."

Samantha's smile slips. "Do you think Dana will want to? I don't know her very well..."

"If she has any objections, it won't be over camping. She's not the city girl Mom is."

"Well, let me know," Samantha concludes as Sammy and Page wander back into Samantha's living room talking about getting home before some TV show their mother agreed to let them see, signaling that it's nearly time for their family to go.

"I will," Mulder promises.

* * *

Baywood, North Dakota  
August 4th, 2003  
12:31 a.m.

The live rock show wrapped up over half an hour ago, but two people are still high off the concert buzz and each other's pheromones. Both came out of the stuffy warehouse wearing the usual black clothes, but now they're naked in a nearby alley, clawing and kissing each other hungrily, not caring about anything like having an audience (they don't), or a clean place to screw (they don't). *edit*

His mouth clamps on to her neck, and she groans when she feels the familiar suction of a hickey coming on. But he doesn't stop with a mere neck bruise, puncturing her skin with two strangely sharp teeth, and sucks hard. She starts to fight, but it's too late, because her body's oddly numbed, as if the orgasm sapped her strength, and all she can do is make incoherent moans as he continues to drink her blood.

When she blacks out, he lifts his head, his eyes unrecognizable now with an animal lust. And then he tears off her head, letting the blood spurt up into his wide mouth like a geyser.

* * *

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
August 10th, 2003

"Looks like we got a serial killer," Doggett sighs as Reyes walks in.

She blinks in surprise. "And a good morning to you," she says, handing him a cup of coffee before sitting down at her desk. Holding her own cup of tea, she asks, "What and where?"

"Guy's been under the radar because it was classified as wild animal attacks at first by local police," Doggett says, opening the file but reciting from memory. "I don't blame 'em, the vics were beheaded so viciously, I'd probably come to the same conclusion."

"So what changed their mind?" Reyes asks.

He takes the photos from the file folder and passes them to her. "Notice anything strange?" he says, once all twelve photos are in front of her.

She smiles at his challenge, then places the photos next to each other. The victims, male and female, are all beheaded, some with their heads found and likewise photographed, others not. And then she sees what he saw. "There's no blood," she says, "strange for such a vicious attack. Did they clean up after themselves?"

He shrugs. "That's why we got it," he says, "there's no trace of cleaning agents of any kind. Could be that the kill was done on tarp or something like that, but even so, there would have to be some kind of residual trace on the bodies, which there isn't. It's like the guy decapitated his vic after sex and somehow drained them of blood without missing a drop."

"Wait, after sex?" Reyes says. "Does that include the men, too?"

Doggett nods, making a face. Yeah, he's more old-fashioned than most, but he knows it's a different world than the one he grew up in. "All the vics, including the ones mistaken as animal attacks, showed signs of sexual activity. Unfortunately, the damn guy wore a condom, so there's no DNA from him."

"Not even foreign DNA on the necks or the bottom of the heads?" she asks, her eyes back on the photos.

He shakes his head. "They can't figure out the murder weapon, either," he goes on. "Given the right amount of speed and force, I could probably take a man's head off with my bare hands, but it would still be pretty messy. The way the killer did it, it's like he used some kind of weapon rather than just his hands."

"What kind of weapon?" Reyes asks.

"Damned if I know what it is," Doggett answers. "One other thing."

"What's that?" she says, handing the photos back.

"One of the cops thinks it's vampires," he says, his lips thinning. "The main reason why we got this."

Reyes shrugs. "Well, he may be right," she says, smiling at her partner's scowl. "Or it may be something completely different."

"Yeah, like a killer who gets off killing his vic after sleeping with them," he says, "nothing new there."

* * *

Red Mills, North Dakota  
August 11th, 2003

Doggett and Reyes are interviewing another of Kaylee Morrison's friends, since her uptight parents have still disowned the 19-year-old, even after death. Doggett was surprised to find the local police more helpful, until he found she was responsible for a number of petty crimes. Reyes, however, isn't surprised at the turn of events, and so far, she's been the one leading the interviews with the victim's friends.

Currently, they're at a novelty shop, waiting after the last customer leaves to talk to a girl who rather looks like a novelty herself with bright blue hair, her ripped clothes liberally decorated with safety pins, and far too much black makeup. Her real name is Amanda Short, but the last friend they interviewed, "Kitty", said she went by "Corona".

"People are saying that Kaylee got killed by a vampire," Corona says disdainfully, as some unintelligible band plays on the overhead speakers. "I think they've been watching too much 'Buffy'."

Doggett looks surprised. Kaylee's other friends seemed to buy into that theory wholeheartedly. "You don't think so?"

She gives him a look, then rolls her eyes. "There's a lotta wannabes in this town," she says, "just like in any small town. I'm just a businesswoman who just likes to dress up. I don't believe all the hype I sell," and waves a hand at the shop. "Honestly, I think it's just some creep who gets off on killing groupies."

"What makes you think that?" Reyes says.

"I take it that I was introduced as one of Kaylee's friends, or you wouldn't be talking to me," the blue-haired girl says, "but I guess you could say I was more like her rock pusher. That's pretty much my job here." She sighs and looks down. "Kaylee was a sweet kid, though, no matter what her folks or the police thought. Yeah, she did stupid stuff, but just because she wore too much black or not enough clothes, that didn't mean she was bad."

Reyes nods, then smiles. "You sound like an older sister," she says, "or her mom."

Corona smiles back. "Some days, I feel old enough to be their grandma," and laughs. Then she sobers up. "Hey, you ever catch that bastard that killed Kaylee, you let me know so I can kick him in the nuts with my steel-toed boots."

"I don't think we can make that kind of promise," Reyes smiles.

The blue-haired girl shrugs. "Well, I didn't think you'd let me shoot him, but it was a thought," she says, and Doggett raises his eyebrows. "Hey, I might be a rock pusher, but we look after our own, you know?"

The agents nod, then leave, not looking back to see that Amanda Short looks more tired and older than she did when they first walked in.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
Meanwhile...

Four hundred and seventy three bags, at least that's Mulder's estimation, litter the driveway as he studies the van and tries to figure out how to cram all their gear into the back. He's contemplating dashing to Sears for a luggage rack when Scully taps him on the shoulder.

"Mulder, there's a problem. It's not our problem, but..." she trails off.

"What sort of problem?" Mulder asks warily.

"My mom has the flu."

"So, you want to stay home to take care of her?" Mulder guesses, trying not to let his frustration show. He's already thinking about the vacation that Scully ended up taking alone before David and Jared were born.

"She'd kill me if I did that. No, the problem is that Brandon and Mattie are supposed to be arriving for a week this today. Obviously when she planned to have her grandsons over, she had no idea that she was going to be sick as a dog."

"And, let me guess, it's a little late to call your brothers and tell them to keep the boys home now." He heaves a bag into the back experimentally while he waits for her reply.

"Considering that the boys are probably on planes already, yes."

He stares off into space for a moment. Then he shrugs. "They're little boys. They probably like camping, right?"

"Probably," Scully agrees. "But 11 to 2 aren't exactly fair odds."

"I think it would be a little much to ask my sister to keep an eye on them too," Mulder objects mildly.

"Actually, I was thinking of my sister. She kinda volunteered to come, leaving Ryan and Addy with Alex."

"And Emily?"

"Missy thinks she would just love to see her cousins."

"Okay fine. It's supposed to be a big cabin, I'm sure there's room for four more."

Scully reaches up and kisses his cheek. "Now I know why my mother told me you were keeper."

He smiles at Maggie's compliment. "After nine years of marriage you are only figuring this out now?"

* * *

Baywood, North Dakota

Half an hour later, Doggett and Reyes are in Baywood, a slightly bigger town boasting three times the population of Red Mills, but still having a small town feel. The FBI agents pull up to a warehouse that's been converted to something like a performance center and get out of the car. "Hope it looks better at night," Doggett mutters, since the building looks every bit of its 106 years and then some.

Reyes smiles, but shakes her head as they make their way to the alley where Kaylee Morrison's body was found. "It does seem like the backdrop for a murder, doesn't it?" she remarks.

"Let me guess, this looks like makeout central?" Doggett jerks a thumb at the alley, which is obligingly grimy and nasty-smelling, remnants of crime scene tape hanging off the dumpster and the nearby wall. "They must've been really horny to get it on here."

Reyes looks around, then looks back at him. "If it wasn't a crime scene, I could probably get you to make out here."

He raises his eyebrows, but decides not to push it. There have been times when he wanted to make out with her, but it was a completely inappropriate time and place, but he's not about to bring that up now. "Let's talk with the proprietor, shall we?" he says instead.

The proprietor, a Mr. Wilson Teagan, is a hefty, bearded middle-aged man in a t-shirt and overalls, sweeping the cement floor with a push broom. Initially, they'd mistaken him as the janitor, but when he introduced himself, they shook hands with him. "Kids are supposed to be coming in four hours for gymnastics class," he says, "I gotta get this cleaned up."

Doggett and Reyes nod. "So, you were there the night of August fourth?" Doggett asks.

Teagan nods. "Yeah, this is my place, so I'm here whenever there's an event, whether I like the music or not," and shrugs with a slight grin.

"I understand it was one of your security guards that found Kaylee Morrison," Reyes says, and Teagan nods again.

"Yeah, Marty Brewer," he answers. "Poor guy puked right there, and this is the same guy who's seen all kinds of stuff as a bouncer at the club," he shakes his head.

"He's a bouncer, too?" Doggett says, surprised. "That wasn't on his file."

Teagan also looks surprised. "Really? Huh. 'Cause that's his main job, he only works for me part-time whenever something comes up. Weird."

Doggett opens the file, "According to this, he found Ms. Morrison around 1:24 a.m. but the concert ended around midnight. You had security help the roadies break down the band's equipment, as well as herd everyone out of the building once the concert ended. Nobody saw or heard anything between midnight and 1:24 a.m.?"

The older man looks at the agent. "Listen, if you saw some couple making out when you were busy doing your job, would you pay attention, or would you ignore them?" He smiles slightly at Doggett's lips thinning. "I'm sure one of my guys might've seen that poor girl making out with her killer Romeo, but nobody really saw the murder. The police said she was killed a little after one, and that's when we were packing up the last of the band's gear. We cracked open some cold ones in the office once that was done, and Marty was the one we picked to toss out the empties, so that's how he saw the body. And I swear on my mother's grave none of us heard anything outside, or could hear anything, especially since we were still yelling at each other 'cause the music was so damn loud it made us deaf."

"Where's your office?" Doggett asks.

Teagan leads them to a room on the right side, whereas Kaylee's body was found on the left alley. The walls are made of brick, and unless someone had exceptional hearing, no normal human could've heard Kaylee if she tried to scream for help. "I brought a cooler from home to store the beer," he says, "one can for each man."

"Ten men, including yourself, correct?" Doggett says.

The older man nods. "I lock up the office once we finish, 'cause sometimes the cops come by, no offense," he interrupts himself, and they shake their heads, "and we have a celebration beer. It's kinda my bonus to them on top of their paycheck," he explains, "and just one, 'cause I don't want them too drunk to get home by themselves."

Neither argue the wisdom of a man who encourages his employees to get mildly drunk before driving because they have bigger fish to fry. "So, nobody left the room while you had your celebration beer?" Reyes reiterates.

"Hell, no," Teagan says, "like I said, didn't want the cops to see." Then he makes a face. "If I let them go home earlier, we might've caught that killer."

"Maybe," Reyes says, outwardly agreeing, but inwardly doubting it, since the killer managed to make out with and brutally kill his vic, and somehow clean up all the blood in less than half an hour, and all without being seen or heard. "Where can we find Marty?"

* * *

Margaret Scully's Home

::Maggie's porch looks almost like our driveway did:: Mulder thinks to himself as he pulls into her driveway and sees the luggage waiting to be put somewhere. Missy is standing nearby with Emily and her two nephews, one of whom launches himself down the stairs as soon as the passenger side door of the van opens.

"Auntie Dana!" Mattie crows, throwing himself at Scully, who immediately returns the hug from the small dark-haired boy. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Sweetie," Scully is telling him as Mulder gets out of the van. "How's your grandma?"

"Sick." Mattie frowns. "Brandon said she looks like death warmed over."

Mulder raises his eyebrows in the direction of the older boy, and he can see a blush rising up on his swarthy skin. "I didn't mean it literally," the eleven-year-old mutters.

Scully looks over her shoulder. "Mulder, you don't mind if I go check on her, do you?"

"Of course not," he says mildly. She'll call her mother four times a day, he predicts as she walks into the house.

"I think I will too," Missy announces before following her younger sister into the house.

"How about we get some of this stuff into Missy's car?" Mulder asks Brandon as the two younger kids climb into the van to talk to their cousins. He'll leave to Missy to pull them back out.

"Okay."

They're half through cramming bags into Missy's undersized trunk when Mulder decides to strike up a conversation with his seldom seen young in-law. "I guess this isn't exactly what you had in mind for this week, huh?"

"It's cool."

"Sure, but I bet you think it's a drag that you're going to be the oldest kid by a couple of years."

"Well..."

"My sister has four kids too," Mulder tells him. "One of them is eleven."

This peaks Brandon's interest. "Boy or girl?"

"Girl. The three oldest are girls, and the little boy is Jared and David's age."

"Oh. What's the one who is my age's name?"

Mulder fights a smile. He'd been the most interested in hanging out with kids the same age when he was in middle school too. "Ariel."

"Huh. Like The Little Mermaid."

"My sister claims that she's named after the sprite in The Tempest, but yeah."

"Does she fish?" Brandon asks as they slam the trunk to Missy's car.

"I guess we'll find out."

Brandon looks happier by the time Missy gets behind the wheel, so Mulder considers his work done. At least the kid won't be miserable on the entire several-hour drive there because he thinks there's no one worth spending time with.

* * *

Meanwhile...

The X-files agents find Marty Mortenson in the alcohol section of the H Mart on 12th and Vine. He's a big, hefty guy, like one would expect from security, and the agents flash their badges before Doggett says, "Teagan sent us."

"Teagan?" the bear-like man repeats, mildly confused. "This about the body I saw?" They nod, and he puts the beer bottles away, sighing as he does so. "What about it?"

"Aside from the body, do you remember seeing or hearing anything unusual?" Reyes asks.

Marty shakes his head. "If you mean like a cape or something, no," he says. "People are saying that maybe a vampire did it, but what I saw, I haven't been sleeping too good since that night."

Doggett nods. "Hard to stomach," he comments.

The bouncer and part-time security guard nods. "Yeah, it looked more like an animal kill until I saw the girl's head lying nearby. Like she didn't even know what was coming or something. And that's when," he pauses, his eyes still haunted by that image, and the agents look at each other.

"Yeah, Teagan told us," Doggett interjects kindly. "Not every day you see something like that."

"Hope I never see that again," Marty says feelingly, glancing at the beer behind the glass doors of the cooler. "For a while, one of the cops even tried to pin it on me, then decided it was some vampire, that bastard."

"Really?" the agents are curious. That wasn't in the report they'd gotten, and aside from the vampire accusation, the detective seemed like a straight shooter.

Marty nods again. "His uncle's chief of police, so that's why he hasn't gotten kicked out yet," he confides, "but he's known for trying to hog in on the big cases. The older cops put up with him, but I dunno, I think after this vampire thing, they're tired of babysitting Larry."

"This is Det. Larry Whitehouse, correct?" Reyes says, just to make sure.

"Yeah," Marty answers glumly, "that's him. Biggest kiss-up outside of Boston."

"I see," Doggett says, "I take it there's some bad blood between you two?"

Marty shrugs. "Aside from the fact that the twerp's been picking on me ever since high school, not really."

Reyes looks at the big guy. "How on earth did he do that?"

Marty looks away, embarrassed. "I wasn't the brightest kid in school," he says, "and looking like this as a freshman didn't help, either."

"And his uncle's chief of police," Doggett adds, now understanding why he got a bad feeling from the seemingly-upstanding detective. "By the way, why did you list your security job as your primary?"

"Uh, well," and the big man looks down, shuffling his feet like an elementary kid, "my mom thinks that's more respectable. If she found out I was working the door at a club, where there's drinking and stuff, she might have a heart attack."

"Ah," Doggett says, and looks at Reyes, who shrugs. "If we have any more questions, we'll come find you."

"Okay," Marty says, "see you." While leaving, Reyes notices, from an overhead mirror in the H Mart, that he's putting a couple of beer bottles into his cart.

* * *

"Well, small town drama," Reyes remarks, as they drive to their hotel.

Doggett shrugs slightly. "Yeah, well, crimes always stir those up," he says, "I don't know about you, but I don't get any sense of the killer here, do you?"

She shakes her head. "Marty's probably the only one physically capable of pulling off the murder, but psychologically, not really. We haven't even figured out how the killer decapitated his vics, or how he manages to kill without spilling a drop," and then she pauses. "Well, if it really is a vampire, he probably wouldn't want to waste his meal, would he?"

"Oh, no," Doggett groans. "Don't tell me you're actually taking that cockamamie theory seriously?"

"Well, Det. Whitehouse might've pulled it out of his ass," she grins, "but that's no reason to say it's not valid."

"I'd say that was more than enough reason," he mutters. "Just like saying I dreamed you turned into a tuna fish sandwich doesn't mean you are one."

Reyes raises her eyebrows, smiling. "Well, we can get into all sorts of fun Freudian and Jungian interpretations," she says, and proceeds to do just that before they get a phone call informing them of a new crime scene.

* * *

Woodstock, New Hampshire  
That Night

"We're here," Mulder announces as he and Missy pull their vehicles into the large driveway of their rental cabin twelve hours after leaving DC. According to mapquest it was supposed to be a ten hour drive, but with several small children in their party, there were multiple rest stops along the way.

The older kids cheer, but Scully murmurs, "We're here, but where's your sister?"

"I'm sure she'll be along soon."

"Of course."

Everyone gets out and admires the cabin they've rented for the week. The label "cabin" is misleading, because though it is made of logs, it also is spacious enough for all of the campers. Five of the eight large bedrooms each contain two sets of bunk beds, so even slightly larger parties would have been accommodated in the building. In all it's three times the size of the cabin Bill Mulder used to rent when his kids were young.

As soon as everyone is inside and the lights are turned on, Scully pulls a sheet of paper out of her pocket. "Listen up, Kids. There are eight bedrooms, and I've assigned everyone their rooms.

Room one: Page, April, Emily, Alyssa

Room two: Adrianna, Ariel

Room three: Brandon, Sammy

Room four: Drew, David, Jared, Mattie

Room five: Christopher, William, Zoe, Brianna

Room six: Missy

Room seven: Samantha, Scott

Room eight: me and Dad."

Mulder more than half expects the younger kids to whine about there being more of them to each room than the oldest ones, but they seem pleased by the idea of quadruple occupancy. However, he can tell already that Christopher will spoil for a fight when bedtime comes and he's separated from his older brothers and cousins. Sammy looks slightly disappointed by the room assignments too.

Ninety minutes after all the bags are stowed away in the correct bedrooms, and two portable cribs set up in one of the rooms, they are still waiting for Samantha's family to arrive. "I should have insisted that they meet us at our house before we left," Mulder says worriedly. "They must have gotten lost."

"They'll be here soon, Fox," Missy says.

Though the comment was well intended, it makes Mulder snappish. "Are you psychic now?"

"Forgive me for trying to be reassuring," she retorts.

Scully interrupts. "Uh guys? I hear somebody in driveway."

Mulder and Missy stop bickering and look out the windows. Scott and Samantha are already getting out of the car. Though Mulder cannot hear the conversation, he sees that Scott is arguing with Drew about a bag, but in the end the little boy wears a triumphant grin and drags the bag to the cabin himself. Mulder shakes his head. The "I can do it myself" stage requires a lot of patience.

"Sorry we're late," Samantha says as the six of them pile into the cabin.

"You wouldn't believe what happened," Scott says. "I underestimated how much gas it would take to get here, and we ran out of gas in Derry-"

Brandon looks startled. "Derry, Maine?"

"No, New Hampshire," Samantha's oldest daughter, Adrianna says with a roll of her eyes. "Derry, Maine is only real in Stephen King's imagination."

"Oh."

"Besides, why the heck do you think we'd go to Maine? That's north of here."

"You two-" Scully points at Brandon and Adrianna. "-have just gotten the younger kids out of bringing everything else in. Go get it yourselves. Now."

"Aww, man," Brandon moans as he follows Adrianna. "This isn't even my stuff!"

"Why did you go through Derry?" Missy asks as soon as the kids are through disrupting. "We didn't go through Derry."

"I wanted to see Beaver Lake," Scott explains. "One of my coworkers found that we were going to New Hampshire for our vacation, he told me all about his vacation near Beaver Lake. So, I want to see it for myself."

"Oh. That's why you're late."

"Scott shakes his head, "No, we never even found the lake. We're late because I ran out of gas like I said."

Mulder thinks about arguing with his brother-in-law, but decides that pointing out that he wouldn't have run out of gas in Derry if he hadn't gone out of his way to get there in the first place wouldn't serve any purpose.

"I told Samantha and the kids to stay in the car, and that I would walk to the gas station to get some gas myself."

"Did you get lost on the way to the gas station?"

"No. What happened was that I found a bear."

"A bear?"

"Yeah. Apparently, up here, unlike in DC, bear sightings are pretty common occurrence. It must be trash night in Derry, because I startled one molesting a trash can on the side of the road."

Mulder looks him up and down. "I don't see any scratches, so you must've gotten away clean."

"It was the strangest thing. I tried to scare it away, because everything I read back as kid said that they don't like loud noises, but it just stared at me. I was contemplating my tree climbing skills when she arrived."

Everyone looks at Samantha. She holds up her hands. "Not me."

"Who?" Scully asks.

"According to her, a queen," Scott says with a wry smile. "Queen Tsienneto."

"You were rescued by a queen?" Mulder is delighted by the skeptical look on his wife's face, but he doubts that Scott is.

"That's what she claimed. All I know is that she rode up on a horse whose tack was covered in bells, and scared the bear away. I was so grateful that I didn't question her pedigree."

"What happened after that?" Mulder asks.

"She told me that I wasn't far off from my destination, and rode off. I think she might be the strangest woman I ever met, and that's saying a lot. But at least the bear was terrified of her horse, so I got the rest of the way to the gas station and back without ever seeing it again." Scott yawns. "Anyway, sorry we're late. We stopped to eat on the way since we didn't know if anyone would be up when we got here."

"We ate too," Missy tells him, unapologetically. "We saved food for you of course, but everyone's fed for the night."

The front door thumps open, and Brandon and Adrianna, both weighed down with bags, are still arguing when they come in. Samantha and Missy immediately set about lecturing the pair, while Mulder and Scully show Scott the list of room assignments.

All in all, Mulder thinks it's a typical beginning to a family vacation.

* * *

Four Springs, Montana  
Gas Works Factory  
11:41 p.m.

"Dammit," Doggett sighs as they reach the site. "Are we getting too close, or are we getting farther behind?"

"Why do you say that?" Reyes says, after they both flash their badges at the local PD and crime scene techs.

He waits as the technicians finish gathering their samples, stepping aside as they carry evidence, including the body, away into their vans and trucks. "Because there's no discernible pattern here, save for the fact that the victims are killed the same way. And based on the previous victims, there's no rhyme or reason to when he kills, but it seems he's stepping up his timetable. I don't recall the killer making two kills in the same month."

"Maybe it's that time of month," Reyes mutters, and he shakes his head.

They talk to the teen couple who found the body, and who are clearly still shaken by the encounter. "Hi, I'm Agent Doggett," he introduces himself, "this is my partner Agent Reyes, okay if we ask a few follow-up questions?" he says.

The girl shakes her head, even though she's still teary-eyed, while her boyfriend holds her protectively. "N-no, go ahead," she says.

"Tracy Kendall, right?" Reyes says in a softer voice, and the girl nods. "Tracy, you told the police that you and your boyfriend Rich Petersen were walking from the store to his home when you found the body. Which store was that?"

"The 24/7 Mart, down the street," Rich answers for her, pointing down the road with his free hand. "Tracy was feeling light-headed after the concert, so I wanted to get her something to drink, and maybe something to eat, before we got home."

"Concert?" Doggett picks up on the word. "What concert?"

"Huh? Oh, Broken Crucifix, they're a local band," the boyfriend replies. "Tracy's cousin is in it, otherwise, we probably wouldn't have gone."

"Oh," Doggett nods. "What time did the concert end?"

"Um, around 10, something like that?" Rich says, then turns to his girlfriend, who nods. "Most concerts wrap up around 10 'cause everything, including the buses, stop running around 10:30 or so." He tilts his head at the building they're standing in front of. "The Gas Works has pretty good parking, but they know not everyone's got a truck, so they usually cut encores pretty short."

"And it took you how long to get from here to the store?" Doggett continues.

Rich blinks, then answers, "I dunno, maybe ten minutes. No, maybe more, 'cause I was carrying Tracy on my back. Like I said, she wasn't feeling too good."

"I guess I shoulda had more to eat," Tracy says, wiping her face of tears, not for the first time that night. "But I was so excited to see Tank and his band, I guess I didn't have enough of a dinner."

"Maybe it was a good thing," Rich says, "or you would've been puking instead of fainting when we saw the body."

"Oh, yeah," Tracy says, turning a shaky smile to her boyfriend.

Doggett and Reyes look at each other. "The police say you called them as soon as Tracy woke up. You must have a helluva constitution," Doggett comments.

The boy shakes his head. "I didn't stay here, if that's what you mean," he says. "I wasn't sure if whoever killed that guy was sticking around, so I picked her up and hauled ass as far as I could. We only came back because the cops drove us here," he says, and now the agents notice that the only person he's really focusing on is his girlfriend, not simply because he's being protective, but because he might get sick or faint if he looks anywhere else. "They said we could go as soon as we answered your questions." But it's less of a statement than a plea to go home.

Doggett nods. "Agent Reyes will take you home," he says, "I'm going to stick around a bit longer."

Reyes looks a little surprised, but schools her face quickly, and leads them to the rental car. "Call me," she says, and he nods.

He watches as his partner drives off, then walks over to where the body had lain. Like the other crime scenes, this is eerily devoid of blood, with no signs of a struggle. And like the other scenes, it's in a quiet place, away from the parking lot, where the band and the audience would've been hanging out, as well as far from the bus stop. Forget quiet, it's in a perfect blind spot, Doggett realizes, and if the couple hadn't been walking close by at night, this would've been discovered the next morning, just like the one in North Dakota. And thanks to his stellar memory, he realizes the killer's made a habit of picking blind spots, mostly for night time, in spite of what time the bodies have been discovered at. Okay, so the bastard's careful, he thinks, doesn't spill a drop, and strong enough to kill quickly without the victim making any struggle. Great, an anal-retentive wrestler, he thinks suddenly, and an out-of-place smile works its way halfway to his lips.

"Something funny, agent?" one of the cops says sourly, and it's only then Doggett wipes the half-grin off his face.

* * *

Woodstock, New Hampshire  
Meanwhile...

While they'd waited for Samantha's family to arrive, Mulder had moved one of the two rocking chairs in the cabin's living room into the room where Zoe and Brianna would be sleeping. Scully now rocks the fussier of her smallest daughters, and hopes that the baby will soon fall asleep because it's all she can do to keep her own eyes open.

Actually, they aren't quite managing that, because a voice says "Auntie Dana?" and she has to open them to see the speaker. Mattie stands in the doorway, looking at her with an uncertain expression on his face.

Glancing down, Scully realizes that the baby is sleeping, so she stands and gently deposits the girl in her crib before taking Mattie by the hand and leading him out of the room. She sits on the couch, and isn't surprised when her nephew climbs onto her lap.

"You missing your mom and dad?" she asks as she ruffles his unruly hair.

"Yeah..." he admits.

"I'm not surprised. You don't spend too much time away from them."

"I spend the night at Gramma Joyce and Grandpa Phil's," Mattie explains, referring to Tara's parents. "some times, but they live way closer than here."

"How about we give them a call tomorrow morning? You might be less homesick if you can talk to them," Scully suggests.

"Can _you_ talk to them?"

"About what?" Scully is too sleepy to be overly curious, but her young nephew's reply wakes her up some.

"Babies."

She gives him a wary look. "What about babies?"

"You should tell them that it's fun to have more than one baby. I mean, you and Uncle Mulder have nine kids, so you can explain it best of anyone I know. Explain it so I can finally get a brother or sister. I'm gonna be six after Christmas, and I don't know anyone as old as me without one," Mattie says in a rush.

Uh oh, Scully thinks, wondering how to explain. "Mattie, I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

His face crumples in disappointment. "Why not?"

"Deciding to have another baby is a really big deal, and me telling them how much fun my kids were as babies isn't a good way to convince them."

"Oh."

"Have you told them that you want a brother or sister?" Scully asks, betting the answer is no. Her brother has never inspired anyone else to give heartfelt confessions, and she doubts that he's any different around his son.

"No."

"You should. If they don't know how you feel, they can't consider your feelings too when thinking about if it's a good or bad idea to add to your family, right?"

"I guess so."

Scully is tempted to ask him if he'd feel differently about an adopted sibling than a blood one, but she doesn't think it's her place to speculate on why Mattie is still an only child despite what her mother once told her about Tara. "If I were you, when I got home from this vacation, I'd tell them about how much fun you had with your cousins, and say that I wished that there was another kid in our family."

"Hmm."

Scully swings the little boy off her lap and stands up. "Try to get some sleep. And try not to wake the other boys when you get into bed."

"I'll try to be real quiet," Mattie promises before tiptoeing off.

* * *

Four Springs County Morgue  
Meanwhile...

"Learn anything new from Rich and Tracy?" Doggett asks when Reyes walks in.

She smiles, "Hi, Sexy." He blinks, and she laughs. "Relax, silly. No, nothing new. Just your typical witnesses, unlucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. How about you?"

He shrugs. "Our killer's been going from east to west along the northern states."

She stares at him. "What?"

Doggett pulls out a piece of paper. "Killer started in Maine, going on to Vermont, then New York, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, Montana, and now North Dakota, like some damn cross-country killing spree."

"So, there wasn't anything exciting in Ohio or Minnesota?" Reyes wonders.

He shrugs. "Then again, he's hitting small towns for some reason, and going from one podunk town to the next just to kill one person. Nothing this guy does makes sense." He covers the face of the late Paul Anderson, age eighteen, whose severed head has been place above his body. The kid is just a year older than his boys, and, aside from the black clothes and the excessive body piercings and tattoos, could just as easily be his own. He sighs, depressed, remembering how Paul's mother had come in screaming and crying, and after ID'ing the body, left the same way. He's fairly sure she wasn't expecting to see him like this after the concert, either.

She reaches into the evidence box and pulls out a plastic baggie with a crumpled rectangular paper inside. "Hm," she murmurs.

"What's that?" Doggett asks, standing beside her.

She shrugs, then holds up the evidence. "Sad, isn't it, a kid goes to a concert to have fun and winds up dead."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure everyone going to a rock concert doesn't expect to get killed," he remarks as she puts it back into the box.

She smiles a little. "Well, I'm sure they do expect to get laid, or a little lucky," she says, and smiles wider when he blushes. "So, you did go to live shows. Did you get lucky?"

He turns away from her grinning face. "Maybe a little," he mumbles, thankful that, unlike Gibson, she can't really read his mind.

"Such a gentleman," Reyes teases him, "most guys would be bragging up and down the street."

"But you're my wife," he turns back to her, then makes a face. "Or something like that," he adds quickly.

She nods. "Something like that." She pulls him to her and kisses him.

"Wow, what was that for?" he asks, getting his breath back.

Reyes smiles. "We don't need a concert to get lucky tonight," she says, giggling when he blushes again. "Race you to the car."

* * *

In the end, they both win the race, because they make record time going from the car to the hotel room, and out of their clothes onto the bed. "Hot damn," Reyes breathes after coming for the third time.

Doggett chuckles and brushes her hair away from her face. "You sure you're pregnant? 'Cause you just seem hornier than usual."

She wrinkles her nose, then lightly slugs him, making him laugh. "I don't know why, but these days, I just want to take you in the oddest places," she says, "the other day, I saw you bending over to pick up a fork and I just wanted to screw you in the kitchen. Of course, I waited until after we finished dinner and the kids went to bed, but still," she sighs.

Doggett looks surprised. "That might explain Gibson rushing everyone to bed," he says, then chuckles. "Poor guy, I was wondering what was up with that."

"So you don't think I'm crazy?" Reyes says, looking up at him.

He shakes his head. "Pregnancy affects women differently," he says, "I'm just glad you let me touch you. Barbara would get violent if I even kissed her, much less tried to make love to her."

"Yikes," she widens her eyes. "I'm glad Hannah managed to come along, then."

"Me, too," he smiles. "And the next time you feel like jumping me, let me know. If it's not a bad time or place, I think I could help you out with that."

"Really? Cool," Reyes smiles, and he smiles back. "Because I've been holding back a lot."

"Oh my God," he groans as he falls next to her, but there's a smile on his face anyways. "You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?"

"Hey, I'm the one carrying a child, not you," she pouts, "I would say it's the other way around."

"Ha ha," he says, but he's not complaining. "Okay, shower time," Doggett says, pushing himself out of the bed, pulling his boxers on.

"Already?" Reyes raises her eyebrows.

He nods. "Much as I'd like to spend the rest of the night like this, there's a killer on the loose," he says regretfully. "We had our fun, but we gotta get to work on this."

"Yeah," she says, and leaves the bed as well, but without bothering to cover herself up. "If we have sex in the shower, can I consider that a two-for-one deal?"

He blinks, then grins. "Hell, yeah," he says, and she laughs as they make their way quickly to the bathroom.

* * *

About an hour later, they're both fully clothed and sitting at the hotel desks, with laptops open and typing away. "Damn," Doggett sighs, the furrows on his brow deepening as he frowns.

"What's the matter?" Reyes asks.

"Well, I was thinking if the perp was a vampire, or thought he was, he might have a preference for his vics," he answers.

"But we determined that he doesn't really have a preference," she rebuts him. "He goes for male and female, short and tall, skinny and heavy, and any ethnic type."

"Yeah, well, there is a type that he picks," Doggett says, "it's AB."

Now she blinks at him. "You mean blood type?"

He nods. "Now normally, there's no way in hell that you can figure someone's blood type just by looking at them. But somehow, this guy manages to do that."

"Maybe he just asks," she shrugs.

"Uh-huh," he gives her a skeptical look. "The only reason I know I'm Type O is because I donated blood once in high school, and the damn blood bank won't stop calling me even now."

"Are you sure it's not because of your winning personality?" she says, and he rolls his eyes. Reyes folds her arms and smiles. "Well, that's what modern Japanese believe. Loosely borrowing the theory from Western ethnic studies in the 1900s, they believe blood types determine your personality, and from that, your job type and marriage prospects. Type A means you're a stable, reliable person, Type B is more creative and individualistic, Type AB is both rational and sociable, while Type O is ambitious and passionate. Because of this pop culture belief, the Japanese, and now a few other Asian cultures, use this as a sort of horoscope for dating and job prospects, so they know their blood types rather than, say, their Western astrological sign. According to this theory, I should be a Type B, but I'm actually a Type A," she shrugs. "There really is no scientific basis for this theory, but it hasn't stopped them from marketing things towards certain blood types."

"I thought regular astrology was bad," Doggett makes a face. "You really think this monster or whatever subscribes to that sort of thing? Maybe blood types are less personality and more different types of flavor to our perp."

Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Flavors? Like chocolate or strawberry?"

Doggett shrugs. "Something like that. Maybe when it comes to picking victims, it's less astrology than it is preference. Maybe for this guy, it doesn't need to survive on just Type AB vics, because he obviously has chosen other blood types, but it wants to. I've been going over the vic profiles again, and the exsanguinations of the Type ABs were more thorough than the others."

"Oh, goody," she makes a face. "Damn."

"Told ya," he shrugs. "Problem is, I'm not sure where he gets his vics from."

"They all went to rock concerts."

He gives her a look. "You've gotta be kidding me," he says.

She shakes her head. "I figured since our latest vics went to concerts, maybe the others did, too," she says reasonably. "Not all the witnesses or friends could reliably say the vic went to a concert, but there definitely was one nearby where the vics were found. They're in the right age bracket, and the accessibility is there." Then she grins. "So, what do you wanna be, groupie or crowd surfer?"

"Neither," he says, "we just gotta figure out which concert our killer might strike next."

"That's easy," she smiles, making him blink. "The kinds of rock concerts he's been picking have all been indie types, which means there's not enough security and little to no checking to see if minors are part of the crowd. Besides, you said he's making his way west, along the northern side, which means his next stop should be," she pauses, "in Idaho. And there's a few concerts coming up in the next few weeks, but only one that fits our criteria." She points to her computer screen. "Djarum Black is performing at the L. Garden Pub in Boise this Saturdays."

He raises his eyebrows. "You sure this is the next one?"

She nods. "The other groups are Pearl Jam, Blink 182 and Linkin Park. They'd come with far too much security, although there's the nice anonymity of being in the crowd once you're there. Still, I think there'd be too many possible witnesses for an after-party for our killer, so he'd want to stick to a somewhat smaller venue. That, or maybe he's a music snob on top of being a blood-sucking killer."

"Great," Doggett's eyes search the ceiling, which, thankfully, isn't chock-full of pencils. "Just what we need, another blood-sucking music critic."

* * *

Benton, New Hampshire  
August 12th, 2003

Earlier in the morning while Scully, Scott, and Missy cooked, Mulder and Samantha pored over their hiking trail guide and settled on Mount Moosilauke as the destination of their first day trip.

The pictures in the guide make the mountain look very serene, and it is a class 1 hiking trail, which means that even the smallest children should be able to cope with the easy terrain.

When they arrive at the foot of the mountain it takes them several minutes to get ready. Not only do Mulder and Scully each take one of their infant daughters in a babybjörn, every child and adult, right down to Christopher, is outfitted with a lightweight backpack to carry bottles of water. Mulder is the most weighed down of all, considering that he also has William in a back carrier. Scully carries Mulder's water for him because he has no place for backpack of his own.

In the midst of a crowd of fidgeting children, Missy decides that a preemptive lecture might curb some of the half-planned hijinks she can see on the kids' faces. "No one is to leave the trail. If you leave the trail you might get lost."

Sammy looks up at her with interest. "If David and Jared get lost, will they get eaten by a bear?"

"Hey!" the older twins protest.

"No. Bears don't eat people."

"But I have a book from school that said that a polar bears eat people," Page points out.

"Okay. Polar bears eat people. But black bears, which are the type of bears like they have here, do not eat people. That is why your uncle Scott was not eaten yesterday."

"What about panthers?" Sammy asks.

"It is very unlikely that anything in this forest will eat anyone," Missy says, but then adds when she sees that Sammy is about to say something more, "unless of course, you died in the woods from something else and they eat you later on."

"Then how come we have to stay on the trail?" Emily wants to know.

"If you get lost, and the forest rangers have to come and find you, it will cost a lot of money. Some states don't charge you for rescue missions, but New Hampshire is not one of those states, so you will put your moms and dads in the poor house." Missy looks at every one of the children. "No more vacations, no fancy clothes, no video games, no car when you're 16..."

Sammy looks at all of the other kids. "We'll stay on the trail, Aunt Missy."

"Good."

* * *

Though it clearly bothers Missy, the group ends up spread out. No one goes off the trails, so technically she can't be angry at them for failing to follow orders. At first she occasionally calls them back and tells him to stay with the group, but this is as futile as herding cats, so after a short time she gives up as long as they stay within sight.

Missy herself trails the pack with her sister, letting Mulder and Scott take responsibility for the older and faster kids. Samantha is in the middle, chatting with Page, Alyssa, and Emily. The trail is so gentle that eventually the adults begin to relax. The worst thing that could happen to the kids is a skinned knee or elbow.

When Scully realizes that Brianna is asleep, she pulls out her digital camera and begins to take pictures of beautiful surroundings. Though it is only August, some of the trees have begun to change color, lending to patches of orange and yellow mixed in with the green. It reminds her of a quilt her grandmother once had on her bed.

Suddenly, Missy grabs her elbow. "Dana, look at that!"

When Scully follows her finger, she sees something quite unexpected. Her assumption was that Missy had spotted a deer, or perhaps some other wild creature, but her eyes are fixed on a strange figure. It seems to be a man, though it is hard to tell given how bundled up the person is. Far below them, a person wearing a black cape, and a hat that cannot completely conceal long wild white locks, is moving through the woods with a strange agility. The wild tangle of hair suggests an elderly person, but the capering steps hint at a greater vitality.

"Who on earth?" Missy whispers, not that Scully believes that the person could hear them from such a distance.

"I have no idea."

Within a few seconds, the strange person has bolted from sight.

* * *

Eventually the family reunites and spreads out tablecloths so they can have a picnic lunch. Once everyone has food, Missy's thoughts apparently turn back to the strange sight, because she tells Mulder about it.

Mulder smiles at his sister-in-law. "It sounds like you two are the victim of a prank."

"A prank?" Missy frowns. "What makes you say that?"

"Obviously someone is keeping the Doctor Benton legend alive."

"What legend is that?" Scully asks.

"Samantha, you remember the story Dad told us, right?" Mulder asks, and his sister nods, her mouth too full of food to give a proper reply. Turning back to his wife and sister-in-law, Mulder says, "People have been seeing Doctor Benton in these woods for 200 years now."

"So you're saying that people think he's a ghost," Scully surmises.

To her surprise, her husband shakes his head. "Not a ghost. They think he's still alive."

"That's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous or not, there those who say the doctor Benton has discovered the secret to eternal life. Back in during the early 1800s the people of this town now called Benton sent young Thomas Benton to Germany to study doctoring. To repay them, he returned to the town and became their doctor. At least until 1816. After that, he retreated to a shack in the woods, and turned away people even in dire need of medical attention."

Missy looks annoyed. "They decided to fabricate lies about him, just because they felt as though he wasn't honoring his commitment to them?"

"Perhaps. But the town did have reasons to be concerned. Not long after he became a hermit, mutilated animals began to dot the hillside. And that was only the beginning. Eventually, they begin to find human bodies."

"Mutilated?" Scully asks in a whisper.

"No. The human bodies weren't molested, beyond a mark found behind the left ear. No one knew what to make of that, but they assumed it be the cause of death. These doings were only connected to Doctor Benton in 1825 when someone claimed to see him steal a child away into the woods and hurl her to her death over a cliff while her parents begged him to let her go."

"They were sure it was him?" Scott asks, indicating that he is been paying attention to the story as well.

Mulder shrugs. "So legend goes. Bodies continued to be found every now and then, through the 1800s. In the 1970s a college student who wandered off on his own was found dazed and incoherent. On examination of the boy, they discovered that he had the same mark behind his left ear as all of the bodies found on this mountain. Locals still believe that Benton is seen is now and then, having purchased for himself a horrible immortality."

Scott claps Mulder on the shoulder. "No wonder you're on TV. You are an excellent storyteller. For a second there, you almost had me believing that your wife and her sister had seen this legendary figure."

"I never said it was Doctor Benton," Mulder protests. "But I think they saw someone impersonating him."

Scully looks back over her shoulder. An impersonator, she hopes so.

* * *

The Doggett-Reyes home  
August 13th, 2003

Doggett found himself talking to a wall when it came to asking for backup at a rock concert, especially one practically in the middle of nowhere (according to Agent Harrison's supervisor). Resigned, he and Reyes went back home to keep their kids apprised of their work schedule and found the reception to the news to be markedly different.

"Wow, it's not every day your work takes you guys someplace fun," Gibson grins when Reyes explains their case over lunch.

Doggett rolls his eyes. "It's not for fun, and believe me, I won't be having fun trying to keep an earpiece and earplug in the same ear," he grumbles, helping himself to the mashed potatoes.

"Aw, why can't we go?" Luke whines. "Mulder and Scully took their kids with them on cases."

Doggett gives his son a level look. "Not always," he says, "and I'm not about to assign extra agents to watch over my kids when there's a killer out there who can tear off a man's head with his bare hands."

"I don't wanna go," Hannah says, sinking in her seat.

"We're not making anyone go," Reyes reassures her, and gives Luke a look. "In fact, we don't want any of you to go." Then she shrugs. "That, and if this band is still indie after all this time, they probably suck."

Luke gives her a look, not unlike his father's. "What do you mean?"

"I did a little research on them," she says, "just for fun. Although they seem to have a winning combination of rock and rap aimed toward the college crowd, along with some ethnically-diverse group members like Linkin Park, they haven't been going anywhere near the billboard charts since they formed five years ago." She shrugs again. "They're a little too soft for me, but then again, I kinda lean more towards Marilyn Manson than, say, Trent Reznor."

Luke turns to Gibson. "Remind me to burn my Manson CDs," he mutters, and Gibson grins, more at Reyes' plotting than his brother's remark.

"Like I said, it's not gonna be fun," Doggett sighs, and his sons are inclined to agree, finally. "Gib, mind passing the gravy?"

* * *

Echo Lake  
Conway, NH  
That Afternoon

"What are those for?" David asks, pointing at a row of binoculars on stands. His twin is spending a lot of time playing with Mattie and Drew, so Mulder gets the idea that he's feeling a little left out, which might be why he and April are playing together today.

"Oh, you used to be able to look through those and see a rock that looked like a huge human face. It was called The Old Man of The Mountain. People liked it so much that they put it on license plates in this state a few years ago."

"Daddy, where's the old man now?" April wants to know.

Mulder gives her a sad smile. "Sorry, April, he's gone."

David looks puzzled. "How can he be gone? Things made rock last forever. Don't they?"

"Apparently not. The Old Man of The Mountain fell apart in May," Mulder explains. "It made a lot of people very sad that the state symbol is gone."

April shows an uncharacteristic display of temper by stamping her foot. "But I wanted to see him!"

"Sorry, Kiddo," Mulder tells her as he gives her a hug. "We're only going to see him in pictures now."

"It's not fair!"

"I know." Mulder takes April and David's hands. "Come on, let's go swim."

Mollified, both children accompany their father into the water, where most of their siblings and cousins are already splashing each other.

* * *

The conversation between Mulder and the kids has not gone unheard. Missy and Scully are lounging on the beach, encouraging William not to taste the sand castle he's making. Zoe and Brianna are shaded under a beach umbrella and goggling at what their more mobile family members are doing.

Missy sighs. "I'm sorry that April is disappointed, but I'm damn glad that things don't always stay the same."

"Like what?" Scully asks as she shakes her head when William moves a fist full of sand towards his mouth. He grins at her and pats the sand onto his castle instead.

"You know that I called home this morning, right?" Missy asks, and Scully acknowledges that she does. "Ryan told me a long incoherent story about grocery shopping with Daddy before handing the phone off to Addy. She told me that she missed me, and about silly stuff that had gone on in our absence."

"Hmm...William, no! Do you want me to take that shovel?"

"No. I gonna be good," The sandy-lipped toddler promises.

"Uh huh." Scully scoots across her towel to get closer to her youngest son. Then she looks up at Missy. "Sorry."

"I was just thinking about that," Missy explains. "This time a year ago Alex and I were scared that Addy would never fully recover from her ordeal. But look at her now. She doesn't hide anymore, speaks without looking like she's going to be hit for making noise, she shows affection spontaneously, her melt downs are no more frequent than any other four-year-old's, and she's looking forward to going to preschool with Christopher next month.

"It feels like we were granted a miracle. So that's why I'm glad that things change," Missy concludes.

"If you ask Mom, miracles still happen pretty often." Scully helps William dig a moat around his sand castle while she talks. "But I think a lot of the changes have to do with how you and Alex have treated her. You've loved her, and she's bloomed."

"I don't know, Day. Maybe Mom's not wrong about those commonplace miracles."

Zoe squeals in delight when a curious seagull hops a couple of yards from her and Brianna. Scully smiles even as she's prepared to shoo it off if it comes closer to their cooler. "Maybe she's not."

* * *

Woodstock, New Hampshire  
August 14th, 2003

The next morning several people are grumpy, mostly due to having slept poorly because of sunburns. Unfortunately, the supposedly waterproof sunscreen that was slathered on everyone proved not to be as good as advertised.

"So, is everyone ready to go to the Mount Washington Observatory?" Mulder asks the crowd of pink people.

"No!" Scully and Missy exclaim at the same time.

"No? You realize that I had to call in favors to get us a tour, right?" Mulder gives them a disappointed look.

"You should still go, Mulder," Scully encourages. "Just take the kids who won't whine about sunburns with you." None of the twins or Mattie are burned either, but David and Jared and their slightly older cousin don't look interested in going, and no one is about to suggest that the nine-month-olds would get anything out of a tour.

"Uh, okay. What will the rest of you do while we're gone?"

"Bathe in aloe," Missy groans.

"I was dreaming of a bathtub filled with ice," Scott says wistfully. His skin is as fair as Scully and Missy's, but the two oldest of his kids aren't nearly as fair.

"Okay..." Mulder turns to Brandon, Ariel, Emily, and Adrianna. "Before we do anything else, how about we go to the store and buy out their supply of ice?"

"I'll come too, Daddy," Sammy says, and Mulder looks at his oldest son in surprise. Sammy is as pale as ever, without even the slightest hint of sunburn.

"Why aren't you burned too?"

Sammy shrugs. "I was playing near shady rocks?"

"Uh huh." Mulder turns to his sister. "What do you say, Samantha, you coming with us?"

"No. I think someone who isn't lobster red needs to stay behind."

"Well, okay." Mulder sighs in disappointment. "Everyone who is going, go out to the car."

* * *

::I guess it could be worse:: Mulder reminds himself after they drop off the ice at the cabin. ::There could be a lot more of the kids with me.:: Though he's sure from past experience that he could supervise his own brood solo, he's not sure how his nieces and nephews would behave in a large group. Five seems manageable.

"So, what do they do at this observatory?" Ariel asks on the drive up Mount Washington.

"It's a weather station," Mulder explains. "One of the oldest in the world."

"Oh wow," Adrianna says, and he detects a note of sarcasm in his oldest niece's voice.

The fourteen-year-old has made it abundantly clear over the course of the vacation that she thinks family get-togethers are lame. Everyone has been glad that the cabin gets cell reception, because she whines less when able to call her friends and complain about how bored she is. Mulder suspects the only reason she's come without a word of protest is that she wanted to avoid helping her mother look after the people left behind.

"The worst weather on earth has been recorded there," Mulder goes on, not rising to the bait. "The winds are so bad there that they chain some of the buildings to the mountain."

"How do you chain a building to the ground?" Brandon wants to know.

"I don't know. I guess we'll see."

"Uncle Mulder, why did you have to call in favors to get us a tour?" Ariel asks. "Does that mean there aren't tours all the time?"

"There are tours for just a couple of groups on a regular basis. We're lucky that I knew someone who added us to the schedule."

"Being famous helps, huh, Dad?" Sammy asks.

"I don't know if we're famous, Sammy..." Mulder trails off before deciding that it probably did grease wheels for him. "Well, it doesn't hurt."

"Hey, when does the next season of your show start?" Adrianna asks without sounding snotty. "A bunch of my friends at school watch it."

"September twentieth."

"Cool."

* * *

Mount Washington Observatory

When they get out of the car, a young man in his mid-twenties waves to them, indicating that they should come to him.

"Hey, nice to meet you," the man shakes hands with Mulder. "I'm Jason King. I'll be giving you a tour of the observatory. I know who _you_ are, but do you mind introducing the rest of your party?"

"The youngest is my son Sammy, and these are my nieces Adrianna, Ariel, and Emily, and my nephew Brandon. Unfortunately the better part of the rest of our party managed to sunburn themselves pretty badly."

"Went swimming, did you?" Jason asks.

Emily looks at the man like he's a psychic. "How did you know?"

"People are forever being tricked into thinking that waterproof sunscreen doesn't wash off. It does, not that the manufacturer wants you to know that." King shakes his head. "Follow me."

Their tour guide offers them bits of trivia as he shows them the equipment that is used to record weather observations. Mulder sticks close to Sammy and Brandon, because he can see that both boys are itching to touch things to get a better idea of how they might work.

"The first weather station on Mount Washington was established in 1870, making it the oldest permanent weather station in the entire world."

"Uncle Mulder, you said it was one of the oldest," Emily reminds him.

"Being the oldest is part of being one of the oldest," Sammy says, rushing to his father's defense.

Mulder holds up a hand to silence them. "We're here to learn new stuff, and I've learned that there aren't any older weather stations."

"There are other records held here too," Jason tells them. "Like wind speed, for example. During the great depression we measured a wind gust of 231 miles an hour. That makes this the windiest place on the entire planet."

Adrianna shivers. "It's kind of windy today, too."

"Sure," Jason agrees. "But not anywhere near as windy as that."

"I wasn't suggesting that it was!" The teenager protests, and her sister and Brandon giggle.

Adrianna isn't wrong - the wind continues to gust even as Jason leads them into the Summit Museum.

* * *

As they're exiting the museum, a middle-aged man approaches the group.

"This is one of my good friends, Ranger Dan Cook," Jason introduces the other man.

"What? Not Ranger Rick?" Adrianna asks with a smirk. Ariel swats her.

"Folks, there's a problem," Ranger Cook tells them. His face looks grim.

"What?" Mulder asks warily. The fact that a mountain ranger has stopped by to give them news of a problem can't be good.

"Surely you've noticed the wind today." They all nod. "We'll, there was an enormous ancient pine tree standing at the foot of the road to the observatory."

"Was?" Jason asks, looking slightly ill.

"Was," Ranger Cook says firmly. "The wind knocked it over."

"Oh, then I should call for the tree removal-"

The ranger shakes his head. "They won't be up here until tomorrow," He looks at Mulder and the kids. "I don't suppose you've brought your sleeping bags?"

"It's totally cool," Jason says with false cheer. "There aren't any education groups or mountain climbers spending the night, so we'll just use the bunk house. No sleeping bags necessary."

* * *

Although the adults back "home" in the cabin are not thrilled by the turn of events, being stranded at the observatory turns out to be fun for Mulder and the kids. The ranger gave them a conspiratory wink and told them that he was going to break rules just this once, and allow a bonfire. After that, everyone, which includes a woman named Laura from the museum who is apparently dating Jason, settles down after dark to listen to ranger Cook tell stories about the area. The handful of other people from the observatory decline the invitation to join the party.

Laura has managed to produce a bag of marshmallows from somewhere, and everyone roasts them over the fire. Cook pauses his tales now and them to pop a golden brown one into his mouth.

"You kids have heard of Bigfoot, and I'm sure that you've been told that it mostly lives out in the pacific northwest. But I'll tell you that almost every state in New England has reported sightings of them too," Cook tells them, and the kids pay rapt attention. "Here in New Hampshire people report seeing hairy beasts locals call Woods Devils. And to the west, in Vermont, there have been reports for hundreds of years of clever bearlike creatures that walk on two legs. The native folks called 'em Wejuk. Some even claimed to have caught a baby one back in 1855. But don't think that these are creatures just out of long ago, there have been sightings of them in the past thirty years..."

Mulder has to admit that Cook is a consummate story teller, and he's trying to think of a way to slip the man one of Federman's business cards when the ranger's tales take another turn. Cook looks at Jason and Laura. "Do you suppose we should tell them about The Presence?"

Jason immediately looks uneasy. "I don't know, Dan..."

"What's the presence?" Brandon asks on cue.

"No one knows, exactly," Laura says. "It's not a ghost, but people are frightened by it all the same."

"No, it's more like a feeling," Cook agrees.

Emily looks skeptical. "People are afraid of a feeling?"

"Jason must have told you that there have been people saying up at the observatory for decades. Most of 'em have a run-in with The Presence at least once."

"What exactly is it?" Mulder asks, hoping to move the story along.

"A feeling of terror and dread overtakes a body, and makes them want to run away at all cost. We had someone freeze to death years ago because he got so scared he ran out into a blizzard and didn't stop running until he was too cold to move."

"You don't think that the mountain is haunted?" Ariel asks.

Cook shakes his head. "Some of the natives to the area thought it was a manifestation of one of their gods. Who knows, maybe they're right."

The ranger leaves them with this tale before declaring that it's time for everyone to head to the bunk house. Mulder shepherds the kids along, listening to them grumble about having to sleep in their clothes. They, at least, seem to have already dismissed the ranger's weird tale.

* * *

5 a.m.

For no discernable reason, Mulder finds himself jolted awake. Everyone else in the bunk house is sound asleep, but he is gripped by a sudden terror that something awful is about to happen. His heart beats in his chest like an animal trying to escape a cage.

He has to leave, immediately. Throwing himself off his bunk, he runs to the door, and is about to grip the door knob when it begins to move on its own. Mulder jumps backwards with a strangled cry, and feels for the gun he no longer carries on a daily basis.

The door opens, and a head pops into view. "Oh, you're awake. I just wanted to let you know that the tree crew is here, and we'll be able to get out of here in an hour or two," Ranger Cook tells him mildly.

Mulder stares at him, and gradually the feeling of intense dread leaches from him. When his heart leaves his throat, he gives the ranger a weak smile. "My wife will be happy to hear that."

"You felt it," Cook says grimly. "A lot of people do."

Mulder knows exactly what "it" the man refers to. A fright so great that he was prepared to run off and leave the sleeping kids behind. "Have you?"

"First week I rangered up here. And don't think it's the power of suggestion - no one told me the story until after I had my run-in with it. I try to tell people the story before it happens to them, so they don't think that they're crazy like I did."

"Uh, thanks."

Just as the ranger promised, the fallen tree is cleared away an hour later. Everyone is glad when they reach the cabin, but no one more so than Mulder.

* * *

Boise, Idaho  
August 16th, 2003

They're in the smoke-infested Hammer House, a former sugar plant converted into a production venue. Like the regular security detail, which consists of a couple of rent-a-cops, Doggett and Reyes are dressed in black t-shirts, jeans, and windbreakers with the back spray-painted "SECURITY". Although this concert's supposed to be for those 18 and over, according to both the paper flyers and the web promos, you'd never know by the amount of teens obviously well below that age. Doggett's had to sit on his fatherly instincts and not bodily shove pre-teens out the door, while Reyes, standing at the opposite exit, smiles at his efforts at self-control. Speaking of self-control, she's had precious little of that the past few days, jumping her partner's bones (or one in particular) every chance she got. And every time afterward, she'd silently thanked her unborn child for giving her a great excuse. While she's not entirely sure it's due to her pregnancy, she's definitely enjoying the sexual benefits.

And speaking of sexual, while Djarum Black ranks high on her suck-meter in terms of talent, they're pretty good at selling their lead vocalist's appeal. The highly-impressionable teens and pre-teens in the audience are screaming wildly, as if witnessing the second coming of Elvis. Or something like that, Reyes amends mentally, wondering if any of them are even aware of the King of Rock'n'Roll. Like her partner, she's scanning the crowd, but wondering what on earth a vampire would actually look like. There are more than a few goth-types out there, but she's discounting them. Hey, if the killer wanted to get into the goth-vamp scene, he'd strike at places like blood clubs, not at rock concerts.

Doggett, for his part, is finding it hard to think straight, and that only makes him more irritable on top of everything else. First, he'd had to nearly break Luke's leg to keep the boy at home, then deal with Agent Harrison's well-intentioned (but poorly-executed) plan to give him reinforcements, as well as the fallout from that fiasco, and then they nearly missed their flight because of that. He's hoping like hell that this pans out and that they catch the killer here, because he knows he doesn't look with egg on his face. He sighs, partly because the air's so thick with smoke breathing's become almost hazardous, and partly because watching the crowd makes him feel so damn old. He glances over at Reyes, and wonders how on earth it seems like she's enjoying this mess.

Thank God for earplugs, he thinks, having given up on earpieces when he realized it would be too conspicuous. He and Reyes had agreed to just use their cell phones if they needed to get in contact with each other, since the walkie-talkies were pretty much open to anyone with the general frequency. So far, nobody, not the rent-a-cops nor his partner, have noticed anything suspicious, other than the brief scuffle caused by a jealous boyfriend he'd had to break up a few minutes ago. He doesn't think too much of the band, since it sounds like they're confused between trying to be a rock band, grand-standing rappers or pretty-boy movie stars.

He finally smiles when it seems the concert's wrapping up after what seems like ages (but only an hour and a half, according to his watch). "Thank you, God," he murmurs in a low voice, as the band leaves after doing their encore. It takes a while for the band to pack up their equipment, since it appears they don't have roadies, and Doggett, along with Reyes and the actual security guards have their hands full making sure everyone leaves intact, if not smoke-free.

* * *

"So, what'd you think?" Reyes asks her partner when they clear the last of the stragglers, the band long gone.

Doggett makes a face, then pulls the earplugs from his ears. "What?"

She laughs. "You've had those in all this time? Figures."

He shrugs, then tosses them into the trash. "Hey, they're good for blocking out crappy music and whiny teens."

Reyes shakes her head. "Anyways, I didn't catch any last-minute couples, how about you?"

Doggett likewise shakes his head. "Neither did Tom and Jerry," he jerks a thumb at the rent-a-cops clocking out.

She smiles, "I'd peg them more as a Bert and Ernie."

"Sesame Street?" he raises an eyebrow.

She shakes her head and says in a lower voice, "Closet gay."

He sputters in surprise. "What?"

Reyes looks at her partner. "You didn't get that vibe?"

"Let's just say I'm glad neither of them hit on me," he mutters.

She laughs, then slings an arm around him. "Poor baby," she teases, "not being able to be the meat in a man sandwich."

"Ewwww," he makes a face not unlike his firstborn, making her laugh harder. Then he puts a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, notice anything weird?"

She blinks, then looks around. "No, what?"

He looks at her. "We're the only ones here. Come on, let's canvas the area."

She nods, but looks surprised when he pulls at her arm as she turns away. "What?"

"You're with me," he says, "no way am I letting a pregnant woman go out alone."

Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Even if she's got a gun?"

"Especially if she's got a gun," he retorts, and she shakes her head, but goes with him.

* * *

They go through the bathrooms first, then they go outside, their Maglights in one hand and gun in the other. Doggett knows Reyes is humoring him, but he's just glad she didn't go off on her own. Yeah, he's old-fashioned, but he knows he wouldn't be the only one feeling guilty if she ever got hurt or killed on the job. They don't come across anything or anyone suspicious, making Doggett feel depressed. Maybe they're in the wrong place, he thinks, or maybe the suspect already left. Before his doubts can become certainty, however, they come across a couple in the throes of passion, so to speak, lying in an otherwise unlit lawn not far from the Hammer House. Normally, he'd let lovebirds like these alone, but his cop's instincts kick in and his gun arm straightens, startling his partner with his sudden action.

"Both of you, hands where I can see 'em!" Dogett yells. "On your head, on your head!"

The girl shrieks, but yanks her shirt down in a belated sense of modesty before putting her hands on her head. Her boyfriend, however, merely turns his head slowly, as if irritated at being interrupted.

Then the boy glances at Reyes, whose gun doesn't waver. "Hands on your head," she echoes, her face deadly serious. "Or we will shoot."

He looks at the girl, who is still staring at the agents rather than him. "You wouldn't do that," he says, starting to lean over the girl again.

Then Doggett shoots him in the leg, and the girl runs off, screaming. "Son of a bitch!" the kid screeches, his face a mask of pain as he twists to the side, holding his leg.

"You'll live," Doggett says unsympathetically, not lowering his gun or looking at Reyes. He doesn't bother telling her that he shot at the kid's pants rather than his leg, it would be something if he did more than graze the leg. "You must think I'm stupid or something."

"John," Reyes stares at him, since the kid is acting like a kid, not some blood-sucking, head-decapitating serial killer. Besides, he barely looks older than Luke or Gibson, and certainly weighs less, judging by his skinny frame.

The teen continues to whimper, and Reyes lowers her weapon. Suddenly, the kid lunges at Doggett, and the FBI agent goes down with a "whoomf!" before he's struggling for his life. Far too late, Doggett realizes why the victims never fought back - this kid's skinny body and youthful appearance belies a strength and ferocity belonging to a wild animal or a hardened criminal. In spite of his opponent's looks, he can barely fight back offensively while keeping possession of his gun, and he's still pinned down. He's so damn fast, Doggett thinks, as blow after blow rains on him, it's like he's fight spinning helicopter blades.

And as suddenly as he was attacked, he's free, a second gunshot cracking in the night, and the kid topples off. Breathing heavily, Doggett gets to his feet, and puts a hand up when Reyes starts to run over. He doesn't want her anywhere near this thing, and he grabs his flashlight to get a better look. Reyes shot the kid in the head, and while he can see the hole, he can't see blood, either from the entry or where the exit wound should be. Shit, he thinks, and starts firing when the teen starts to move.

His blood runs cold when, rather than bleed and die like a normal person, the skinny teen turns his head to look at him and smiles. "That's not how you kill a vampire," he says.

"John!" Reyes screams.

Doggett turns and catches something that she throws at him, but drops his gun doing so. "Shit," he says.

And that's the last thing he says before the freaky teen, his body riddled with holes but far from dead, leaps on him again.

* * *

August 18th, 2003  
8:09 a.m.

Doggett is lying under the white sheet, his still form almost as pale as the sheet. His family is standing around him, and Gibson is holding Hannah, who is scared. "It's okay," he tells his younger sister, but she buries her face into his side, not looking at the body.

His partner is dressed in formal black, her expression thoughtful. "He looks so peaceful," Reyes sighs, folding her arms.

Luke looks up at her. "You know he's like this because of you," he says seriously, and she nods.

"He saved my life," she acknowledges, her lower lip bumping up slightly with the admission.

"In a way, you saved his, too," he says, "but he probably wouldn't admit it."

Then Doggett groans, startling them all. "Can't a guy get some sleep around here?" he grumbles, not opening his eyes.

"You have no broken bones, just flesh wounds," Reyes shakes her head. "And I think we let you sleep in long enough. Time to get to work."

He turns his head, and groans again when he sees the clock. "You guys let me sleep in this late?" he cries, sitting up, then winces as all the aches and pains from his Saturday night fight come back to him. "Ow."

"Which is why I let you sleep in, I thought half an hour more would help," she smiles, then helps to get him to his feet. When he's standing, she kisses his rough cheek. "Thank you."

He blinks. "For what?"

"For saving our lives," she says, looking down and putting a hand on her stomach. When he puts his hand on hers, she looks up and smiles slowly. "And for being so damn sexy."

"Ugh," both teen boys groan, and start to pull Hannah out of there. "You guys are so gross," Gibson makes a face.

"What, what?" Hannah says, twisting around. "What's so gross?"

"We'll tell you when you get older," Luke says, and amends quickly when he sees his father's expression, "much, much older."

Reyes giggles when the kids are gone. "Why don't I help you shower and get ready?" she says, pulling off his boxers.

"But you're already dressed," he protests.

Then she pulls off her top, then her bra. "Not any more," she smiles.

"Okay," he says, and she laughs, pulling him into the bathroom.

* * *

Mulder-Scully home  
August 21st, 2003

"Hey, thanks," Mulder says to the mail-carrier as he accepts his package.

He rips the envelope open, and pulls out his prize: Passing Strange by Joseph Citro. He flips to the index and looks for "Derry, New Hampshire" and immediately finds an entry for it.

Sitting down, he reads the entry on Derry and begins to laugh. Royalty indeed. According to the book, Scott was saved from a bear by a fairy queen. He glances at the phone, wondering what his brother-in-law would make of the information.


	125. Spooktacular Halloween Episode

Mulder-Scully Home  
Late September 2003

A gust of wind rocks some of the smaller trees in the backyard, and a few more of April's flowers shed their petals. Mulder looks toward them for a moment, thinking about how remarkable it is that she has any summer flowers left at all in the fall, before turning his eyes back to the task at hand.

"Hands a little wider apart, Buddy."

William squints up at his father, and moves his fingers another inch apart. His small windbreaker crinkles as he shifts.

"You've got it."

The toddler chortles with delight when the ball Mulder throws him lands gently in his out-stretched hands. Mulder has been trying to teach him to play catch for the past ten minutes, and it's the first time his youngest son has managed to catch the ball.

Goodbyes float across the yard and car doors slam in their driveway, indicating that Scully's guests are leaving; Mulder had said goodbye himself fifteen minutes before, and he'd been sure they'd left already. The back door opens soon after.

"Hey." Scully, with Zoe on her hip, stands on her toes to give Mulder a kiss on the cheek.

"What did you and Monica talk about?" he asks while lobbing the ball to William again.

"She and John are looking to buy a house. They want something with enough bedrooms that none of the kids have to share."

"I catched it 'gain!" William crows.

"You sure did!" Mulder grins at his little boy before turning back to Scully. "It's about time. Luke and Gibson would probably really appreciate having their own rooms, being teenage boys and all."

"I'm going to pretend that I have no idea what you mean." Her cheeks turn slightly pink, making it obvious that she knows exactly what he was implying.

"Okay, you do that. We'll see how long that lasts once we've got five teenage boys of our own."

"Are you sure we can't raise them Catholic? The religion has rules against that sort of...thing."

"Don't make me call Charlie and ask him how effective a deterrent the rules were."

"Mulder, you're terrible!" But she smiles at him. "I wish there was something we could do to help John and Monica with their house hunting."

"You know, it's too bad that I grew up as Bill Mulder's son. If I'd grown up instead with..." Mulder trails off, looking at the impressionable little boy waiting for his next toss. "...him, I might know the right people."

Her brow furrows in confusion. "Who, realtors?"

"No, the type of people who could disappear a family with a five bedroom house in this neighborhood."

"It would be nice to have them living nearby," Scully says wistfully, "but I'm not sure they're thinking about DC."

"Doesn't having our closest friends slash former coworkers living down the street strike you as a little sitcom-y?" Mulder asks.

She shrugs. "So?"

"Aww, never mind."

* * *

Later

"Mom, can I ask you a question?" Page asks, coming into the room while Scully changes Brianna into her pajamas. Zoe is already dozing in her crib. "It's about having babies."

Oh boy, Scully thinks but doesn't say. "Sure, Sweetie. What's on your mind?"

"Well... I was talking to Hannah, and she said that Monica and her dad are gonna have a baby."

"They are," Scully agrees, wondering when the question will come into the conversation.

"But they're not married. Don't people need to be married to have a baby?" Page asks, looking confused. "I thought they did."

"Actually...no, people don't have to be married to have a baby. It's often better for the baby if they are, but single people can have babies too."

"Wait, single? Like Jamie's mom after her divorce?" Page looks worried. "Does that mean that Monica and the baby aren't gonna live with Hannah and Luke and Gibson?"

"Don't worry. John and Monica are buying a house. Hannah's little brother or sister, and Monica, will live with her."

"Mom, if they're going to live together, why don't they just get married?"

Scully snorts. "John wonders that too, Page, but Monica says she doesn't believe in marriage."

"That's so weird."

"I think it's a little strange too," Scully admits.

"Well, I believe in marriage," Page declares. "I'm gonna get married."

"Oh, are you? To who?" Scully teases.

"Dunno, I haven't met him yet. Maybe I'll meet him at work, like you did Daddy."

"Maybe you will."

"Can I ask another question about babies?"

Scully braces herself for the question she's been waiting for as the kids get older: how come you and Daddy only got married seven months before I was born? "Sure."

"Does it bother you that both of the babies said Dada way sooner than Mama?"

"Um..." Scully is so surprised by this completely different line of questioning that she can't think for a moment.

"Mom?" Page looks mildly concerned.

Three months after uttering their first words, Zoe and Brianna still say Dada a lot more often than Mama. "No. Dada is easier for a baby to say, so they often say it first."

"Was my first word Dada, too?"

Scully smiles. "Surely I've told you the story about your first word."

"I don't remember."

"Let me tell you then. Daddy and I were on a case at a zoo..."

* * *

JCTTIOT Film Studio  
October 7th, 2003

"That's a wrap!"

Mulder stands and walks off the stage, eager to remove his makeup. He knows why the studio insists on putting him and Reed in makeup too, but he's never quite felt comfortable with how it feels on his skin.

Just before he reaches his dressing room, he spots a familiar bald head and makes a detour. As he gets closer, his eyes widen in surprise: he wasn't mistaken. "Skinner? What are you doing here?"

"Mulder."

"Did Wayne get you in to watch the show tape?" Mulder asks, wondering if Skinner was there earlier and just didn't get noticed.

"No, actually-"

"Skinman!" Wayne calls across the studio. He makes his way to Skinner quickly. "I was wondering where you went."

"I got lost after hitting the head," Skinner says gruffly.

This doesn't surprise Mulder because visitors to the studio often find navigating away from the restrooms confusing. The first time the kids visited the studio, it had taken fifteen minutes to find Jared.

Wayne seems to suddenly realize that Mulder is with Skinner. "Mulder, why don't you call Dana, Mary, and Aldous? It was going to be a surprise, but considering you've figured it out..."

"Figured what out?" Mulder asks, bewildered.

His boss makes a shooing motion with his hands, so Mulder returns to the stage where his wife is chatting with the other doctor, and being glared at by Reed for no discernible reason. "Hey, Wayne wants to talk to us."

"What, now? Can't we change first?" Reed asks disdainfully.

"You'll have to ask Wayne," Mulder says, looping his arm through Scully's. Even Mary Green is staring at Reed's childish behavior.

Reed continues to fume like a primadonna for a minute before joining the rest of his cast-members in front of Wayne. Wayne beams at them, and Mulder wonders if he's the only one who feels uneasy. Scully and Mary don't seem to, and Reed looks so put out anyway that it's hard to tell, so he assumes that he is.

"Mary, Aldous, I'd like to introduce you to Walter Skinner, assistant director of the FBI," Wayne says, and Reed immediately interrupts.

"Don't tell me, he's the one who authorized these two-" Reed hooks his thumb in Mulder and Scully's direction. "-wasting taxpayers' money."

Like so many people before him, Wayne simply ignores Reed's outbursts. "Like Dana and Mulder used to be, AD Skinner here is involved in paranormal cases. He's graciously agreed to take part in our Halloween episode."

"As a guest?" Scully asks hopefully.

Wayne shakes his head. "No. We're doing something really special for Halloween this year. A live episode!"

For once the quartet is on the same page, and they exchange alarmed looks. Wayne pretends not to notice, but Skinner clearly does.

"The network is going to call it the Spooktacular Halloween Episode," Wayne adds.

"Ridiculous!" Reed grumbles. Mulder can't find it within himself to disagree.

"What's the, uh, theme of the episode?" Mary asks nervously.

Wayne puts his arm around Skinner's shoulder. "That's where AD Skinner comes in. His agents have been asked to investigate a haunting in Laurel Canyon."

"What, Houdini's ghost?" Mulder asks with a smirk. To his surprise, Wayne nods.

"Exactly."

"But the Houdini mansion burned down before I was born," Mulder protests. "You don't really mean to have us spend an hour on live TV stumbling around a burned out building."

"Think of the atmosphere, Mulder!" Wayne enthuses. "Ruins have so much more haunting cred than a boring intact house."

"Uh..."

"And the whole hour won't be taken up by the four of you, well six actually when you count AD Skinner's agents, 'stumbling in the dark.' Actually-" Wayne turns his head to look at Mary Green. "Mary won't be joining you."

"I won't?"

"No. You'll be in Scranton, Pennsylvania during that hour."

"Oh good, I've always wanted to go to Scranton," Mary says faintly. Scully gives her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Why?" Reed demands to know. "What could possibly be of interest in Scranton?"

Mulder wonders the same thing, but doesn't bother to ask as well.

"The Houdini Museum," Wayne tells them. "Houdini died on Halloween night in 1926, and for ten years after his wife Bess conducted an annual Halloween séance to try and contact him. After that a group of magicians continued the practice for many years. These days the annual séance is conducted in the museum. So, Mary will go there so our viewers can observe that, too."

"So..." Scully says slowly, "You're expecting a 50% failure rate at best, correct?"

"I don't follow," Wayne admits.

"We can't see a ghost in California and have it show up for a chat at a séance in Pennsylvania at the same time," Scully points out. "Even a ghost can't be in two places at once."

Wayne shrugs. "I don't think the producers are expecting either place to really have a cameo by Harry Houdini."

"Then why do it?" Mulder asks.

"Word has it that a new show for the 2004 season is in development - a team of ghost hunters will be investigating homes that the owners claim are haunted."

"Why would anyone watch something like that?" Scully wonders. "They're sure to see week after week of nothing. I'm pretty sure that's the point of that family channel show Scariest Places on Earth and nothing ever happens on that show."

"Nothing ever happens on any show on the Family Channel," Mulder mutters.

Wayne ignores Mulder's interruption. "I don't know why, but the test market suggests that viewers are eager for this sort of thing. Producers thought we'd cash in early on that."

"Is that show, the ghost hunters one, going to be on the same network as Jose Chung's, or a different one?" Reed asks.

"I don't think that's been fully hashed out, yet."

"Let's say it isn't," Reed says, "They wouldn't change this show to parrot that one, would they?"

Wayne holds up his hand when they all start to protest. "That was one of my first questions to the network execs. They said no, but they are interested in making a similar show with a team of ghost hunters of their own if the network doesn't get it. The ratings are too high on this show to quote mess with what works end quote."

Mulder feels relief, and sees it mirrored on his costars' faces. "Say Wayne, just how good are our ratings?"

"Um..."

* * *

Hoover Building  
The Next Day

"Agents. Thank you for coming up here," Skinner says nervously.

Doggett is tempted to exchange a look with Reyes, but doesn't. Something has obviously alarmed Skinner enough to be polite - Skinner never thanks them for doing their job like this. He hopes that it is nothing too awful.

"As of yesterday, there is a slight change of plans involving the Laurel Canyon case," Skinner says, and both of his agents look at him expectantly. "Um... it's going to be shelved until the end of the month, at which time you will be accompanied by a film crew."

Reyes gives him a puzzled smile. "Our case is going to be filmed?"

Skinner shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Yes."

She does not look less confused by his admission. "Why? Is it some sort of internal audit to check that we are following procedures?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Skinner sighs. "You will also be accompanied by the cast of Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There."

"We're what?" Doggett sputters in alarm. "Why on earth is this case going to be televised? That is the intent, isn't it? There would be no point to having them there, and filming it otherwise."

"I thought you would enjoy working with Mulder and Scully again," Skinner says evasively.

"Sir? Is our case going to be the basis of an episode of the TV show?" Reyes asks plaintively.

Eventually Skinner nods. "The Halloween episode. The live Halloween episode."

"Oh for God's sake," Doggett mutters. "Back when they agreed to do the show, Mulder told me that the show's producer is a college friend of yours. Does he have some sort of dirt on you? Did you go through a cross-dressing phase, maybe? Accidentally kill a hooker while on spring break in Bangkok?"

Skinner gives Doggett a look that could burn holes into him. "Remember yourself, Agent Doggett."

Doggett holds up a hand in a make-peace gesture. "I'm not trying to be insulting, Sir, I'm just trying to figure out what on earth this man has done to deserve letting him disrupt the FBI not once, but twice."

"Don't make mountains out of molehills, Agent Doggett. Being filmed is no great hardship. I expected both of you to do an exemplary job anyway, so this should not put any additional pressure on you."

"Have you watched the show?" Reyes asks unexpectedly. "The other doctor, Mary Green, seems like a reasonable person, but that writer Aldous Reed..." she breaks off shaking her head.

Doggett jumped in. "Hardly an episode goes by when viewers aren't left wondering who pissed in his cornflakes."

Reyes nods. "Frankly, Sir, Reed is a di...uh, jerk."

"Be that as many, I'm sure that to trained professionals such as yourselves can handle one cranky TV personality," Skinner says dismissively.

Frustrated, Doggett and Reyes admit defeat to themselves. Whatever Federman has on Skinner must be damn good, is all that Doggett can conclude.

"The FBI has nothing to hide," Skinner says firmly. "This episode provides the Bureau an opportunity to display a transparency that the public often complains is lacking."

"So it's a public relations ploy."

Skinner does not reply to this assertion. "Federman said that you are welcome to bring your kids, and they can watch with the film crew."

Doggett is not sure that he should thank Skinner for that, but he does anyway.

* * *

The Doggett-Reyes home

When they get back to Doggett's place, his eyes scan the living room, and he notices just how much of Monica's stuff is already in his house. Though she has kept up the lease on her apartment, she practically lives with them anyway. And, the cramming of her belongings into the space as well only serves to highlight how small it is. It didn't feel overly spacious when it was just him, Luke, and Hannah, and now with Gibson and Monica, and a new baby on the way, his home is beginning to remind him a sardine can.

"We have to move."

"What?" Reyes asks, not privy monologue that has just run through his mind.

"I was just thinkin' about how small this place is. Made me wonder about how we're gonna fit buying a house into our schedule."

"We'll manage."

"I sure hope so."

"So are we going to tell them?"

"Tell us what?" Luke asks as he and his brother and sister wander into the living room as well.

Gibson looks at him. "She's thinking about Halloween, but that's all I can figure out."

"Stop that!" Reyes looks exasperated. "Am I going to have to think about brick walls around you?"

Gibson gives her a blank look.

She sighs. "You've never seen Village of the Damned."

"Nope."

Doggett whistles sharply, and everyone looks at him. "Skinner is making us let the Jose Chung show tape the case we have in California."

Luke looks impressed. "So you're gonna be on TV?"

"Yes," Doggett says morosely.

"You should be psyched. Not everyone gets to be on TV," Luke admonishes. "And you don't even have to eat bugs to do it."

"That's it. Nobody in this house is watching Fear Factor anymore."

"Aww!" All three of the kids groan, though only Hannah thinks he is serious.

"When? When are you going to be on TV?" Doggett's daughter asks.

"Halloween night," Reyes tells her.

"And you are coming with us," Doggett tells them. "The producer said that you guys can watch with the tech people."

"Cool!" Gibson exclaims with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.

"Well, at least somebody's happy about this." Doggett looks sour still, so Reyes gives his arm a squeeze.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
October 31st, 2003  
7 a.m.

Sammy follows Mulder from room to room as Mulder raids both the laundry room and his closet for clothes. His oldest son has kept up a steady stream of objections about his parents leaving.

"But what about trick-or-treating?"

"What about it? Michelle and grandma Teena are going to take you." Mulder is still surprised by his mother's offer, but grateful. "Just because Mom and I aren't going to be here doesn't mean that you won't have fun. You had fun last year, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but that was different," Sammy insists. "Won't Zoe and Brianna be sad that you're not here for their birthday?"

"Sammy, your sisters are a year old. They have no idea of that today's their birthday. It's not going to bother them at all that were not going to celebrate their birthday until this weekend," Mulder does not add that it does bother Scully. That's no way to win an argument with a determined eight-year-old. "In fact, they will have more fun this weekend when mom and I have the whole day home, unlike just at night we would have had if we'd gone to work as usual today."

"But Dad!"

"Look, Kiddo. You are old enough to understand now that we have certain obligations for work. We don't work for fun, we work because we like to have things like heat, and food. I think you and your siblings enjoy those sorts of things too."

"Yeah..." Sammy admits.

Mulder gives him a hug. "We should be home before you wake up tomorrow. Your grandmother said she will check your candy for you, so you can have some before bed. And, you can all stay up until the show is over."

"Even William?"

"Even William. I doubt he'll care about the show, but he can stay up too."

"And can we call our aunts' houses to see if our cousins can stay up and watch too?" Sammy wheedles.

"If you do it right after school. I don't want you calling while Missy or Samantha's families are having dinner."

"Good," Sammy gives his father a sidelong look. "Can you wake me up when you get home? So I know your flight went good?"

Mulder stares at him for a second, comprehension dawning on him. He and Scully have to break themselves up the habit of watching the news when the kids are around. Sammy and April had been pretty broken up after seeing a report about the plane crash a few weeks earlier.

"I will wake you up," Mulder promises.

"Okay."

Sammy doesn't look relieved, but at least he allows Mulder to finish packing and gets off to the bus stop with his sisters.

* * *

Laurel Canyon, California  
6:40 p.m. PST/ 9:40 p.m. EST

Although the producers of the Jose Chung show offered to provide the technical support team a trailer, the man in charge, Dave Holt, insisted that it would be better to just set up on the grounds, where they would have more room than in a cramped vehicle.

It is in Dave's care that Doggett's children are left. Dave likes children, so he has enjoyed showing the three of them the monitors. He jabs a thick finger at another one of the monitors. "And that is the Houdini Museum in Scranton. We have a live feed from there, so we will be able to check in on the séance periodically."

"So there's another film crew there too, right?" Luke asks with interest.

"Yup, but I'm the man who gets their feed onto the air too."

"Neat," Hannah says, though she is not actually paying attention to the conversation. Instead her eyes are fixed on the shiny equipment in front of them. Gibson keeps putting his hand out to keep her from touching things.

"The nice thing about the séance is that they agreed to hold it at ten this year," Dave tells them. "I don't know what time they usually have it, but I'm pretty sure it's not at ten."

"Maybe they hold it at twelve," Hannah suggests. "'cause that's the witching hour. But Luke do they have a ghosting hour?"

"Not that I know of."

Gibson looks at the burly tech supervisor. "Our dad thinks that Wayne Federman has a lot of dirt on people, and that's why he gets them to do what he wants. Is that true?"

Dave gives a surprise guffaw of laughter. "If it was, do you think I'd be admitting it?"

"Just so you know, he reads minds," Hannah tells the tech supervisor.

"Okay..." Dave replies, obviously humoring her. "Let's see if we can figure out where your folks are. We're going to begin airing in 20 minutes, so I am sure they are just about in place."

* * *

The Houdini Museum  
Scranton, PA  
6:59 PM PST/9:59 PM EST

In two time zones, the floor director in Pennsylvania, after briefly relaying Dave's last-minute orders, gives the countdown in everyone's earphones, 'And we're live in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three,' and abruptly cuts off. Mulder, Scully, and Dr. Mary Green give each other a brief look before Wayne Federman smiles broadly for the camera as he stands on the relatively small stage, red curtain and all behind him. 'Welcome to the Spooktacular Halloween edition of 'Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There'. I'm Wayne Federman, your host. Tonight, we're spotlighting a very special guest, one we hope will give us the pleasure of his presence.

"To ensure the sighting of our elusive guest, we're even having a live broadcast in two locations, in fact. And if you haven't been paying attention to the TV ads these past couple of weeks, allow me to enlighten you as to our guest: Mr. Harry Houdini!'

There's a smattering of applause, mainly from the regular séance attendees.

'And in case you've been living under a rock, or aren't familiar with American pop history, Harry Houdini was the greatest magician and escape artist who ever lived, as you can see by the various displays here that he escaped from,' he waves a hand around the room, which has been lit up like a Christmas tree for this exact purpose.

Wayne pauses in front of a framed portrait of Harry Houdini, and the scene switches to a second camera focused on the enlarged black and white photograph. 'Like many entertainers, Harry Houdini wasn't his real name, it was Ehrich Weiss, and because of his admiration for the great magician Jean Eugene Robert-Houdin, whom he named himself after, one could say he escaped living the life a relatively normal man.' He smiles, and the main camera's back on him. 'The thing is, after his mother passed away, he, like so many others during his time and ours, sought to contact her. But he found the mediums to be using the same types of tricks he used for his shows, so he made another career out of debunking them. Still, Houdini figured that, out of anyone, he would be the one to escape the silence of the afterlife and pass a message on to his wife Bess.

'Thanks to Bess, we all know Houdini's last message, a code, really, from their stage days: 'Rosabelle- answer- tell- pray, answer- look- tell- answer, answer- tell'. Basically, what he meant to say was, 'Believe', which is what we are asking you to do, with the help of our friends at The Houdini Museum in Scranton, Pennsylvania.' He turns to a middle-aged blonde woman, 'Thank you for allowing us to be a part of this, Dorothy Dietrich.' Dietrich nods, murmuring her thanks and shaking his hand.

'And you in the television audience are already familiar with our panel, Fox Mulder, Dr. Dana Scully, and Dr. Mary Green.' The three regulars nod at the camera with the large '3' on it.

'We won't be hosting the séance, or test, as Houdini's wife would call it, in this room. Instead, we will be holding it in a more, shall we say, cosy room?' Wayne looks at Dorothy, who smiles a little and nods. 'In fact, we'll be holding it where The Houdini Museum always hosts their séances, in a room full of Houdini's memorabilia and posters, is that correct?' he turns to the blonde woman, who nods again. 'And if you're not familiar with the lovely Ms. Dietrich, she's quite a formidable magician in her own right, performing stunts even Houdini hadn't attempted.'

Dorothy tilts her head, which doesn't dislodge the long blonde ponytail from her left shoulder. 'Well, just a couple, really,' she says modestly, 'but after starting out doing magic tricks with animals, most people know me as the woman who escapes from straitjackets, catches bullets or saws men in half.'

'Whoa, remind me to be on your good side,' Wayne jokes, while Mulder smiles unrepentantly. 'And you've been doing these séances on Halloween?'

She nods. 'Well, this was the day Houdini died, and Bess Houdini thought it only fitting. Of course, when the tenth séance failed, she declared, 'Ten years is long enough to wait for any man!' and stopped them. But she did ask her friend and magician William Gibson to continue the tradition, and before Will died, he asked me to carry on. It used to be held in New York over at the Magic Towne House where Houdini used to perform, but I figured that location shouldn't affect where one could summon the great escape artist, so I moved it here. But I also hear that Houdini's ghost has made an appearance at his old California mansion?' she raises an eyebrow.

Wayne nods, smiling. 'And that's why we're hosting the Halloween edition of the Jose Chung show in two locations tonight. It's possible that the clever escape artist could make himself known here or,' he pauses, and the camera zooms in, 'in the very home where he used to reside, and the ruins in which people claim to have sighted the great Houdini. Find out along with us tonight if he should appear here, or there.' His smile grows wider. 'In fact, I think we should have a look at what actual FBI agents are investigating over in Laurel Canyon, California.' He puts his hand to his ear. 'Agent Reyes, can you hear me?'

* * *

Houdini's Mansion  
Laurel Canyon, CA  
7:15 PM PST/10:15 PM EST

There's a slight delay, but the brunette agent, almost blending in with the background, replies. 'Loud and clear,' Reyes says, and the camera goes from a close-up to a wide pan of the area. It appears she's accompanied by a couple of camera men and a couple of scowling men, one who somewhat resembles the second Terminator in a suit and tie, while the other is dressed like a stereotypical professor. From the artificial lights of the road and the camera crew, the ruins of the Houdini mansion look less like the remains of a house and more like a giant abandoned play set, with the servant's quarters standing in solitary gloom.

'Seen anything unusual yet?' Wayne says to a small TV monitor with the California feed, although the audience only sees Agent Reyes.

The brunette woman smiles and shrugs. 'I wish,' she says, 'so far, just curious people wanting to know why the cameras are out here and if they can be on TV, too.'

'Whoa-ho-ho oh-no, sorry, no can do, Miss FBI, legal stuff and all that,' the host says, lapsing into his usual Wayne-speak for a moment. 'So tell me, how exactly is it that the FBI is investigating the case of a man who's supposed to be decades dead?'

'Yes, perhaps you'd like to enlighten us taxpayers as to which drain our money goes,' Aldous Reed says snidely.

To both Aldous' and Reyes' surprise, it's Doggett who answers. 'There've been so-called sightings around here for quite some time, in spite of the place being deserted for decades. But recently, there have been reports of would-be poltergeist activity around the area. If it turns out to be some drunk teens, that's fine with me.' He sighs, his eyes constantly scanning the premises, a carry-over from both the Gulf War and being a beat cop in New York. 'But people have gotten injured, especially since it's been bricks from the ruins. It's possible with all the lights and cameras that we've scared off the perpetrators, but if not,' and he slides his eyes over at Reed, 'you can deal with the consequences, can't you? After all, I don't wanna waste taxpayers' money trying to evict a something like a ghost.' And he turns away abruptly and walks off, not wanting to waste either time or breath on the show's resident skeptic.

Reyes blinks, then smiles at the camera. 'What he said,' she says. 'It seems someone or something chooses his targets indiscriminately, whether its locals or tourists, male or female, young or old, makes no difference. The latest victim was a twenty-something tourist couple driving by in a convertible, top down, of course.' She shakes her head. 'We've set traps to try and catch the perpetrator in the act, but so far, no luck.' Now she looks around. 'Like Agent Doggett said, it's possible that our presence, with or without the cameras, has spooked the spook, so to speak.'

'Agent Reyes, if I may,' Wayne interjects, and the scene goes back to the Pennsylvania location, 'are you a believer? In the supernatural, I mean?'

The director switches the feed back to California for her reply. She smiles warmly. 'I believe in keeping an open mind, don't you?' she says. 'After all, Houdini himself said, 'Magic is the sole science not accepted by scientists, because they can't understand it.' And if science can't explain everything, what can?'

'Not another loony-tunes believer,' Aldous groans. 'No wonder they put me out here in the middle of nowhere.'

The camera crew roll their eyes but keep their cameras steady, so well accustomed to the skeptic's theatrics. 'You're not in the middle of nowhere, you're in California, and a somewhat well-traveled part of it, judging by the constant traffic,' Reyes corrects him. 'And you know, you're a believer, too.'

The skeptic looks positively scandalized by her accusation. 'I most certainly am not,' he hisses.

She shakes her head, trying not to smile too widely when she realizes that, even though he's not looking, Doggett's paying attention to the conversation. 'I can definitively prove that you take something very important on faith, rather than on your five senses.'

Reed lifts his chin, such as it is. 'Oh?'

'Your safety,' she says, her tone deceptively even.

'My safety?' Aldous repeats after a beat, a trifle higher than he would've liked.

And now she smiles. 'You assume that because you're on national television, that nothing would happen to you, correct? Yet you take it on faith,' she emphasizes the word, 'that these camera men would drop their equipment to help you, or that Agent Doggett and I would protect you. But that could just be an assumption, based on the fact that we are professionals in our respective fields, and not, say, people who simply like to waste taxpayer money.' And she shrugs. 'Like I said, it's something you have to take on faith, since you've never met Agent Doggett or me before, and you don't know how the camera crew will react in a life-threatening situation. But don't worry, we'd never let anything happen to you. Well, we'd /try/ not to,' and out of Reed's sight, she winks at the camera.

It's at this point that Dave switches over to the commercial break before the other FBI agent can join in taunting the skeptic on a live, nationally-televised broadcast, no matter how entertaining that would be. After all, it's the commercials that pay the bills, not the verbal take-down of a pompous jerk.

* * *

The Mulder and Scully home  
7:26 PM PST/10:26 PM EST

Most of the kids are miraculously asleep by this time, in spite of all the Halloween goodies they've amassed. Perhaps it's because Teena Mulder insisted they pick their 'most favorite candy' and save the rest until their parents come back, and asked them to drink the warm cider she made especially for them while they told her their scariest stories and favorite costumes they wore.

Michelle, for her part, thought the woman was rather canny, in spite of her rare visitations. "Okay, David and Jared are tucked in," she tells the grandmother, who smiles and nods.

"Gramma Teena, how come Mommy and Daddy aren't with Uncle John and Aunty Monica? Wouldn't that make more sense?" Page asks.

"Maybe," the white-haired woman answers, "but you'll notice that there's quite a lot of people with your parents' friends. I'm sure too many would scare off whoever they're trying to catch." She doesn't mention Mulder telling her that Wayne decided at the last moment that most of them ought to go to the museum instead to avoid Reed's inevitable temper tantrums.

"Yeah, but they're stuck with that meanie," the little blonde girl scowls. "If Mommy and Daddy were there, they'd catch the bad guys in no time."

Teena Mulder smiles in the faith her granddaughter has in her parents. "Well, I think your 'aunt' and 'uncle' want to catch the bad guy by themselves, and they should be allowed to do that, right?"

Page opens her mouth to protest, then nods. "Yeah, I guess." Then she says, "Sammy, do you-" But her question dies when she sees her younger brother asleep on the floor, facing the TV. "I can't believe he's sleeping, he's the one who wanted to watch Mommy and Daddy the most," she declares.

"Then perhaps it's a good thing we're recording this program," Teena says, looking at the nanny, who nods. It's a good thing the nanny had the foresight to set up the machine, even after all this time and Fox's repeated efforts, she still hadn't quite gotten the hang of it. "He can watch it with your parents when they come home."

"That's okay, because this part's boring," April says, the only other sibling awake. "They're just patting them down like they do on cop shows."

Now Page turns back to the TV. "Why? They're not the bad guys!"

* * *

The Houdini Museum  
7:31 PM PST/10:31 PM EST

Before going into the room where the séance is to be held, the host, panelists and even the camera crew, undergo a rather thorough search that's only mildly less invasive than a full-body strip and cavity search (they are on national TV, after all). "Thorough, aren't you?" Wayne cracks as Mulder rolls his eyes.

After that, they are squished into a room that can only be described as a trophy room, and when they see how cramped it is, what with some former escape devices and personal items filling up nearly every space but the middle, they realize that's why the "live audience members" can only watch from the monitors in the stage room. There are no windows, but there are countless framed posters of Houdini and his previous performances.

The lenient skeptic looks up at one of the posters which declares, "Do Spirits Return? Houdini says NO - and Proves It!" Mary asks Dorothy, "I understand you debunk mediums yourself, especially when they concern Houdini. So why hold a séance? Isn't that like a contradiction?"

Mulder and Scully are also curious about Dorothy's answer. The blonde woman smiles. "Actually, no. In fact, when Houdini was starting out as a magician, he'd hold séances as entertainment. It was only after finding the mediums were doing the same kinds of tricks he was that he became disillusioned with contacting the afterlife. However, as a magician and performer, it's quite satisfying to host a séance regardless of your personal beliefs. Besides, you never know if Houdini might actually show up, right?"

Wayne nods. "Which is why I wanted all of us to experience this test with Dorothy Dietrich, since she'll be bringing both a magician's and a skeptic's perspective to this."

"So have you never experienced the supernatural?" Mulder asks, curious.

The blonde gives him a weary but understanding smile. "I guess, having seen every trick in the book, I'm just waiting for someone or something to surprise me one day. So far, I haven't been surprised."

"Trust me, sooner or later, you'll probably run into something that'll surprise you. God knows being around this man certainly did," Scully says, heartfelt.

"Scully, are you trying to change this show's rating from a TV PG to a TV MA in one night? You saucy girl, you," he chuckles, while Scully rolls her eyes and Mary sighs.

"Anyone ever tell you what a cute couple you are?" Dorothy grins.

Mulder hugs his wife to his side, while she's got a miffed-cat look on her face. "Not enough," he smiles.

"Kids, kids, behave yourselves," Wayne says, in his usual, somewhat vaudeville barker-like delivery, "we"re in front of ladies."

"Darn tootin"," Dorothy agrees. "Any more questions, Mary?"

"How on earth can you hold séances in here?" Mary says, half-smiling. "There's barely enough room for us here, I can't imagine what it's like with your regular crowds."

"Ah, well, that's the beauty of this place," the blonde woman nods. "It forces you to have a more intimate venue, and in a way, it makes the séance much more effective than if we had it in someplace like the stage room. I suppose it's like what people performing at coffeehouses rather than stadiums have, there's more of a connection with the audience."

"You"re not spilling any trade secrets, are you, Dorothy?" Wayne jokes.

"Of course not," Dorothy replies, smiling. "I'm sure with your background, you would"ve noticed the difference immediately."

While Wayne puffs up with pride, the camera crew have finished their preparations, one camera man constantly filming the conversation while the other two have set up the infrared cameras. "We"re ready," the man on camera one says.

"Thanks, Jerry," Wayne nods. "Ready?" he asks Dorothy.

The middle-aged blonde nods, then looks at each of the participants. "Okay, a few ground rules before we start. I want you to stand in more of a circle and hold hands with the person next to you. And Jerry, could you turn off all the lights except for the light above and dim that?" The camera man nods, shutting off the portable lights, leaving only the simple chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and the other camera men turn on the infrared cameras. "As much as possible, I want you all to be silent. And don't let go of the other person, no matter what." Mary raises her eyebrows at this, but says nothing.

As they stand, since there's no room for chairs, Mary's holding Dorothy's right hand, while Mulder is to Dorothy's left, and Scully is on his left, with Wayne on her left, and Mary on his left.

"All right," Dorothy looks to her left, then to her right, then closes her eyes. With that nonverbal cue, everyone pays attention. In a clear, strong voice, she calls out, "Mr. Harry Houdini, this is Dorothy Dietrich! I call upon you to give us a sign, a message, even an appearance, if you"re able!"

Mary shakes her head, while Scully is simply observing the procedure, and Mulder is enjoying himself. Wayne, for his part, is looking around, as if expecting something to happen.

Dorothy, however, simply nods. "Harry," she says in her carrying voice, and it's obvious she's had years of performing on stage rather than on camera because there's really no need to project in such a small space, "I know you"re there. I know you"re listening. I know you can't help but be curious, on this night of all nights. And I know that, consummate showman that you are, you want to appear. Give us a sign, Harry, give us a sign." And she bends her head slightly downward, as if listening from someone higher than herself. And everyone starts to strain their eyes and ears for something, even a whisper or a moving shadow.

Then the magician's eyes fly open, startling Mary. "Harry!" Dorothy barks, making some audience members jump, her command a surprise after the seemingly-endless silence. "You think I don't know who I'm talking to? Fine!" And with that, the panelists begin to levitate, making them, including Wayne, squeak with surprise and a little fear.

Both Mulder and Scully find themselves double-checking that both Mary and Mulder are holding Dorothy's hands, and that there's nothing from the ceiling or floor pulling strings on them, but as per orders, they"re all holding each other's hands tightly. As Scully looks around for the source of the upward motion, the panelists settle back down on the floor, to their relief.

"Come on, Harry, this ought to be duck soup considering where you are now," Dorothy says, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Give us a sign."

Wayne, however, is simply thrilled with the séance, wondering what will happen next.

* * *

Houdini's Mansion  
Laurel Canyon, CA  
7:39 PM PST/10:39 PM EST

Dave Holt readjusts his headset, then grins. "And we"re live!" he says, raising a finger, then points at the agents and Gibson turns to his sister, putting a finger to his lips. And the television audience comes in the middle of a patented Aldous Reed rant.

"Shut up," Doggett growls at Aldous, who's going on and on about poltergeists being an excuse for psychologically immature people.

"If you can't make a decent argument, don't tell me to shut up," the prudish man replies.

It's clear the FBI agent has truly lost his patience with this man and puts his hand over the other man's mouth. "I mean, shut up so I can hear what's going on, unless you wanna get hit with a brick. Capiche?" He stares until Aldous nods. "Good." But he waits a few seconds before removing his hand, then signals Reyes to move to his side. She nods, and they pull out flashlights and guns in a well-practiced move, making Aldous considerably more nervous than before.

The boys look at each other and grin. This is pretty much the closest Luke's been on a case with his father, and being able to watch it live and on TV is rather surreal, like a videogame. And not unlike a videogame, Dave's hand-eye coordination is pretty intense, since he has to keep track of which camera has the best shot to present to the audience, giving directions every once in a while.

They"ve switched over to infrared quite some time ago, so onscreen, the agents and panelist look like they glow green in the dark. Still, in spite of the darkness, Doggett somehow manages to keep tabs on his partner, the annoying tag-along, and the three camera men and steers them all where he wants them. Even through the tinny speakers, it's clear he's in charge, and Dave turns up the volume with a free hand.

Then the director pulls off the left side of his headset. "Okay, they"re far enough so they can't pick us up," Dave says, his eyes still on the monitors. "Feel free to talk now."

"You sure?" Hannah says.

"Oh yeah," he says, "otherwise, I'd hear us in the speakers." He taps the jerry-rigged speakers on the table.

"So, are they on the right track?" Luke asks Gibson.

Gibson frowns. "I'm not sure, but I think there's something out there," he mutters.

"Where? I don't see anything," Dave says, squinting at the monitors. "You boys aren't planning a prank on national TV, are you?"

"No, no prank," Gibson answers, not wanting to confuse the guy any more than he has to be tonight. After all, he's got his hands full with them, plus his regular job, which is catching the action and putting it onscreen. "What if they can't find the guy and it goes on longer than an hour?"

"Huh? Well, then I guess we'll put an update for next week's show," Dave answers, his eyes still on the screens. "But Wayne said your folks were about ready to wrap up the case, so it shouldn't take long."

"Famous last words," Luke intones, making Hannah giggle.

"Ha, ha," Dave says, "kid, don't jinx us."

"Oh, the mean man fell down!" Hannah exclaims.

Her brothers look at the main monitor, which shows Aldous Reed looking around, wide-eyed, as if trying to find the person that tripped him. "Who did that?" he snaps, although his voice is rather thin.

"Just a tree," one of the camera men says, using a penlight to show the exposed root without killing the infrared.

"I knew that," Aldous says, but the kids roll their eyes, and Dave's fairly sure the audience isn't buying it, either.

"Hey, you guys, get a move on," Doggett calls out, and the skeptic scrambles to his feet and starts running. "No, this way," the agent corrects him, "just follow our lights."

"John, I think I saw something," Reyes says, and the camera guy on her detail pans around, trying to get a glimpse of what she's talking about.

"I need you to zoom in," Dave says through his headset, and the camera does so. "I can't see anything, can you?"

"No," the camera guy mutters softly.

"Okay, zoom out, and put Monica back in a medium shot. Yeah, that's great," Dave nods, even though the camera man can't see it.

"I don't see anything," Hannah frowns. "Can you?"

"Nope, but I think Monica's kinda like Gib," Luke says, making his slightly younger brother roll his eyes.

"No, they both have been on the X-Files long enough to know when they"re not alone," Gibson corrects him. "Even you would, if you were thrown into a life-endangering situation long and often enough."

Luke scowls, then frowns, an odd feeling that isn't quite déjà vu coming over him. Weird. But brushes it off because Aldous Reed distracts them by running into a tree and making them laugh.

"Hey, do any of you have a spare flashlight Reed can use? Otherwise people will think we"re filming a comedy," Dave says, but double-checking the computer to ensure this is all being recorded.

"You mean it's not?" Luke grins.

"Quiet in the peanut gallery," Dave grumbles, and the teens shrug at each other. Peanut gallery?

But a shriek from the other monitor gets their attention, and Dave throws the feed to the Scranton location.

* * *

The Houdini Museum  
7:46 PM PST/10:46 PM EST

"Mary, are you okay?" Wayne asks, concerned, as the lone chandelier light comes back on.

The woman is pale, but nods, and smiles weakly. "I guess I just got caught up, is all," she says, after clearing her throat. "Sorry."

The blonde woman nods, as if it's to be expected. "Should I try again?" she asks.

Mary nods, more firmly this time. "Yes, please."

Dorothy smiles briefly, "All right." And she closes her eyes. "Harry, I asked politely before, and I'll try it again. Can you give us proof that it's you? And this time, can you keep the light on?"

Mary looks around nervously, Wayne keeps an eye on her, and Scully keeps her eyes on Dorothy suspiciously, while Mulder looks like he's having the time of his life. There's a long silence, and then the light flickers. Dorothy clears her throat meaningfully, and the light stays on.

Unfortunately, the cameras go wonky, and the audience (and Dave with the kids) can hear the camera crew yelling as their tiny mounted monitors wink out, the connection to the sound cuts off temporarily, and the image flickers. Then the walls shake, and then so does the floor, like a major earthquake just hit.

"Dorothy!" Wayne yells.

"It's not me!" she yells back as the chandelier and portable lights start to flicker. "Well, not this time!"

Wayne blinks, then lets go of Scully's hand to put both hands on Mary's shoulders as she covers her eyes. Scully is getting more concerned. "Has this ever happened before?" she asks.

"No," Dorothy shakes her head, her eyes scanning the area, not unlike what Doggett was doing half an hour ago in Laurel Canyon. Then she looks suspiciously at the others, the circle disintegrated now that Scully's trying to console Mary away from the still-wonky cameras, Mulder going over to the camera crew and Wayne yelling into his earpiece at Dave. "First time we"ve ever had an earthquake, but I guess there's a first time for everything."

"That wasn't an earthquake," Wayne says, taking a brief respite from yelling at his director as Scully escorts Mary out before she has a complete breakdown on national TV.

"What?" she stares at him.

The host, who looks frazzled, shrugs wide-eyed. "Dave says there wasn't an earthquake recorded in that area, only the Houdini Museum was shaking." Then he goes back to yelling at Dave.

The magician, who's simply watching everything go to hell in the space of a few minutes, sighs. "This is weird," she frowns.

Mulder perks up. "What do you mean?"

She shakes her head, still frowning. "None of my séances have every fallen apart like this. But there's gotta be a logical explanation behind this, I'm sure."

"What makes you so sure of that?" he asks.

"Because minor flubs are normal, but anything this chaotic," she waves at the cameras, Wayne yelling, Mary and Scully out in the hallway, and the camera crew desperately trying to regain control of their equipment under the flickering lights, 'this is insane."

Mulder smiles lopsided. "Well, you asked for a sign," he says.

She gives him a no-nonsense look that he'd expect from Scully, not a magician. "Ha, ha," she says flatly. "In spite of what Wayne said, I'm pretty sure it was some kind of tremor. And seismic activity has been known to play havoc with electronics."

He blinks. "Wow, guess we didn't need either Scully or Mary, you"re doing a pretty good job of being a skeptic."

Dorothy shrugs as the lights slowly get back to normal, and so do the cameras. "Like I said, I"ve seen pretty much every trick in the book. It's a pity we'll probably find the explanation long after this show stops airing, but I guess that's to be expected when Mother Nature upsets filming."

"For natural causes, it caused quite a ruckus, don't you think?" Mulder comments as Wayne and the crew tries to reset everything.

She chuckles. "You have no idea how often rain or high wind have cancelled magic shows, Mr. Mulder," she says, "but this is the first time I"ve gotten interrupted by an earthquake."

Mulder shrugs. "I'll let my wife and Mary know what's going on," he says, and the magician nods.

* * *

Houdini's Mansion  
Laurel Canyon, CA  
7:52 PM PST/10:52 PM EST

"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Dave mutters, between manning the phone, getting yelled at by Wayne, and trying to operate the switchboard at the same time. When he sees that camera two's getting a decent wide shot of the two agents, he says, "Switching to camera two," then tears off his headset and grabs a cell phone and a ratty sheet of paper with numbers and names scrawled on it.

Dialing quickly, he gets a local TV news editor over in Scranton and asks them about earthquakes. When he gets a negative response, he asks for the weather man (just barely not calling him a "weather bunny"), who confirms it with scientific backup. After hanging up, he mutters, "Shit," and pulls the headset back on.

"Wayne, Wayne, dammit, there's no earthquake," he says, "got confirmation from the local news. Yeah, and Penn State scientists, you happy?" Then he groans and yells while switching, "Camera one, you"re on!" Then he sighs, "Fuck."

The kids have pretty much figured out, since the cameras went wonky at the Houdini Museum, that Dave has pretty much forgotten about them, or he'd watch his language. So the audience has seen, after the sudden commercial break, the continuing chase scene in Laurel Canyon, with nary an explanation about the technical malfunction in Scranton. And so far, the kids doubt the audience will get an explanation at this rate. "I thought they were getting close," Luke murmurs at one point.

"Yeah," Hannah says, but quietly, because Angry Dave doesn't seem too safe right now.

"Camera three, watch it! Fuck, Steve, get your ass in gear!" the tech director shouts.

Steve mutters, but it's thankfully indistinct to both the audience and the children. Luke and Gibson look at each other, then at Hannah. "Come on," Gibson says, taking the little dark-haired girl's hand, "let's give Dave some breathing room." Hannah nods, and they walk towards the large van they came in.

"You think this is enough breathing room for him?" Luke says, when they"re out of sight and sound. "Because I'd like to be out of range when he breathes fire."

"He breathes fire, too?" Hannah asks.

"Not literally," Gibson groans as Luke chuckles.

Then Luke frowns. "It seems they"re going all over the place," he says, "you sure you can't pick up anything definite out there?"

Gibson gives his slightly older brother a look. "You try and pick out one unfamiliar voice from fifteen," he grumbles, "all chattering at the same time, some louder than others, and determine if it's the right voice. I mean, I'm glad the cops are out there sealing off the area, but their thoughts, along with those who have been trying to sneak on, are distracting."

"Sorry," the taller teen shrugs, "I forget sometimes what you get isn't like one radio station but several at the same time."

The bespectacled boy nods, then sighs tiredly. "But I have been trying. Someone's throwing those bricks, and someone's been hassling our parents. It just bugs me that I can't figure out where he's coming from."

And then they hear Dave shout, and run back to the table. "What's happening?" Luke asks.

"Holy hell," the director says, awed, but his hands are still moving from one camera to the next to get the best shot.

Then the kids see what he, and the rest of America's looking at. It looks like a plain, middle-aged woman, in conservative dress, standing behind the ruins with a disapproving look on her face. A woman who is glowing without the aid of infrared cameras or any sort of technological help, thank you. A woman who looks exactly like the last Bess Houdini. "Who are you?" they hear Doggett call out.

The woman gives him a look. "Please leave," she says, in the voice of one accustomed to speaking on stage, loudly and clearly. And bricks, rocks and small, loose objects around her start floating. "You are on private property."

"No, ma'am," Doggett corrects her, lowering his gun as he approaches slowly, but his flashlight's still on her, 'this hasn't been private property for decades. And I'm afraid you'll have to cease and desist, or you'll be charged with aggravated assault and petty misdemeanor."

The glowing woman raises her eyebrows, then looks at Reyes, who looks just as determined and armed, as well as the camera crew still filming away, and at the intellectual who is struck dumb in one of the few moments of his life. She sighs, then puts her hands up gracefully, and the various objects drop with audible thuds. "Very well, but you should tell those hoodlums to stop making a mess of things. I don't think Harry would appreciate it," she says, sadly looking at the ruins behind them.

"We'll make sure this place is looked after, ma'am," he says politely, as if he were talking to a flesh-and-blood woman and not something glowing in the dark. "But you'll have to let us do our jobs without getting hurt, all right?"

"All right," she says, "promise?"

Doggett looks at Reyes, who nods. "Promise," he says firmly.

The woman gives him a long look, and then a brief nod, as if she believes him. And in front of two FBI agents, one certified skeptic, three camera men, one director, two teenaged boys and one girl, and the rest of America, the ghost of Bess Houdini disappears from view, and, presumably, from this plane of existence. And then Doggett feels a yank on his left earlobe. "Don't forget, then, young man," he hears in his ear, and his eyes widen slightly.

He turns his head slowly, looking to his left to see, of course, nothing. Well, the curious looks from the others, who saw him react to something, but not really seeing or hearing what it was. Great. "Guess that wraps it up, then," he says nonchalantly, as if chasing down ghosts and promising what amounted to a deal with the California Tourism Bureau and Department of Natural Resources happened all the time. "Come on, Agent, we"ve got agencies to call and a report to write." And he turns abruptly away from the cameras and the skeptic, with Reyes looking mildly amused.

"Well, guess it's your show again," the brunette agent says, giving the still-slightly dumbfounded man a wave before joining her partner and their kids in the car.

"Well, uh," Aldous Reed says, looking at Dave, who smirks and gives him a thumbs up, 'that's, um, that's it for "Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There"." He pauses, and Dave makes a rolling motion with his hands to get him to continue. "Uh, thanks for joining us," he says, as it's obvious that he's still gathering himself from the shock, "have a good night. And, uh, Halloween." And he stops, since it seems he's run out of words to say.

Dave grins as he fades out from camera one and plays the outtro video to the show. He's so going to remix this into the best bloopers reel for their Christmas party.

* * *

The X-Files Office  
November 2, 2003

All the calls have been made, all the paperwork signed, the case is finally finished, and the Houdini Museum is now on the California State Parks and Recreation list for upkeep and security. Another good note: Wayne Federman was only too happy to have a ghost on one segment of the show (even if it wasn't Harry's) and decided not to either bug the FBI agents further or sue the Penn State scientists for screwing up their initial findings. "It's too bad that it was just a seismic event," Reyes says regretfully, pushing the file drawer closed. "It would"ve made such a great story for the Houdini Museum."

Doggett shakes his head, but he's smiling. "I think there was more than enough weirdness for that show," he says, "but I'm sure that magician will make the most of that séance."

Reyes looks at the wrinkled five dollar bill in her hand. "I can't believe the boys were betting on our case," she says, "although I have to say I was relieved when even Gibson couldn't figure it out before we did."

"I can't believe we had to figure it out on TV," he says, "but it was also the drunk teens" fault, so part of that five's mine."

She sticks her tongue out. "No, this is going to the down payment for our new house," she says, waving the dollar bill.

He rolls his eyes. "In which case, we'd better get a crooked real estate agent, if that's all we have to work with," he jokes.

"John!" Reyes tries to scold him, but she's smiling, ruining the effect. "You know, maybe we should take a cue from Mulder and the Houdinis when we get a new house."

"What do you mean?" Doggett says, confused.

She smiles and sits on the desk. "I mean, getting a haunted house. Ghosts are rather effective intruder repellents, more so than most security systems."

He groans. "Usually, most people look for enough bedrooms and bathrooms for their homes, decent wiring and plumbing," he sighs. "Not ghosts."

Reyes" smile doesn't dim. "Well, maybe we could have a brownie instead, they could help with the housework," she teases him, "or perhaps set up a geis to protect the children-"

Doggett grabs her for a quick kiss before she makes any more suggestions. "Let's start with the necessary stuff first," he says when they break their kiss, 'don't worry about anything else."

"Okay," Reyes nods, "but if we get a brownie, I call dibs."

He gives her a look. "Then the kids would be too spoiled to move out of the house, and then how are we gonna kick "em out?" he says, straight-faced.

"See? I knew there was a reason why I love you," she says, pulling him in for another kiss.


	126. The Last Case

Sunday Park  
November 12, 2003  
12:09 PM

It's a gorgeous day in Webber, Georgia, with lovers scattered about the park. It's not surprising, because it's a beautiful, pristine park on the edge of a sprawling southern metropolis, and it's the closest place for a mid-day break for most everyone with a car. Young families are picnicking, college kids are playing Frisbee and hooky, and everyone pretends that spring is in the air in the middle of fall.

One couple in particular are standing on a bridge spanning the lake in the middle of the park. "It's hard to believe such a depressing rumor when we're in such a lovely place," the young woman says, her hands on the white-painted metal railing as she stares out at the scenery.

Her paramour smiles, his hand next to hers, his dark eyes likewise on the scenery. "I think it's reverse psychology," he says, "to encourage more daring couples to break the so-called curse."

The young woman looks up at her lover, who is more than twice her age. "Perhaps we could be that couple," she says.

"Perhaps," he agrees, turning to her when he sees her head movement, "after all, statistically, couples are bound to break up sooner or later, no matter where their second date is."

"Perhaps," she smiles, her eyes on the lilies floating gracefully on the surface of the lake. "It's not like there's any proof that couples don't survive their second date here."

They smile at each other, and drink warm coffee from their covered paper cups. Neither are holding hands, nor are they obviously intimate, but being able to be in such a public place and ignored is a forbidden luxury they feel they can afford, especially if they're flaunting the so-called Second Date Curse of Sunday Park

* * *

Arlington, VA  
1:27 p.m.

"Your family changes every time I see you," Helen Kosaki, the elderly but energetic real estate agent comments. "Is there something I should know?"

Reyes smiles weakly. She's on vacation, enforced partly by Skinner but mostly by her family because she was driving them nuts with the constant house-shopping. "I know women like shopping, but this is ridiculous," Doggett had grumbled a couple of nights ago, "please, for your kids' sake and mine, I think you should take some vacation time and find the house yourself."

Reyes had made a face at him. "You know I don't like shopping that much, I just want what's best for us."

He'd given her a look. "Okay, gender stereotypes aside, you're still pretty picky. I mean, we could live in any of those houses we've seen, I just don't get what's wrong with them, but you do. So you pick out our next house, okay?"

"But-," Reyes had protested.

"No buts," Doggett had interrupted before she could fully form an argument, holding her arms gently. "I'll consider this prep time for when you're actually on maternity leave in two or three months and you can consider this, I dunno, whatever you want to. I don't think this family can handle looking through twenty houses each week after school and work, is all I'm saying."

And when she saw Hannah softly snoring on the couch and the boys looking like they've gone through the Trail of Tears, she reluctantly agreed with her partner. "Okay, but if will you still feel the same if I get a haunted house?"

He'd rolled his eyes before kissing her. "I love you, Mon," he'd grinned, "you're officially on vacation."

And that's how she ended up looking for a new family home by herself. Well, mostly, if one's not counting Scully, William, Zoe and Brianna along for the ride. "These are my friends," she shrugs, giving Helen the short answer. "I'm on vacation."

The short Asian lady with dyed red hair nods. "Yeah, that's what I figured," she says with no ill will. "Come on, I've got about five houses on the list today."

"Bring them on," Reyes smiles as Scully raises her eyebrows.

"Five?" Scully repeats in an undertone as the real estate agent unlocks the door. "I know this is a buyer's market, but this is crazy."

Her brunette friend smiles again. "Well, they all look so good, but none of them really jump out at me, you know? In a way, you and Mulder are lucky, because not only get you get a great house with no mortgage, but it's got ghosts as well."

The short redhead sighs. "That wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but it did turn out okay," she smiles in spite of herself.

"And that's what I'm looking for," Reyes says. "Okay, maybe not a haunted house, although that would be cool, but something out of the ordinary." She tilts her head at the open door. "Maybe this could be the one."

"Maybe," Scully nods agreeably, and they walk inside.

* * *

November 13, 20038:17 a.m.

"Look, Agent Doggett!" the replacement agent says brightly, holding up a 402. "An X-File!"

Doggett blinks, then takes a long, slow sip of coffee before answering. "Morning, Agent Harrison," he says to the blonde woman. Maybe he should've pressured Krycek harder to accept the job, but when the former agent/former double agent/sometime good guy told him with a crooked smile, "I won't leave you any bad guys to catch," he'd taken the hint. Even Mulder had told him they'd barely survived each other's company while tracking down his father's killers because of their shared fear for their families and hatred for the Syndicate. Anything less, and the former X-File head said that Krycek would likely go rogue. "What's it this time?"

"Director Skinner said this was top priority," she says, "he told me to tell you first thing."

Doggett blinks again, then takes the file from her. Guess the early bird does get the worm, he thinks to himself, or something nasty in its mouth. Skimming the contents, his forehead creases, then sighs. "This is gonna get ugly," he tells her, "just do what I tell you, and no theorizing out loud, got it?"

Now Agent Harrison blinks. "What do you mean?"

He opens the folder. "Did you read this?" he says.

She nods, her blue eyes wide. "Yeah, it says that there's someone or," she pauses dramatically, "some-THING at the park killing off couples."

"Did you happen to notice the latest couple killed off was a married mayor and his secretary?" he asks, and isn't surprised by her shocked reaction. Figures. "Like I said, this is gonna get ugly, especially since it's political. I'm just surprised Skinner wants us on the case and not someone in Georgia."

She moves the ghastly photos aside and points to a paragraph. "Did you notice there was a curse on the park?" she says.

The head of the X-Files Division gives the rookie agent a level look, and moves the pictures back in front of her face. "Did you notice all these victims have something in common?" he says.

She stares at them, then at him and nods. "They all drowned," she says.

"Wrong," he corrects her, "they were pulled from the water, but they were all killed beforehand. It's no curse killing off these people, it's a sicko."

Her wide-eyed gaze is still on him. "But that sicko could be working with the curse," she says.

Oh, brother, Doggett thinks. "Like I said, keep your theories to yourself. Once we're in the field, it's likely the media will try to spin whatever crazy stories they can without thinking about the consequences, especially for our investigation. Do not, I repeat, do NOT say anything to them regarding this case, got it?" He waits until she nods. "Because the local media's already rabid over the story of a mayor killed with his secret lover, we at the FBI do NOT want to give them any more tabloid filler. Even if it's local law enforcement, do NOT say anything unless it goes by me first, got it?"

She nods again. "But Agent Doggett, what if-?"

He holds his hand up. "Agent, when I tell you to do something, please, just do it," he says. "Would it kill you to listen to your supervisor?" he says, unconsciously echoing something Skinner's said to Mulder countless times.

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. And when he thinks he's gotten through to her, she says, "Only if it follows the curse."

And now he groans.

* * *

Doggett's current home  
7:41 PM

The kids are already digging in at the dinner table when the grownups join them. "That sounds like fun," Reyes remarks, since Doggett briefed her on the new case in the kitchen.

He sighs, sitting down and helping himself to the gravy. "I know field agents get different training than, say, accountants, but I thought the FBI only hired the best," he grumbles. "There's nothing fun about trying to solve a case while babysitting your partner at the same time."

"Babies work at your job?" Hannah asks innocently.

"They might as well," Doggett mutters darkly, then makes a face when Reyes nudges him. "Uh, no, sweetie, they don't. It's just that Daddy's new partner doesn't have…" he pauses, trying to think of something politic, then gives up, "common sense."

"Oh, okay," his little girl says, easily mollified.

Gibson glances up at his father, then swallows his bite of chicken. "It can't be all that bad," he says. "I mean, she can't be a complete airhead if she's an accountant."

"Hey, no fair," Luke makes a face, "you're cheating."

"It's not cheating, it's mental harassment," his brother sighs, "he's practically screaming in my head."

"Sorry, Gib," Doggett says.

The bespectacled boy makes a face. "That's not helping," he says, "you can stop thinking country music now."

"But it's so much fun," Doggett grins, and Luke grins back, while Reyes rolls her eyes.

Without warning, Gibson jumps up from his seat and grabs Doggett's head, giving it a good noogie. "No more country music!" he yells, making his siblings laugh.

Doggett's face is scrunched up as he takes the noogie. "You do realize I was a Navy Seal," he says, "you might wanna watch out."

Gibson starts to move behind the chair, making sure to have a good grasp of his father's head. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Doggett says, and with surprising speed and strength, grabs the boy and starts tickling him.

"Aw, come on!" Gibson howls, laughing in spite of himself.

Luke goggles at the scene. "Wow, Dad got him," he shakes his head, then races around the table to try and tickle his father to free his brother.

"I got the hide of a gator," Doggett grins, tickling both Gibson and Luke now, "I ain't ticklish."

"Oh, yeah?" Reyes says, and wiggles her fingers to join Luke's now-thwarted efforts. "Let's see about that."

"Ah, help, come on!" Gibson gasps in between laughter, making Hannah laugh hard.

"Will do," Reyes grins, and grabs Doggett's inner thigh under her wriggling son. "Gotcha!"

Doggett yelps, practically throwing off Gibson. "Hey!" he glares at the audacity of his wife, er, partner. "Monica!"

She smiles as the boys recover. "Oh, I'm not supposed to use my powers for good?" she asks innocently.

"That wasn't good," Doggett mutters, studiously not looking at his sons' smirks as they go back to their seats.

"Yeah-huh, it was," Hannah disagrees. "You got Gib an' Luke, and she got you back."

"See?" Reyes smiles, tilting her head at her daughter. "Even Hannah knows better than to mess with Mommy powers."

Doggett starts to dig into his meal again as a diversion. "There's no such thing as Mommy powers," he says, trying to protect his pride and what's left of his dignity, "you just got lucky."

She shrugs a little, saying nothing as she butters her roll. "So you say, but you might not get so lucky tonight," she says before popping the roll into her mouth.

"Oh, sweetie, you're right, it was Mommy powers," Doggett says quickly, taking the fork off her plate and filling it with potatoes and peas, throwing pride and dignity out the window. "You're absolutely right."

Reyes swallows what he offers, but doesn't look mollified. "You seemed pretty sure of yourself before," she argues.

"Oh, no, I was totally wrong," Doggett says, giving her water, then proffering the drumstick. Only his sons notice that his right hand's above the table, while his left hand is… they don't want to think about it, as she takes bite after bite from the drumstick.

To Hannah's confusion, Luke and Gibson finish their supper in record time, excusing themselves to do homework after that. "You better finish your veggies, too," Luke tells Hannah.

"Why?" the little girl asks.

"Because I said so," Reyes answers, but is smiling as she does so, so Hannah finishes her vegetables as she's told. "Why don't you help your brothers with their homework?"

"Okay!" she says, and jumps from her seat.

When the bedroom door closes, Doggett looks at his partner with admiration. "How did you do that?" he asks, his voice husky since her hand starts wandering on his thigh.

"Mommy powers," Reyes smiles, "should I give you a better demonstration upstairs?"

"Hell, yeah," Doggett grins, and they leave their mostly-finished dinner behind.

* * *

Webber Police Station  
November 14, 2003  
10:01 PM

"Just follow my lead," is Doggett's strict instruction once they're inside the station and away from the nosy press outside, and Leyla, that is, Agent Harrison, nods eagerly. Doggett stifles the groan. He knows he should be more patient with her, as he was once a rookie, but he's fairly sure he'd never been that freakin' green in his life. Hell, even in basic training, he'd gotten some measure of respect from his fellow inductees, if not from his drill sergeant. He's been pretty good about resisting the temptation to give her commands like his drill sergeants, but since he's sure she'd crumple into tears, he's refrained from doing so.

Leyla, for her part, is dawdling slightly behind him, her blue eyes wide, as if she'd never been in a police station before. Well, she seems like a fairly decent girl, so outside of the FBI, she probably wouldn't have. "Agent Doggett," she hisses in her high, girlish voice, "the bodies are already autopsied, right? So why do we have to look at them?"

He turns around. "Sometimes, the pictures don't capture everything," he says, "if it's too much for you, you can wait outside."

She shakes her head, pursing her lips shut, her eyes still wide. No, wait, that's her normal eye size, never mind.

Doggett nods briskly, then faces front and they reach the end of the hallway. He pulls out his badge, "Agents Doggett and Harrison with the FBI, we're here to see the bodies."

The uniform, that is, the cop whose tag reads "Sondheim", says in a bored voice, "Yeah, they're in there," and unlocks the door behind him.

They walk in, and while Doggett's back is ramrod straight, Leyla's posture is a parody of a teenager in a horror movie, until she sees her supervisor's expression and straightens up. Again, Doggett takes out his badge, "Agent John Doggett, this is my partner, Agent Harrison, we're here to see the bodies."

The coroner lifts the right corner of his lip in a half-smile. "Yeah, yeah, they wouldn't let you in otherwise," he says in a lazy drawl, "I swear, this has gotta be the biggest thing in Webber since Burt Reynolds crashed his car in the lightpost next to Bart's Tavern." Doggett smothers a smirk as Leyla looks confused, but the coroner ignores them both as he walks over to two tables with covered bodies. In a well-practiced move, he pulls the sheets off both bodies, revealing the head and shoulders of a very deceased couple. "Mrs. Yvonne Jules wanted him cremated immediately, quick burial and everything, so you can imagine the pressure we're under. Dot's family pretty much disowned her, so there's no rush on her."

"That's pretty sad," Leyla comments.

The coroner shrugs. "That's life," he says. "So, wanna get a better look at the former mayor?"

Doggett nods before Leyla can say anything, and the two agents are treated to a full view of the late George Jules, who would look distinguished in a suit and tie, but now looks like a Halloween corpse with the Y-incision on his torso sewn up. His gray hair looks garish under the sparse autopsy room lights, and his skin, bloated after its soak in the pond, doesn't fare much better. Leyla covers her mouth and nose with her hands, because the stench from both bodies is pretty rank. Doggett tries to inhale as little as possible, but it's still a fairly nasty smell. He points at the head, "So he was bludgeoned, strangled, then drowned like the others. The perp doesn't know the meaning of overkill, does he?"

The coroner does his half-smile again. "The mayor, uh, former mayor, was pretty lucky. The same happened to Dot Seurat, but since it seems she put up a bit of a fight, judging by the multiple blunt head trauma, her skull's more pliable." And he pokes at it to demonstrate, making the already-nauseous Leyla turn a couple shades more green.

"I'm surprised she wasn't sexually assaulted," Doggett says, "usually in cases like this, the male gets the brunt of the physical violence, but the female gets raped. Uh, pardon me," he says to Leyla, who manages to give him a narrow-eyed look in spite of her queasiness.

"Yeah, well, none of the females were raped. That's something else that's weird about this," the coroner says.

"What else is weird?" Leyla drops her hands, her eyes wide.

Oh no, Doggett thinks, please, please don't say ghosts or monsters or anything. The coroner shakes his head. "Aside from the fact that, like Mr. Doggett said, they all suffered a case of overkill, nothing else happened. None of the women got raped, there were no signs of anything taken, it's like the energy of the kill only went into the method, which is pretty strenuous. But there's nothing else, no sign of passion or anything involved." He shrugs again. "The detectives say if there was some sign of passion involved, it'd be easier to catch the guy, but I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Oh, that's all," Leyla says, obviously disappointed there's nothing screaming "freaky" about the case other than the fact that people are dead. "I thought there'd be something about the curse."

The coroner raises his eyebrows. "You heard about that, too? God, that's depressing. If Webber was known for anything, I'd hate it to be a nice little park that people think couples break up at after their second date."

"But it looks like these couples died after their second date, so someone must be taking it seriously," Doggett says, surprising his temporary partner.

"Like I said, it's you and the detectives that have to worry about that sort of thing. I just try to figure out how they died," the coroner says.

"Thanks for your help," Doggett shakes the man's hand, and Leyla does the same. "Hope this is the last of the couples."

The coroner nods as they leave the autopsy room, and the door is locked behind them.

* * *

Webber, GA  
November 15, 2003  
9:06am

"Agent Harrison, what the hell are you wearing?" Doggett asks when they step out of their motel rooms. Breaking time-honored X-Files tradition (or so it seems), the two agents have separate rooms, mainly because Leyla knows how to work the budget in her favor.

The agent in question looks at her supervisor questioningly. "What's wrong with this?" she asks.

Normally, her pink blouse and jeans wouldn't look out of place, but on the job, it's unprofessional. Doggett gives her a long, level look. "Do you have anything else in your overnight bag?" he asks.

"Overnight bag?" she repeats.

Oh, no. Doggett smacks his head, literally. "Yes, overnight bag," he says between gritted teeth. "I was hoping that huge purse of yours had more than that for a change of clothes."

"No," she says, "since we don't know exactly what we're dealing with, I brought everything I could think of, a crucifix, a wooden stake, a garland of garlic, silver bullets (they were pricey), holy water, blessed salt, a gris-gris bag, an axe to cut off heads if it's zombies-"

"Put that away!" Doggett roars, pushing her and her "weapons" back into her room. "Good Lord, woman, there's no vampires or zombies or whatever! Why can't I have a normal partner, for God's sake?"

"Why, don't you carry an all-purpose weapons bag?" Leyla asks innocently.

Doggett puts a fist to his forehead and rubs it hard, as if to rub out the insanity that is Leyla Harrison. "No," he answers, "I find federally-approved bullets to take care of most of the bad guys we encounter."

"Oh," the young blonde says, surprised, dropping her heavy purse. "Well, I didn't bring anything else, since I figured we'd solve the case in a day. That seems to be the usual pace of case solvency."

"Which is nice for the accounting department, but not practical in real life," Doggett says, still rubbing his forehead, his eyes tightly closed. "That's why most agents bring an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes, a laptop, a copy of the case file, and sometimes extra ammunition." He opens his eyes slowly. "Please tell me you've got a regular gun in there."

She nods, pulling out her standard-issue Glock. "For the silver bullets," she says.

He groans. "I'll talk to the friends and family of the deceased, while you case the park," he says. "Do NOT let them know you're FBI."

"Cool, I get to be undercover!" she smiles brightly.

"You're not undercover, it's because I don't want the media to know that we have unprepared agents out in the field," he says bluntly. "God knows we're still reeling from the aftermath of 9-11, we don't need to give them any more ammo, even if it's a small city. So no flashing badges, no identification, got it?"

She sighs, clearly disappointed. "Got it," she says.

He sighs again, then shakes his head. "Look, is there someone you can call to bring you some extra clothes?" he asks.

She nods. "My boyfriend Gabe," she says.

"Good. Call Gabe, and tell him to drive over as fast as he can. And Agent?"

She pauses, her cell phone out but hasn't dialed yet. "Yes?"

"Thanks for your enthusiasm, but next time," Doggett sighs.

She nods. "Overnight bag, got it," and she salutes him smartly and correctly, which surprises him.

He smiles a little, saluting back. "At ease. And even though it's daylight, be careful. Okay?"

Leyla smiles briefly. "Okay. Thanks."

Doggett waves, then leaves as she speed dials her boyfriend.

* * *

Doggett finds the rest of the day to be as frustrating as his new partner, if not more so. From family and friends who can't see past the tragedy to give anything helpful, which is understandable for people in general but still maddening for investigators, to others who revel in the macabre, to yet others who wish to distance themselves from the whole thing, he finds his job is no easier than it was than when they first accepted the case. So he finds himself going back to the Webber Police Station to have a chat with the local PD and get their feel. After all, it's their town, and they should know the situation better than he does.

"Oh, it's you," the cop called Lloyd says unenthusiastically.

"Yeah, it's me," Doggett says, his face devoid of expression as he checks the others for a read on them. After all, he knows that it's not fun to have a case yanked out of your hands and have to cooperate with the new investigators. "What's been happening since the former mayor died?" He's read the local papers, but he knows that doesn't always express the local sentiment.

And he would be right. "What do you think?" a bald black man says, his eyes narrowed. His face is unlined, but his style and gut show him to be in his mid- to late-forties. "The deputy mayor had to be sworn in, and it seems she knew even less than the secretary did." He shakes his head. "Maybe because she wouldn't sleep with him like the secretary did," and there are some chuckles in the office, even among the women. "And it's not like we've been sitting on our asses, either. Ever since Billy Webster and that Elaine woman kicked it, we've done everything from stakeout to undercover, but we got nothing. And that the mayor and the secretary died on our watch, everyone's blaming us." He stares hard at Doggett, as if daring him to say otherwise.

"Sir," Doggett pauses.

"Lieutenant Redmond, Charles Redmond," the black man says.

"Lieutenant Redmond," Doggett says, "no one at the FBI is blaming anyone. We just wanna catch the guy as bad as you. Who's on stakeout detail?"

Four hands go up. "Officers Morales, Russell, Evans and Daniels," Lieutenant Redmond says. "They've been pulled since the deputy mayor took over."

"And undercover?" Doggett asks.

The short-haired brunette identified as Officer Daniels says, "Officers Franz and Frieda Cooke. We figured it would be best to have a real couple go to the park, but the perp hasn't been biting. But they aren't giving up, even though they're not on the payroll for doing so." There's a mix of admiration and incredulity at their daring, and Doggett decides to push it.

"So, is it true that it was really their second date that the unsub decided to strike?" Doggett asks. "How would he know that?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in Sunday Park, Leyla Harrison feels out of place. She knows she shouldn't, since the very clothes that got her yelled at this morning blends in perfectly with the crowd here. But that she's here on a job that she can't officially work on for the time being is more than a little humiliating, even she's got the brains to realize that. That, and she's pretty much the only single person around here. There are couples, families, even college groups hanging out here, and since she's sans a boyfriend or a pet pretty much makes her feel more alone than ever.

"Hey, are you waiting for someone?" one half of a couple approaching her asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Leyla's startled into the truth before she realizes she could've said something else. After all, it wouldn't do to have the general populace think she's scoping them out for a possible serial killer ghost or zombie among them. She's already discounted vampires, since it's broad daylight right now, but she can wait for night fall.

The girl nods, then smiles at her boyfriend, who hugs her. "Well, if he makes you wait too long, you can make the next date your first one," she says. "This one won't count."

"Oh, is that how it works?" Leyla blinks.

The boyfriend laughs. "I can't believe you two actually believe that stuff," he says.

"Hey, it happened to the mayor and his secretary," the girlfriend scowls, crossing her arms.

And it's obviously early in their relationship, because the boyfriend tries to smooth things over quickly. "Hey, baby, I don't think it's that simple," he says, "besides, if they were caught here, it's obvious it wasn't their first or second date."

"What do you mean?" Leyla wonders, curious.

"I mean, think about it," the boyfriend says, more willing to press common sense on a stranger than his girlfriend, "those two were working together like all the time. I'm guessing the guy, after being married forever, decided to press his luck and the secretary said yes, and things just kinda happened from there. And if it started at work, I'm pretty sure they had secret dates first, especially if the guy's married."

"But if they're secret dates, those don't count," his girlfriend argues. "Not for the curse."

The boyfriend sighs. "Okay, but the curse only happens here, right? And here's where all those people were killed. Why would the mayor and the secretary come here if they knew about that?"

"Why do you come here?" Leyla asks.

The girlfriend smiles impishly at her. "Because it's our fourth date here, and we were here even before the park got popular and they put in all that new stuff like the bridge," she says, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend's waist. "I think we're gonna break the curse."

"Wow," the blonde doesn't hide her admiration of the couple, who smile at each other, as those who are newly in love do. "So you've been here even after the first couple got killed here?"

And like a young couple in love, they nod, full of confidence in their youth. "Like she said, I think we're gonna break the curse, if there ever was one," the boyfriend says cockily. "Besides, if someone tells you not to do something, don't you feel like doing it more?"

"Well, yeah, but I usually get in trouble," Leyla admits and the couple laugh. "I'm not like you guys."

"Hey, good luck with your boyfriend," the girlfriend says. "Although if he keeps you waiting, he might not be the one."

Agent Leyla Harrison pastes a smile on her face. "Probably not," she says, as she waves the couple off.

As she leans on the bridge where the mayor and the secretary once stood, she doesn't notice a pair of eyes focus on her intently.

* * *

"How would he know?" The police at the Webber Station look at each other as the blonde Officer Russell repeats the question. "Same way as anyone else, I guess," he shrugs. "See if there's someone you recognize from once or twice before. There's enough regulars showing up at the park to spot newbies, like any place. I'm just surprised the mayor, I mean, former mayor, and his secretary got caught, is all. I mean, really, if you were a married man and a well-known guy, wouldn't you keep that on the down-low?"

"Did he strike you as a man who thought he was above the law?" Doggett asks, deliberately keeping his face and tone neutral.

Again, the police look at each other, but the unspoken message this time is clear. "Yeah," Lieutenant Redmond admits. "Even when he was caught speeding and driving under the influence, he thought he could mayor his way out of it."

"Interesting way of putting it," Doggett remarks.

"It's true," Officer Russel says. "He might've been mayor of Webber, but he acted like he was the president."

"I think 'king' is the word you're looking for," Officer Daniels smirks. Then she shrugs at Doggett's questioning look. "Hey, you can only not speak ill of the dead before reality hits."

True, Doggett thinks, but doesn't say it aloud. Instead, he says, "So, the other couples, they were fairly law-abiding citizens, right? I mean, nobody wanted either of 'em dead or anything, from what I got from their friends and family."

"No, they were good kids," Lieutenant Redmond agrees. "That's why the park closed for a while. But it reopened after public pressure to enforce security and limit access times from sunrise to sunset. And that's why we were all surprised by the last two couples, since they were killed after the reopening."

"Alex and Betty Lapine, as well as the mayor and secretary," Doggett nods. "You figure it was a copycat killer, since the Lapines were married, and the mayor was, too?"

The black detective sighs, putting a hand to the back of his neck, and most of the others look discouraged as well. "Our city is small, and it came from smalltown roots, so even if the press didn't mention the details, the witnesses who first found the bodies surely mentioned them to their friends, families, whoever," Redmond admits.

Now Doggett sighs. Damn. Not just the official press, but the local grapevine as well. "So everyone knows the details of the murders?" he says, less of a question and more of a statement. But they nod anyway. "Okay. So it's possible there's a copycat, although for now, we assume it's the same person that started the killings. Why pick couples in the first place? I mean, it's hard enough to take down victims in a public area anyways, but he seems to be making it harder for himself by deliberately killing a couple. And he doesn't bother with raping the female, which is what usually happens with couple killings, the perp wants domination over the female victim. So why bother killing them off in the first place?"

"What if it has nothing to do with the curse?" Officer Evans, a solid man who looks like he played football for most of his life, asks. "I mean, if someone wanted to kill couples, second date or not, that's the best place to look, pretty much."

"So the park is just a convenient place for the perp to pick his victims? Well, that might make sense if we could figure out why the guy's killing off his vics in the first place," Doggett says, taking Evans' suggestion into account.

* * *

Sunday Park

That pair of eyes belong to a young man with shaggy dark-ish hair, more than a fair share of facial hair and scruffy clothes, pulling along a large suitcase on wheels, and everyone, out of politeness, ignores him. He reveals no expression as he makes his way closer and closer to the young blonde agent, approaching her from behind. Once he's about a foot away, he hefts the suitcase onto his back and closes the distance between them until he's right behind her. Then he carefully sits the suitcase on the ground without making a sound, and lunges for her.

Somehow, the usually-oblivious female agent senses someone behind her, and she spins around, her heartbeat racing and her eyes wide. "Oh, thank goodness!" Leyla Harrison wraps her arms around her boyfriend. "You're a lifesaver!"

Gabe Rotter smiles and hugs her back. "Jeez, Leyla, I know you're flaky sometimes, but I'm surprised you haven't gotten fired yet," he chuckles.

She makes a face. "Hey, don't jinx it!" she pouts.

He puts his hands up. "Sorry, babe. You know I was happy to hear from you, didn't you?" he asks, trying to get on her good side.

"Maybe," she twists around, still pouting. "So, did you get everything I asked?" she asks.

Gabe nods quickly. "Yeah, every boring suit and skirt you got in your closet," he says.

She leans closer and lowers her voice . "And underwear?" she whispers.

"That was the best part," he grins, and laughs even when she swats him.

"Hey, since I'm not officially working right now, how about we have a date?" Leyla says excitedly, grabbing onto his arm.

It's her boyfriend, however, that looks around, concerned. "Are you sure?" he asks. "I mean, your boss yelled at you this morning, and you were all crying and everything, don't you need to get to work?"

Her lower lip trembles. "So you don't want to spend time with me?" she asks, looking down.

"No, no, I do!" he says, taking her in his arms. "You just kinda surprised me."

She smiles up at him, and he's effectively blinded. "Thank you!" she says, and kisses him. "I promise not to ask you to do anything else for me!"

"Even if something else in the apartment breaks down?" he leans in, their foreheads touching.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. "I mean for work," she says finally.

"Cool," Gabe says, "at least I didn't have to dig up a dead cat." And they chuckle, walking along the park, with him hauling the suitcase behind them.

* * *

Silver Springs, MD

It's the third house of the day, and the real estate agent is pulling up to the crowded driveway, escorting Reyes, Scully and Mulder, along with the three youngest children and April, who demanded to be taken along. Mulder had simply shrugged at his wife and taken her along. "Hey, how much are you guys willing to put for down payment?" Mulder asks in a low tone. "Because Helen's been taking you to these really nice homes."

Reyes smiles, and Mulder can see how she'd drive Doggett nuts. "Enough," she says, "you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried," Mulder says, as they skirt other families going through this open house. "I'm jealous. I mean seriously, if Uncle Saul hadn't given us a big house, we'd be in some cramped apartment."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Don't exaggerate, Mulder. We would've been fine."

Mulder puts on a "oops, caught" face, but when his wife turns around, he mouths, "Not really."

Reyes laughs at her friends' antics, shaking her head when April looks up questioningly. "Come on, April, let's see if there's anything cool about this house."

The little girl shakes her head. "This is nice, but it's normal," she says, and flattens herself against her "aunt" when another family passes them by.

"Normal, huh?" Reyes looks a little bummed. "Well, normal's okay for some people," she hems.

The little girl smiles, knowing Reyes better. "But it's not for everyone," she agrees. "Come on, let's tell Mommy and Daddy."

"Okay," the tall woman agrees, and they go to get her former coworkers and their youngest kids away from the buffet table.

* * *

Webber, GA  
6:59 p.m.

They're camped in Agent Harrison's room, "they" being the woman in question, plus her boyfriend and her boss. Gabe is making supper in the small kitchen, while Doggett's on the phone with his partner, and Leyla is deciding which outfit she'll wear tomorrow.

"So, how's your wi-, uh, Agent Reyes?" Leyla asks when he hangs up.

Doggett shakes his head. "She hasn't found anything yet, and it's been ten houses so far," he answers.

"Seriously?" Gabe goggles, carrying in a pan of tuna and pasta. "Where was she looking?"

"All over the place," Doggett replies. "I'm not sure if she'll find anything once her vacation wraps up, but at least she'll have fifty less houses to worry about."

"Fifty?" Leyla repeats. "Wow."

"Well, she's actually been house-hunting before starting on vacation, but I doubt that finding a house meeting her expectations is easy to come by," her boss says wryly. "Nice job, Gabe," he says, since the food smells better than the description.

"Thanks," the younger man grins, "someone has to cook something other than mac and cheese."

"But it's so easy," Leyla says, "and as long as I watch it, it doesn't burn."

"Uh-huh," Doggett smiles at the couple. He waits until they've gotten some food in their system, then he briefs Agent Harrison on the situation with the police, and she tells him what little she's learned at the park. "Look, this sounds like it's gonna be longer than a day," he says, "and we haven't gotten any leads. Hell, if the local PD can't get a read on a suspect, it's probably somebody from the outside."

"Darn, and I thought the boogeyman was an inside job," Gabe jokes.

Doggett sighs while Leyla jumps on the suggestion. "Oh my gosh, I didn't even think of that! What if it's someone like Tommy Conlon? Or a malevolent poltergeist brought on by the excessive foot traffic in the park?" Her eyes are shining, and Doggett's reminded of the cartoons his little girl watches.

"Or what if it's your garden variety psycho?" Doggett bluntly shoots down her suggestions. "You know we have to look at what the evidence shows us, and so far, there ain't nothing supernatural about this, except for the fact we're out here in the first place."

"I think Mr. Skinner said something about a 'sanity check'," Leyla says, "I'm not sure what he meant by that."

The two men look at each other, and both wisely refrain from commenting. Instead, they dig into their food.

And for the second time that night Doggett gets a call on his cell. "Doggett," he answers.

"Agent Doggett, that sonofabitch killed Franz and Frieda," Lieutenant Redmond's voice comes over the phone.

"Dammit," Doggett sighs, but is already putting his plate and fork away. "We'll be right there."

"What's going on?" Leyla asks.

"The perp killed the undercover couple," Doggett says grimly, "grab your weapon, Agent."

She nods, and he shakes Gabe's hand. "Good seeing you," he says, "I'll be sure to bring her back safe and sound."

"Good," Gabe says faintly, watching his girlfriend's boss check his weapon before putting it into a shoulder holster, then pull on a windbreaker bearing the letters "FBI". Then he turns to see his girlfriend come out of the bathroom wearing dark business slacks and jacket along with her pink blouse. He kisses her, "See ya."

She smiles, "See ya."

And with that, the two FBI agents walk out, leaving Gabe Rotter holding the pan.

* * *

The Doggett-Reyes home

That night, Reyes is reading to her youngest (for now) child in bed. She and Hannah have been going through various fairy tales since the romance novel thing happened and she wanted to show Doggett she read some "good" books, too. Tonight, they've read "The Frog Prince" and Reyes made Hannah laugh with her frog impressions. "Mom, aren't you glad Daddy's a prince and not a frog?" the brunette little girl says.

Reyes' smile deepens. She knows she could never adequately express how happy it makes her feel every time Hannah calls her that name, and she hugs her. "I'm very glad," she says. "I'm just sorry I had to go through so many frogs to get to him."

"But the frog prince was already a prince," Hannah argues, "and there weren't other frogs."

"True," Reyes nods, "but sometimes, when you kiss a frog, all you get are warts, not a prince." Then she holds the little girl's face in her hands. "Promise me, before you kiss a boy, make sure we meet him first, because sometimes parents are better at seeing frogs in disguise."

"But boys are yucky," Hannah sticks her tongue out.

Reyes laughs. "Yeah, but where do you think princes come from? They were little boys once, too. So when you grow up and they grow up, bring your prince over and we'll see if he really is a prince - or if he's a frog," she makes her froggy face.

"Okay," Hannah laughs.

The brunette woman kisses the little girl before leaving the bed. "Sweet dreams, Hannah."

"Sweet dreams, Mommy," Hannah smiles, and snuggles under the covers.

* * *

Sweet dreams are not to be had in Georgia, however, as the dogs are let loose in Sunday Park, trying to get the scent of the man who would dare attack and kill two of Webber's finest. "It was bad before," Lieutenant Redmond says, his face set in a scowl, "but this is worse."

Doggett nods. The killer struck at the very people who put their jobs and lives on the line to protect others, and they got killed for it. "We will find him," he says, unknowingly mirroring the darker man's expression, "and he will pay."

"Damn straight," Redmond says, then pulls out a cigarette. "Excuse me, I better do this away from the crime scene."

The FBI agent nods, and then turns to his junior agent. "Get anything?" he asks.

She shakes her head as the body bags are carted away, thankful she can't smell them any more. "Forensics are still going through evidence, but there's no clue as to how the killer got to them. And there was no sign of a struggle, either."

"That's bad," Doggett says, "if he got the jump on two detectives, undercover at that."

The blonde agent looks around, then shivers. "It was so romantic earlier this afternoon," she says, "but this is just awful."

Doggett sighs, but doesn't disagree with the latter sentiment. "Local PD are notifying next of kin, the dogs and detectives are tracking down the killer's presence," he says, "you take a ride with one of the forensic trucks."

"What about you?" she asks.

He exhales, and in the cold night air, it looks like a plume of smoke. "Gonna take a walk in the park," he says, pulling out his heavy-duty flashlight.

"Oh, okay," Harrison blinks, then runs after one of the trucks closing its doors.

* * *

Agent Harrison's room  
11:51 p.m.

Gabe Rotter looks up from his air guitar session when the door opens. "Hey, babe," he says to girlfriend, who looks wiped. "How'd it go?"

She sighs. "I fainted when the coroner started cutting up Franz' body," she confesses, "I didn't come to until half an hour ago, and then I had to have a power drink before I could get here."

"Aw, man," he says, and hugs her. "Want I should make you a snack?"

"Anything but meat," Leyla says with a faint smile, and he nods. She pulls off her jacket, then her shoes. "Mm, that smells good," she says when she smells toast bread.

"Good thing we went shopping, huh?" he grins, and his grin gets wider when she kisses his cheek. "Nothing says magic like PB and J on toast."

Leyla smiles, then takes a bite. "Wow, it is magic," she says, "I feel better already."

He chuckles, "That's my girl. So, where's your scary boss?"

"He's not scary," she protests, then giggles, "okay, he is, but not all the time. I don't know, he was gonna hang out at the park or something."

He looks at her. "Where those cops were killed? Is he nuts?"

"That's what he told me, along with 'ride in the forensic truck'," she tries to lower her voice, but it doesn't quite work. "Good thing the coroner showed me the results and stuff once I had my sports drink. It would've been so embarrassing to get nothing after fainting."

"But it's normal," Gabe says, trying to reassure her.

But she groans instead. "But I'm supposed to be an FBI agent!" she wails. "I'm not supposed to faint like a little girl seeing a dead body cut up! And I'm on the X-Files! How am I gonna catch a bad guy if I'm fainting or screaming?"

"You were screaming, too?" he asks.

Leyla blushes. "Well, that was for the other case," she mutters. "Some of that stuff that kid thought up was really scary."

"Oh," he says, putting his arms around her reassuringly. "Hey, listen, if you-"

"Just who I was looking for," Doggett comes in, interrupting Gabe's almost-smooth move. "I need your help."

* * *

"Okay," Leyla says, while Gabe says, "What?"

Doggett looks at the young couple and wishes he didn't have to do this. But they've got even less time to catch the guy than he thought, since gossip's flaring around Webber quicker than it did in his hometown. Thanks, internet, you suck, he growls inwardly. "The chief of police says they're not risking anymore undercover operations on this case, and that we're free to move," he says, "which basically means we're the ones that have to risk our necks. Lieutenant Redmond says to meet them for a debriefing at the station, and they'll be happy to provide us with backup and surveillance, but since they're not authorized to make the first move-"

"They're not willing to kill themselves if they're not on payroll, got it," Leyla finishes, looking as weary and jaded as Doggett does. "I know how much control budget has, especially if it's orders from top down."

"So, what does that mean?" Gabe asks.

Doggett sighs. "That means that I have to pretend to be her boyfriend and lure out the perp," he says.

"No ways, she's my girl!" the younger man protests, holding Leyla tight like a prize. "You're not touching her!"

"It's nothing personal, it's for the job," Doggett tries to explain to the Romeo, but he isn't buying it.

"No, if someone's gonna go out there with her, it's gonna be me," he says. "Besides, you said all those cops are gonna protect us, right? No creep can sneak past an entire horde of cops and get to us." And he looks at Leyla, whose eyes are shining.

Oh, no, Doggett thinks, I'm not gonna have civilian collateral on top of everything else. "You are NOT going," he says, scolding Gabe like he's one of his kids. "You are a civilian, you are unarmed, untrained, and unqualified to be part of the operation!"

"And you're old enough to be her dad!" Gabe yells back. "I don't care if you're her boss, there's no way you're gonna put the moves on my woman!"

"I've already got a woman, I don't want to make moves on yours!" Doggett shoots back oh-so-intelligently. "There are two dead cops in the morgue, along with ten other corpses. Would you like to join them because of your ego, mister?"

Gabe glares at Doggett. "Mr. Doggett, we were out there earlier," he declares, "the bad guy's gonna know you two are faking it if suddenly Leyla shows up with another guy, right? Especially one with the letters 'FBI' on his jacket." And he points to Doggett's windbreaker.

Doggett sighs. Great, true love gets logical once in a while. "Fine," he rolls his eyes, "just so you know, we're putting wires on you, so don't get too enthusiastic in your acting."

Leyla, however, is looking at her boyfriend, her blue eyes shining. "Gabe," she says happily.

"I know I'm talking to the wall now," Doggett grumbles, "but you two will be under guard from the moment you step foot on the park 'til the moment you get home. And Agent Harrison?" he taps her on the shoulder.

"Hm?" the blonde blinks at the seemingly-sudden interruption between herself and her boyfriend.

Her boss glares at her until she's paying full attention, and then she blushes. "He's under your protection. Got that?"

"Hey, I can take care of myself and my girl," Gabe tells him.

It only takes Doggett a few moments to bend the man's arm behind his back and have him yelping in pain. "Like I said, Agent Harrison, this civilian is under your protection. We may have eyes and ears on you two, but you are the only one facing the danger head on. Do you understand?"

She nods soberly, and Doggett releases his grip. "Come on, Gabe, we have to go to the police station," she says, standing up. Gabe tries to rub his arm in a casual way, but can't, and winces as he follows her to the car.

Doggett simply shakes his head and follows them out, hoping they're not making a big mistake.

* * *

Washington, DC  
November 16th, 2003  
9:19am

"This neighborhood looks familiar," Reyes smiles, as she and Helen pass by Mulder and Scully's home, and Scully smiles back from the back seat with her twin girls in their safety seats. It's hard to believe there are any empty homes around here, since most of them are occupied by families who've inherited them (like Mulder) or newly rich and political types. "Are you sure there's an open house here? This is kind of a well-populated area."

"Oh, you know this neighborhood?" Helen asks, her eyes on the road.

"We live a few houses back," Scully answers as they pull up to a modest two-story home.

The elderly real estate agent smiles. "Then you know that there are a couple of houses around here that have foreclosed, through no fault of the previous owner, of course."

"Of course," the women chorus, while looking at each other in the rear view mirror.

"So, here we are," Helen says brightly. "Take a look around."

Reyes blinks at the brevity of the introduction. Usually, the real estate agent gets more flowery in her praises of a house, and now she's suspicious. "What's wrong, Helen," she says, "it's not like I won't turn this down any faster."

The elderly Asian woman blinks, then nods, smiling a little. "All right. For some reason, this lovely home has a high turnover rate, in spite of its location. It seems the previous owners, all of them, in fact, have gone crazy. There, that's it."

"Okay," Scully's nonplussed. "I take it they've checked the plumbing, any mold or paint, that sort of thing."

"Every time with every owner," Helen nods. "But they all leave raving lunatics."

"Oh," Reyes says. "Anything in particular that they all have in common, or do they just go crazy once they walk in here?"

"Oh, no, it takes a while," Helen says quickly, "I mean, maybe a week or so, and then they all start talking about things disappearing, brand new things breaking, and then they're talking about little people. Like leprechauns or something crazy like that."

The two women look at each other. "We'll take it," Reyes smiles.

"What?" Helen stares at her, then at Scully. "Is she serious?"

"As a heart attack," Scully says. "I think you've just described her perfect home."

Now the real estate agent gives the tall brunette a good long look. "This isn't weirding you out or anything?"

Reyes' smile is from ear to ear. "You should see me on the job," she says, "this is nothing."

"Well, not nothing," Scully corrects her, "I think this might take a little more work than a haunted house."

"But this is perfect for me and the kids!" Reyes tells her friend. "And I get to tell John we've got hobgoblins!"

"We don't know that for sure," the redhead cautions her, "after all, there could be logical explanations for-"

"Hobgoblin-like behavior?" the brunette interjects, while losing the real estate agent altogether. "Come on, the kids will love it, John will love it, and we get to have something better than brownies, we've got hobgoblins!"

Scully, seeing the same look on her friend's face as her husband's when he first told her about the ghosts in their home, sighs, but smiles back anyways. "All right. But you tell John everything, okay?"

"Okay!" Reyes beams, practically skipping through all the rooms in her cursory "inspection". "This is gonna be great!"

Helen looks like Reyes has already lost her mind. "I know she's energetic, but is she always like this?" she asks Scully in an undertone.

Scully smiles, hefting her twin daughters in the baby bjorns. "You really should see her on the job," she replies, "this is nothing."

"Uh-huh," the elderly Asian woman says, shaking her head, but a smile peeking at the corners of her mouth.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Sunday Park, a young couple, one among many, is taking midday stroll. Leyla and Gabe are holding hands tightly, but not because they're feeling romantic. "Squeeze your hands any tighter and they'll fall off," Doggett says in Leyla's earpiece. "Ease off a bit, would ya? And stop a minute and breath, okay?"

"Okay," Leyla bites her lower lip.

"Huh?" Gabe blinks.

She grins up at her boyfriend, laughing nervously. "Sorry, my boss was just talking in my ear. He says to breathe and not hold hands so tightly."

"Oh, yeah, that's a good idea, sure, okay," he babbles.

In the surveillance van, Doggett hits his head against the heel of his hand. "Ugh," he groans while Lieutenant Redmond chuckles. "If this is what I have to look forward to with my sons, I hope they never date."

"Could be worse, they could be real players," the black lieutenant consoles him. Sort of.

"Thanks," Doggett rolls his eyes. "Officers, anyone suspicious yet?"

They all shake their heads, keeping their eyes and ears on the monitors.

Gabe, not having an earpiece, is thankfully oblivious to what Leyla's hearing. He picks a flower from an overhanging tree branch, then says, "Leyla."

She jumps as if startled, and they both laugh nervously. "Uh, yeah?"

"Here," her boyfriend says, brushing her hair back from her left ear and tucking the pale flower there. "Even if we are doing this for your job, it's nice to be able to hang out with you like this."

Leyla's smile deepens, and he smiles back. "Gabe, even if we don't get the guy today, I just want to thank you again," she says, and hugs him.

"Awwwwww," the crew in the surveillance truck chorus.

"Oh, shut up," she mutters, then shakes her head at Gabe's questioning look. "It's nothing."

As they stand on the bridge, they're unaware of a mist that surrounds them, an unseasonable mist that hides the lake from the park regulars and the surveillance team, rendering them as a light grey on the black-and-white monitors. The surveillance team can still hear them, and mistake other park-goers as their targets.

Suddenly, they hear Gabe yell, "Ow!" and Leyla's panicked voice saying, "Gabe, where are you? Gabe?"

And then there's the odd silence among the noise of families playing and the occasional dog barking.

The officers on surveillance look at each other. "Where are they?" they babble amongst themselves, trying to get confirmation from either Agent Leyla Harrison or Gabe Rotter. Doggett wastes no time getting out of the surveillance van and doesn't bother about the slight mist that surrounds the lake. Hitting the bridge, his blue eyes look for the couple and finds only one body lying there.

"Get an ambulance," he says into his earpiece, "we've got an agent down!"

* * *

Leyla wakes up in a hospital bed, her head aching like she's had a bad hangover, but no buzz. "What happened?" she asks.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Doggett says, "the police closed the park down and are looking for your boyfriend."

"They got Gabe?" Leyla sits up, then groans, holding her head. "Owwwww…"

"Yeah," her boss says, now regretfully. "Dammit. I can't get how he'd get past us!" And he glares at the wall, as if it could tell him the answers.

Leyla, still holding her head, suddenly sits up straight again, her eyes wide. "Lancelot," she breathes.

"What?" the steel-eyed agent asks, turning to her.

"Lancelot," the blonde agent repeats. "You know, one of the knights of the Round Table?" She sighs, seeing his patented she's-talking-crazy-talk look on his face. "When I was a kid, I was hooked on King Arthur, so much so that I even learned the coat of arms of each knight, in all variations. And the last thing I saw in that mist was a huge shield coming at me, bearing Lancelot's coat of arms."

Now he's just staring at her, wondering if he's hearing the head trauma. "Leyla," he starts.

"Listen," she says, her eyes focused and intense in spite of the blaring pain in her head, "find out why that lake's called Lancelot Lake, and when they got all those lilies and the bridge built. Because that bridge wasn't always there, and I've got a feeling the timeline matches up with our perp."

"Do you know what you're saying?" Doggett asks, a little impatiently. "You're saying that a knight of the Round Table is killing couples off in Georgia since six months ago, not in England hundreds of years ago."

Leyla gives him a level look. "He managed to take down King Arthur's enemies as well as Camelot itself," she says, "what's a few civilians to him?"

He shakes his head, then pats her shoulder. "Get some rest," he says, "call me when you feel better."

She nods, then winces. "Find out when the bridge was built," she whimpers, sinking back onto the bed, "find Gabe, please."

He nods, and waits until she's asleep before he leaves. Then he sighs, "Dammit. What mist was she talking about? And why was she left alive?"

* * *

To Doggett's consternation, it seems Leyla's hunch is proven correct in some respect. The bridge, along with the lilies and some of the surrounding flora, were bought from some down-and-out British landowner in a deal made a couple of years ago with the former mayor. The lake was renamed "Lancelot" to give it some class or something, and it wasn't long after that couples started dying. And after reviewing the surveillance tapes, there was a mist that nobody really noticed. He slams the table. "Why the hell didn't we notice earlier?" he growls at the monitors.

"Agent Doggett, ease up on the cheap table," Redmond says, "it can't hit back. And nobody really came back from the dead to let us know about that mist thing, either."

Doggett turns with a scowl, but exhales slowly. "Sorry. You're right. But I refuse to believe some mythical guy is killing off lovers here in America."

"You and me both," Redmond agrees. "Your agent's got some pretty interesting ideas, though. Somebody's obviously riding on that crazy train, though, thinking he's some kind of anti-knight in shining armor." Then he frowns. "Thing is, though, if he thinks he's a knight, why doesn't he just kill them with a sword or something? I mean, wouldn't that make sense? Why go through the trouble of knocking them out, then strangling them, then drowning them? That kind of overkill doesn't make sense, even if we're talking crazy guy acting like a knight."

Doggett grins a little. "Yeah, you're right. If Ley-, er, Agent Harrison's right, why would someone carry around a shield but not bother using their sword?" he wonders, then answers his own question. "Unless he doesn't have a sword."

The black lieutenant gives him a look. "What kind of crazy person who thinks he's a knight carries around a shield but not a sword? A crazy, crazy person?"

The two men laugh, then shake their heads. And then Doggett gets a call from Reyes. "Oh, you found a house already?" he says, with some irony. Then his eyebrows go up. "Hob-what? Really? Oh, boy," he groans. "Okay, we'll go over the paperwork together when I get back. Oh, speaking of strange things, hard to believe, but Leyla was right about some things. Yeah, the bridge, plants, park decorations brought over from England coincide with the couple killings. I think a hitchhiker came along, some kinda King Arthur nut got here, but Leyla thinks it's Lancelot. Yeah, the original guy from the stories. Yeah, yeah," he rolls his eyes. "Love you." He smiles, then hangs up.

"I take it that's the wife?" Redmond asks. "You usually discuss cases with her?"

Doggett smiles. "Well, she's normally my partner, but since she's on vacation to get us a new house," he shrugs. "Fortunately, she got one, so she's starting up the paperwork process while I'm here."

The black lieutenant gives him a look. "Wow, I thought the FBI frowned against couples working together."

Doggett blinks, then shakes his head. "Not really," he says, "in fact, she's helped me out more times than I can recall. But since she's getting along in her pregnancy, I don't want to bring her in now that the suspect is stepping up his game. After all, he's not only capable of killing multiple people, but knocking out an agent and taking a civilian in plain sight." Then he corrects himself. "Well, not plain sight, but taking advantage of weather conditions," he sighs. "What the hell is going on?"

Redmond looks at him, then at the replay of the mist rolling back to reveal the lone Agent Harrison lying on the bridge. "You tell me," he says.

* * *

"Something's not right," Leyla frowns as Doggett drives her out of the hospital. She's got a lovely gauze bandage wrapped around her head, which he uses to excuse her interesting thinking past and present. "All I saw was the shield coming at me - why didn't he kill me?"

"Who knows what crazies think?" Doggett says rhetorically. "Why did he take your boyfriend?"

"Exactly!" Leyla turns to him, but his eyes are on the road. "Why /would/ he take my boyfriend? So far, all he's done is kill couples, why suddenly spare me and take Gabe? It doesn't make sense?"

"Neither does using a shield as an offensive weapon without using a better offensive weapon, a sword - and how the hell did he get it past the cops and the public?" Doggett continues to wonder aloud.

The blonde agent pulls out a book she got from the hospital store. "Hopefully this should give us some answers," she says.

Doggett slides his eyes over for a brief moment. "Are you serious?" he asks.

She nods. "It's a good idea to check out the source material, isn't it?" she says, holding onto her paperback of "Arthurian Legends".

Her boss groans, then shakes his head. "Nobody's found any trace of Gabe yet," he says, "we put out a missing persons on him, and forensics are still going through everything with a fine tooth comb."

Leyla looks somber for a moment. "Actually, one would think /I'd/ be the one taken, not Gabe," she says after a while. "Lancelot had a habit of attracting blondes."

"Maybe he wanted to take out the competition?" Doggett suggests.

She shakes her head. "Then he would've just killed off couple number two's boyfriend," she says, "since the girlfriend was blonde. No, this is definitely strange," she frowns, opening the book.

And when Doggett drops her off at her hotel room, she's still engrossed in the book of fairytales.

* * *

Webber, GA  
12:36 p.m.

"This is depressing," Doggett tells his partner, who was happily babbling about the new house and its currently-unseen inhabitants.

"What? What's depressing?" Reyes breaks out of her happy house-bubble. "That you haven't found Leyla's boyfriend yet?"

"Partly," he says, "and partly that we haven't found any trace of him or his abductor. I mean, for God's sake, he's a grown man, one shouldn't be able to take a grown man and not leave any trace! I mean, even deadbeat dads leave some kind of trail." And he huffs, scowling. "Jeez, I'm tempted to rip off the bridge and start digging if that's what it takes!"

"Wow, you don't take losing lightly, do you?" Reyes says, her tone light but admiration in her voice. "John, what about what Leyla said?"

"What do you mean?" Doggett says, his tone less hostile than it would be to anyone else.

Reyes smiles as she practically sees him trying to hold his natural skepticism back. "What I mean is," she says, "have you tried to divine the supernatural from the park? The lake, specifically. After all, Lancelot's full name was Lancelot du Lac, that is, Lancelot of the Lake, adopted by the Lady of the Lake who gave Arthur his new sword."

"We've been dragging the lake and come up with nothing but lily pads and trash," Doggett retorts. "No knights in soggy armor there, or a guy in t-shirt and jeans for that matter."

There's a pause, and then Reyes says, "I'm not saying that they're in the physical lake. If you're dealing with the supernatural, and a legend at that, there must be some way Lancelot survived living under water, and hopefully, he's allowing Gabe to live the same way, too. Oh, and does Gabe have a link to the supernatural? I mean, is he sensitive to the occult, had a curse placed on him, seen ghosts, that sort of thing?"

"Not that I know of," Doggett admits, "I'll ask Leyla. You think that might've marked him out to be taken?"

"Perhaps," Reyes says, "but it's just a theory. Besides, I'm still not sure why Lancelot would be killing couples. Do you know if the area the bridge and everything came from had murders? Perhaps that's why the British landowner decided to sell it to some random American politician."

"I'll check it out," Doggett says, "you get some rest, now."

"I've got plenty of rest," his lovely partner on vacation retorts, "it's you that sounds like you've got gravel in your throat, mister."

"Maybe I'll find a place that sells that nasty tea you like to drink and I'll sound as gorgeous as you look," Doggett grins.

"Oh, brother," Reyes rolls her eyes, but laughs. "My tea is awesome and it's called Darjeeling." She spells it out for him, and adds, "Good luck, John."

His grin fades. "Wish Leyla and Gabe luck. They need it more than I do."

"Then I wish them the best," Reyes says in the same tone. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Doggett says, and after hanging up, opens his laptop.

His cell rings when his internet connection finally comes up, and he answers, "Doggett," to the now-familiar number.

"We found a shield," Lieutenant Redmond says, with no little wonder in his voice.

* * *

Webber Police Station  
1:52 p.m.

Leyla is sitting in the morgue, looking eerily like a corpse herself with her pale skin and lifeless eyes. "It's an honest-to-God battle-tested British shield," she says in a monotone when Doggett walks in, "carbon dating came back to 500 B.C. It shouldn't even be in this condition, it should be rotting in pieces somewhere in a museum."

"But it's not Lancelot's, is it?" Doggett asks.

"According to the books, it's the same design," the blonde agent says in that same dull voice. "Unless this is a really good fake, this is the shield of Lancelot du Lac."

"I'm sorry, we didn't find anything of Gabe's," Doggett starts off.

"You won't," Leyla says, and now there's a snap in her tone, life in her eyes. "That bitch has him."

"Who?" Doggett stares at her. "That Lady of the Lake chick?" he says, recalling what Reyes told him.

"No," Leyla says, pulling on a sweater that looks more like Gabe's style than her own, "Elaine of Astolat."

"Who?" Doggett repeats, really lost now.

The thin blonde agent looks up at him. "I've been doing research," she says. "And the overblown method of execution, the fact that couples were killed in the first place, and the fact that this happened in a small town called Shalott, where the bridge and the plants came from." Her large blue eyes narrow. "And if you've read English literature, Tennyson wrote a couple of poems about Elaine."

"I managed to forget most of that," Doggett admits, but not trusting the look in his junior partner's eyes, adds, "but why don't you enlighten me as to why this is our suspect?"

She glares at a point on the wall. "She fell in love with Lancelot, but he was in love with Guinevere. So she killed herself and sent herself down the river to Camelot, according to Tennyson. But legend has it that with the help of her maid, she disguised herself as Guinevere and Lancelot slept with her, and the child she bore, Galahad, was the one to find the Holy Grail."

"Like I said, why would she be our suspect?" Doggett prods her again, although he's wondering why he's entertaining the idea of mythical (and long-dead) characters being serial killers in the first place.

Now the blonde agent whips her gaze at him, and he finds a steely fanaticism in them. "Because she's an overwrought teeny-bopper that had to disguise herself as someone else to get her first crush to sleep with her, and some delicate poet had to kill her off rather than describe her as the sick, desperate slut she was!"

Her supervisor blinks. Okay, maybe it was a good thing he never hung out with the Lit majors in college. "Um, you do realize we're talking about a fictional character here, right?" he asks as gently as he can.

Now she looks at him like he's the crazy one to be pitied, which drives him nuts, and points to the shield. "That's not fictional, is it? Nor are the bodies in this room," she waves at the wall filled with the couple-killer's corpses. "And according to legend, Elaine kept Lancelot's shield until he could return."

"Like you said, LEGEND," Doggett stresses the word. "And there's no proof that a woman did it."

"There's no proof that there isn't," Leyla counters. "Look, even I can lift this shield," she says, and does it easily. "It's just reinforced wood with leather bands, someone like me could swing it around and hit someone."

"Please don't," Doggett says, getting her to put down the shield. "Okay, so a woman could lift this shield. But when women resort to violence, they usually have a more effective weapon to kill someone, rather than strangulation and drowning."

"She never got his sword," Leyla says, as if reminding him, "and if she's as overemotional as legend has it, she's killing couples out of jealousy. She'd use the shield as a weapon because it was Lancelot's, but the strangling and drowning, those are such medieval chick things."

"Uh-huh," Doggett says, wondering if she's truly gone off the deep end, now that Gabe's gone.

"And Gabe's still alive," she says, answering his unsaid comment, "because she thinks he's Lancelot."

"What?" Now he's pretty damn sure she's lost it.

"He's tall, dark and handsome, just like Lancelot's described," Leyla says in earnest, "and that bitch probably wanted me out of the way so she could have her way with him! Dammit!" And she grabs her huge bag. "Let's go!"

"Wait, we're just hypothesizing, right?" Doggett says, getting dragged by this little wisp of an agent.

She turns around and gives him a look that he usually gives to others. "Hell, no," she says, and hauls him out of there.

* * *

Sunday Park

The park has been closed ever since Gabe Rotter disappeared, but the police have still had to chase off would-be lovers, oblivious families, and curious reporters in the meantime. So it's up to Doggett to flash his badge, because the slender blonde has somehow managed to push past the blockade like a veteran linebacker, and it takes him a few steps farther back from her than he'd like.

A strange mist, like a temporary fog, hangs over the lake, slowly rising to the foot of the bridge. "Give him back!" Leyla shouts once she hits the bridge. "That's MY man, you bitch, and you know it!"

"Age- Leyla!" Doggett hollers, not wanting to identify her publicly as an FBI agent. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What I should've done as soon as I knew who it was!" she yells back, and jumps off the bridge into the lake, the mist dissipating as soon as she hits the water.

"Oh, shit," Doggett sighs, then yanks off his windbreaker and tie and dives in after her, followed by the lake-dragging team. But to his consternation, none of them found Leyla Harrison, even after half an hour. "Shit!"

"Sorry, Agent," Lieutenant Redmond says, looking every bit of his years and then some, handing Doggett a towel. "But if we got that shield, we'll get bodies somehow."

Doggett doesn't answer him, wiping himself off. Of all the ways to lose an agent and a civilian, this pretty much tops the suck list, to quote his sons. He exhales heavily, then raises his weary eyes to the lake, which looks damnably placid after the divers and the nets went through. "I can't believe this," he mutters. Common sense dictates that he files a report as soon as possible to cover his ass for this tremendous snafu that just exploded in his face, but there's a horrible emptiness inside, sapping him of any will to bother. Besides, if he can't look after his own agents and civilians under his care, what right does he have to even explain away his disturbing lack of judgment? Putting his head in his hands, he sighs again, "Shit."

The black lieutenant knows better than to try to comfort this man, but merely nods. "That about covers it," he says, his hands in his pockets.

And the two men stay there, as the search team tries again with sonar as well as nets, for another couple of hours. And as before, they come up with no bodies. The senior female officer gets out of the boat and makes her way to where the two men are, looking like grim gargoyles. "I'm sorry," Officer Daniels says, looking dejected as she takes off her lifevest. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah," Doggett says, sounding as terrible as he feels. He finally stands, and it seems that he's been sitting there for years instead of hours, he feels that old and horrible. "Me, too."

* * *

And something breaks through the still waters, a gasp, a splash, where there should be none. To the incredulous eyes of the police force and lone FBI agent, arms flail in the lake, and a high-pitched "Fuck!" splits the calm air.

"Get the boat back out!" Doggett shouts, and he beats Officer Daniels and the others back to said boat. "Come on!" And it took his impatient hands very little time to start the motor, but it was still too slow for him.

"Doggett!" Leyla flails with her free hand, her unconscious boyfriend firmly gripped with her other arm. "Help!"

"Coming!" he hollers back, although they're making good time. And the seconds before they reached the couple seems like forever to him, but he and Officer Daniels hauls them into the boat, and speed off just as quickly to shore.

There are towels and an ambulance waiting, but Doggett gives his subordinate a quick shake before hugging her. "You scared me half to death," he says, not realizing that tears are falling from his eyes. "I thought I lost the both of you."

And, improbably, she smiles, but her attention is on the emergency team attends to Gabe. "I took it too personally," she says, "I was afraid of losing him forever."

"What the hell happened?" Doggett says. "We couldn't find either of you for a couple of hours."

Now her eyes shift to her boss, and her smile becomes lopsided. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," she replies.

He sighs. Yep, she's still Leyla, he thinks. "Just tell me, I'll make my own decisions about belief or not. Besides, you still have to turn in a report."

"Oh, yeah," she says weakly. "Um, would you believe I kicked a princess-looking teenage girl's ass?"

He stares at her for a moment. "You're kidding, right?"

She shakes her head, looking at the lake. "You can see everything from where she is," she says, "it seems like the bottom of the lake, but it isn't. Well, the best view is of the bridge overhead, and I guess she was sick of looking at happy couples being all lovey-dovey above her. She tried to deny it but," she folds her arms, "I knew better. Besides, it was hard to miss as she had my poor Gabe all tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey, looking all drugged and everything." One of the EMTs look up at the "drug" remark, then sticks a syringe into the sleeping man's arm. "So I had to pound some sense into her."

Doggett raises his eyebrows. "You're serious? You beat up some girl at the bottom of the lake?" he juts his thumb out to the lake in question.

Leyla shakes her head again. "See, you don't believe me! But so what! I found my boyfriend and the bad guy's dead, that's what counts, right?"

Man, I hope Hannah doesn't grow up to be this crazy, he thinks, I should spend more time with my little girl. "She's really dead? She won't hurt anyone else?"

The blonde agent nods. "She killed herself," she says matter-of-factly, "after I told her Gabe really wasn't Lancelot, who had really died hundreds of years ago in a monastery after repenting for his lust for Guinevere."

"How the hell do you know this stuff - don't answer that," he says quickly. "So, she just killed herself after you told her that?"

"Well, she did a lot of screaming and crying, but essentially, yeah," Leyla agrees. "And whatever force or magic she used to keep the air down there started to weaken, so I got my knife out of my bag and freed Gabe as fast as I could, and by the time I figured out how to carry him, the water came rushing in." She shudders, reliving the memory. "I took as much breath as I could, but it's still pretty deep," she says, and when the EMTs start wheeling Gabe into the ambulance, she adds, "I'd better go with them. I'll call you."

Doggett nods, giving her shoulder a squeeze before letting her join her boyfriend in the ambulance. The whole thing was too unbelievable, even if it was the X-Files. Some legendary girl living underwater with an unrequited crush killing people, then kidnapping some guy? That'll never make sense, no matter which way you slice it, he thinks. And Leyla of all people getting to the bottom of it, literally, and getting her boyfriend back. "Sure hope he's worth it," he mutters softly as the ambulance disappears out of view.

* * *

Doggett and Reyes' current home  
November 17, 2003  
11:11 p.m.

To his sons' surprise and his daughter's glee, Doggett was hugging everyone when he came home. And it didn't take long for him to get from signing papers in the living room to carrying her to the bedroom, to his partner's glee. "Well, I guess it was the happiest ending one could hope for," Reyes says once he debriefs her on the case. "After all, nobody should have to live that long with that much of a crush."

Doggett shakes his head, pulling off his jacket and tie. "And I can't believe you're taking her side. Is Hannah safe with you?"

His partner sticks her tongue out, bounding into bed. "I'll have you know she's learning all the right stuff from fairy tales," she tells him.

"Oh?" he raises his eyebrows. "Like what?"

Reyes smiles. "Like if she ever thinks she's got a prince charming, she should bring him home so her wise parents can see if that's true."

"Okay, yeah," he grudgingly concedes her point. "Did you tell her the boy would have to go through her brothers and father if he wants to come near to my little princess?"

"I'll wait until the time comes to spring it on her," Reyes' smile turns impish, "that way, we can surprise him, too."

"Damn, I love you, woman," he growls, and she whoops as he takes her in his arms and kisses her, and she kisses him right back. "I'm so glad to be with a real woman who takes care of business when I'm out and isn't a complete flake."

Now Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Oh, so you think my ideas have merit, then?" she challenges him.

"Mm, sometimes," he buries his answer in her shoulder, and she laughs.

"You do realize what this means, don't you?" she asks, and he looks at her. "It means we're gonna have some great sex tonight." And she winks before taking off her top.

"Hot damn," Doggett breathes, then practically tears his FBI-approved shirt off. "I love you, Monica," he says, kissing her again.

"I know," she smiles, taking off his belt before moving on to his pants, "but it's nice to hear that." And she didn't say anything more for a while, since her mouth and hands were busy between his legs. He, on the other hand, had quite a bit to say, including more "I love you"s.


	127. All Done Bye Bye

Down the Street from Mulder and Scully's  
November 29th, 2003

Though the process to close on the house feels like it takes forever, it actually goes pretty quickly. Contracts are signed, the old family has already moved out so they don't have to wait for that, and Doggett and Reyes box everything up in both of their apartments - though by that point most of her possessions are already in his. On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the five of them have been green-lighted to move in, and they waste no time doing so.

To Doggett's relief, half an hour after they arrive in the moving truck Mulder shows up with Page, Sammy, and April, all eager to help out. They give the four kids the lighter boxes to tote in, and there are a lot of them considering that Reyes packed all their clothes in smaller boxes. They put Hannah "in charge" and she nearly puffs up with pride as she shows her young friends where to put things.

"Thanks a lot for coming over," Doggett tells Mulder as they each take an end of a dresser that needs to come off the moving truck.

"No problem. If you'd lived in DC back when we inherited our house, I'm sure you would have helped us move."

"Sure. And if you move-"

Mulder shakes his head. "Don't even say it. Scully doesn't want to move again, ever. And I feel pretty much the same way."

"Right, I won't jinx you by talking about it."

They wrestle the dresser inside, dodging around Luke and Gibson who are struggling with a coffee table before either says anything else. "Is it true you let Monica go out with agent Harrison yesterday? I wouldn't want Scully facing those Black Friday crowds five months pregnant."

"Let?" Doggett snorts with disbelief. "Have you met Monica? Or your wife for that matter? There's no letting when it comes to either of them."

"You're right. It's more in the nature of suggesting-"

"And being ignored."

"Well, maybe. But not always."

Doggett gives Mulder a pointed look.

"No really. I think my suggestions have been followed at least five times."

"And you've been married how long?"

"Nine years. Ten in February, actually."

"Uh huh." Doggett smirks at him.

"So, with that defeatist attitude, does that mean you're not going to even bother making suggestions about what to name the baby?"

"I actually have a devious plan about that."

"Oh?"

"Now that she's showing, I've gotten the kids to refer to the baby as something she hates. That'll put my suggestions in a better light by comparison."

"I didn't think you had it in you. What have you got the kids calling little whatzit?"

"Lump."

Mulder winces. "Tell me that she doesn't know you put them up to it."

"Nope."

"You better hope she doesn't find out... or that one of them doesn't try to blackmail you over it."

"Blackmail? You don't think-"

"Aren't the boys grounded for a few more months?"

This stops Doggett in his tracks. "Maybe I'll relent and give them back their video games at Christmas."

Mulder shrugs. "If you want to take the chance. Personally, I'd be thinking about driver's ed. They're seniors, you want them to be able to drive before they go to college, don't you?"

"And let them damage someone else's property some more?"

"They'll never improve if you don't give them a shot at learning," Mulder tells him. "But what do I know? My oldest is nine."

"Page will be sixteen before you can believe it. They grow up so fast."

Just as Doggett says that, Hannah and Page run by wearing all of Reyes' scarves. They dangle down to the girls' feet, and they giggle and try not to trip over them.

"Maybe not that fast," Mulder corrects him.

"Yeah. You up for the mattress next?"

"Bring it on."

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
The Next Day

"...so Sammy insisted that Mulder bring William with him. He did the same thing the night the twins were born too, and we can't quite figure out why he's so concerned with Will missing out on anything," Scully tells her mother while pouring coffee.

"It's probably because he's the last boy. Bill could get that way about Charlie sometimes too."

"Really? I don't remember that." Scully scoops up a fussing Brianna who has tired of playing in the baby jumper that has been a permanent fixture of the panty doorway for years. Now that both of the babies are walking, though unsteadily, they find the jumper less fun.

"You just didn't notice," Maggie says as she dandles Zoe on her lap. The kitchen isn't overrun by children for a change because Mulder took most of them to pick out a Christmas tree. "Dana, you won't believe who I ran into."

"Who?"

"Ethan," Maggie tells her over a pointed look.

"Really."

"Yes. I'll admit I was a bit nervous to speak to him."

"Why?" Scully asks as she pulls her mug away from Brianna's questing fingers and hands the baby a teething biscuit instead.

"Well...You know that I think you and Fox are perfect together, but it didn't take very long before you moved on from Ethan to him."

Her mother's comment leaves her feeling a bit defensive, "A year isn't long enough?"

"A year?" Maggie looks puzzled. "Was it really that long?"

"The first time Mulder and I had..." Scully pauses just long enough to make a quick mental substitution, "a date was a year and a couple of weeks after I decided it wasn't going to work out with Ethan."

"Oh. It didn't seem that long to me. Anyway, he asked me how you were, if you married, and if you had kids. The usual stuff. I wondered at first if he was fishing, but he smiled and pulled out his billfold to show me pictures of his two children."

"Boys or girls?"

"Girls." Maggie smiles, making Scully wonder why. "His oldest is a couple of months _older_ than Page."

"It figures. I'm glad that he found someone to settle down with quickly."

"He was a nice boy. But unlike your father, I knew when you brought him to see us that December that the relationship was coming to a swift end."

"Why? Did you feel like he was pressuring me?" Scully asks, thinking about how she'd felt like Ethan wanted to make things permanent by that point.

Maggie shakes her head. "I could tell from the way you talked about him, and about how you talked about Fox, which one you were going to be happy with. Settling down with Ethan would have been settling. You aren't the type to pick what's easy over what's right."

"Thanks?"

Her mother pats her hand. "When you brought Ethan home that time, he started to talk to me about Fox."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. We were grabbing the plates for lunch from the kitchen, and he took the opportunity to ask me if he ought to be worried about Fox. I hedged a bit, asking him instead why he thought he might need to. He wouldn't say, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that if he had to ask me that, he'd already lost you. So, as you can imagine, it came as no surprise to me that you broke up with him after that."

Scully tilts her head. "This is where Missy gets the 'ESP run in the family' stuff."

"I'm not psychic, Dear. I just read people well. I think it's fair to say it's a trait that I passed along to both of my girls."

"And April."

"But not Charlie or Bill. Speaking of Bill, have you talked to him lately?"

"I gave him a call at Thanksgiving."

Maggie looks slightly frustrated. "I think you should call him again."

"Why?"

Maggie's lips compress into a thin line. "It's not my place to say."

"Mom!"

Maggie refuses to explain her comment, leaving Scully to stew.

* * *

That Afternoon

Mulder wanders into the room while Scully is on the phone, and only hears her side of the conversation. "You're kidding. Seriously? ... Well, how do you feel about that? ... No, I don't blame you. It'll be rough. But it's good, though, right? ... Give my love to Tara."

It's only the final comment that clues him in. "Your brother?" he asks as she hangs up.

"Yes. My mother insisted I call him, and refused to tell me why."

"Well?"

"Apparently Mattie wasn't the only one who thought that there should be more kids in their family, because they've been undergoing treatment with fertility drugs for several months, and they learned a couple months ago that the treatment finally took."

"Is there something wrong with the baby? I could only hear your end of the conversation, but it didn't sound as overjoyed as I'd expect news of a baby would."

"Turns out that they did an ultrasound yesterday, and there's more than one baby."

"Twins?"

Scully shakes her head. "More than two."

"Triplets?"

"I don't know. He won't tell me how many more than two."

Mulder's eyes widen in surprise. "He won't _tell_ you?"

"They want to see how things go before they tell people how many babies they're expecting." She left the obvious implication that they wanted to see how many were likely to survive to birth unsaid, but he read between the lines.

"I guess I can understand that. Triplets, or more God forbid, are high risk."

"Especially at Tara's age - she just turned forty." Scully frowns. "I know I shouldn't feel upset that they want to keep any losses to themselves, but he's my brother. Shouldn't he feel safe telling me?"

Mulder pulls her to him. "He should, but this is your brother we're talking about. He has more trust issues than I do, and that's saying a lot."

She smiles, apparently slightly mollified. "'Trust No One' hasn't been your motto for quite a long time now."

"You've made me go soft, Scully."

"Have I?" she asks with a naughty smile that she accompanies with roaming fingers.

He looks down at the space between them. "You know I mean figuratively, right?"

"Uh huh," she murmurs, distracted. He doesn't mind being used to keep her mind off what's troubling her. No, he doesn't mind at all.

* * *

Doggett-Reyes Home  
December 5th, 2003

What starts out a typical boring Friday afternoon turns strange for Gibson when he hears Luke up in his room just after they get off the bus.

"What happened?"

Gibson can't understand the rush of images he's getting from his brother, so he runs up the stairs. "What the hell?" Gibson wonders aloud.

Both boys have been enjoying having their own rooms, but there something wrong with Luke's: what used to be half a dozen pairs of socks have been cut into ribbons.

Gibson takes one look at the former socks, and backs out of the room. "Hannah! Hannah, what did you do to Luke's socks?"

Luke follows him out. "Gib, she's still at school, remember?"

"What?"

"She won't be home for half an hour," Luke reminds him.

"Then what happened?"

"I don't know. Did you check your room?"

"What?" Gibson pushes past him. There's a loud groan, and then, "we'll have to tell Dad that we need socks _and_ underwear."

"Crap," Luke whispers. Then, louder, "Should we check the other bedrooms first?"

"Guess so."

John and Monica's room looks untouched, but Hannah's laundry has suffered causalities too. "Since when did she have this many pairs of tights?"

"Not since now, anyway."

"Who did this?" Gibson wonders. "Somebody has a real grudge against clean laundry."

"Or what did it?"

"Don't tell me that you believe Monica's hobgoblins stuff."

"Do you have a better theory?"

Gibson shrugs.

Predictably, the first thing they hear when Hannah gets home is a dismayed wail, "My tights!"

Luke goes to comfort his sister. "Don't worry, I called Monica and told her what happened. She said she'd stop at the store on her way home."

"I need to use the phone," Hannah says as she bolts from the room.

"Who do you know to call?"

She ignores him and head to the kitchen phone.

Luke shrugs, and goes back to his room to start his homework. He doesn't get very far before Hannah runs in. "I need you to bring me to the store."

"I told you, Monica's going replace the stuff that got ruined."

"That's not why I need to go to the store."

"Hannah, I need to do my homework!"

"But I need to go now!"

"Maybe Gibson can take you."

She storms out of the room before the words are all the way out of his mouth.

* * *

An hour later

"Hey, look, want to play Tony Hawk's 3? I still can't believe that dad said moving means we're ungrounded."

"Me neither. What did Hannah wanna buy anyway?"

"Dunno."

"You wouldn't take her either? Where is she, sulking in her room?"

When they check her room, the lights are off, and then room is completely empty.

"Hannah?"

* * *

Kit's Konvenience  
Several Minutes Later

A bell tinkles as Mulder enters, and the counter person Gary, smiles. "Let me guess, diapers?"

"You called it."

"How many you got in diapers still?"

"Dana's got our youngest boy in pull ups now, so just the last two girls."

"Bet you're looking forward to only seeing my ugly face when you need milk."

Mulder laughs and grabs the diapers.

He only gets a couple of feet out of the store when he hears a voice shout, "Mr. Mulder!"

Luke is nearly out of breath when he reaches him.

"Where's the fire?"

"There is no fire," Luke says, obviously anxious, and now confused as well. "Have you seen my sister?"

"Hannah's missing?"

"She wanted to go to the store but we had homework. When we checked on her once we were done she was gone. Gibson stayed at home, waiting to see if she comes back on her own." Luke cranes his neck to look into the windows. "Is she in there?"

"I don't see her. But let's ask the clerk if he's seen her."

Mulder drags Luke into the store, and Gary tells him that she was there... 15 minutes earlier.

"Where is she?" Luke cries in exasperation when they exit the store. Looking up and down the road does not reveal a dark-haired eight-year-old.

"Should we call the police? Do you have your phone with you?" Luke gives him a hopeful look.

"Actually, no. It's recharging. Let's go to my house and call your dad from there. It's closer."

"Okay." Luke sounds more than a little wobbly.

"Thanks-" Luke starts to say as they pull into the driveway of Mulder's home. "Hannah?"

There, sitting on the front stoop, is Hannah. She looks worried, and is clutching a bag from Kit's.

Luke nearly trips in his rush to get to his sister. "What are you doing here?"

"I tried to go back home, but I got lost. I found here instead."

"Why don't you knock on the door?" Mulder asked gently. "Dana or Michelle would have let you in."

"I wasn't invited, and Daddy says it's not polite to invite yourself to someone's to home."

Mulder can't argue against her training in manners, so he merely shrugs internally. "Well, let me give both you a ride home."

"Thanks!" they chorus.

* * *

Gibson looks both relieved and angry when Mulder drops his siblings off. "Why did you wander off like that?" he practically shouts at Hannah.

Instead of cringing as one might expect Hannah sets her chin defiantly. "You wouldn't take me, and April said we need this stuff. I wouldn't have gone on my own if it wasn't important."

"April?" Luke asks. "That's who you called? Why?"

"Didn't you listen when she told us 'bout the tommy knockers and how they got them to be nice?"

"Not really. How did they tame them?"

"Fed 'em stuff they liked." Hannah rattles the bag from Kit's. "I got them food I think they'd like."

"You spent your allowance?"

Hannah nods, and then hands her brothers packages of Twinkies.

"Thanks," Luke says, giving her a hug. "If this works will pay you back." Gibson glares at him. "Fine, even if it doesn't work, we'll pay you back our share."

"If it doesn't work, we get a snack." Gibson grins at the two of them.

* * *

Though he's only been gone for twenty minutes, no one is where he left them when he went out for diapers. The kids greet him cheerfully but Scully almost seems to be hiding.

When he finds her in their bedroom, she is giving a card he doesn't recognize a pensive look. "What's up?" he asks.

"I got an invitation to a Christmas party at my friend Ellen's."

"You don't want to go?"

"I don't know. We've kept in touch through cards and sporadic e-mails since you and I got married, but I haven't seen her in years."

"Why not?" He's always been curious as to why she didn't keep up her friendships.

She shrugs. "We were always so busy with the X-Files that there never seem to be the time for seeing her or Cathy."

"Maybe now's the time to reconnect," he suggests. "Besides that award show back during the spring, we haven't been traveling since joining the show."

"Maybe..."

"I know that look. If Ellen was angry at you, she wouldn't have invited you."

"You wouldn't mind going?"

"No, not at all," he fibs cheerfully. Meeting a bunch of strangers smacks of tedium, but he'd do it to make her happy.

"All right. I'll let her know will be there."

"Great."

* * *

Film Studio  
December 12th, 2003

"And that's a rap!"

No sooner are the words out of the director's mouth does Mary Green break into a grin. "Finally. I can't be the only one who is looking forward to some time off."

Like most TV shows, Jose Chung's The Truth is Out There goes on hiatus in December, though on their network it's replaced by seasonal programming like Santa Claus Conquers the Martians rather than Charlie Brown's Christmas.

"We are," Mulder admits.

Reed sneers at them all. "I suppose you're all looking forward to spending time with family and friends."

"Why yes, we are, Aldous," Scully tells him with a bright smile but an edge in her voice. "Most people who have either are looking forward to that." Her tone indicates that she knows that he doesn't have the former, and doubts that anyone actually enjoys spending time with him, so friends are unlikely.

If he picks up on that, he does a skilled job at ignoring it. "You'll be spending time running to your children's functions, no doubt."

"I will be," Green says, also playing the ignore-the-tone game. "Chet has a football game, and I'm finally going to be able to see him play." She and her husband aren't much older than Mulder and Scully, but they were college sweethearts and got family making underway sooner, so their son is a freshman in high school.

"As a matter of fact, Dana and I are going to see our son Christopher's class play at his preschool," Mulder tells his irritating co-host.

"How precious."

"Considering you feel that spending time with loved ones is beneath you I take it you'll be hanging out with Johnny, Jack, and Old Grandad?"

It takes Reed a moment to realize that these are all references to liquor, but when he does, he gives Mulder a look that could kill. He then stomps off without saying anything.

Scully pokes him in the arm. "That was mean."

Mulder juts out his chin defiantly. "He deserved it."

"No one's disputing that," Green chimes in. "But think of how miserable it must be to be him."

"Isn't that the mental equivalent of getting coal in my stocking?"

"Come on, let's say goodbye to Wayne," Scully suggests as she loops her arm through his.

* * *

Missy and Ryan are already waiting for them by the time they arrive at the preschool, mostly because they swung by the house to pick up William before heading there. It was Missy's theory that the two little boys would entertain each other quietly, and while that's not working out quite as well as she hoped, at least they're not running around.

Mulder tries to pay attention to Christopher as he stands on the makeshift stage, but he keeps looking Missy and Alex's kids instead. The passing months have transformed Ryan from a cranky baby to a good-natured toddler, and he now has more in common with his cousin William, much to Missy's relief. But it's Addy who has gone through a real metamorphous. This is no longer the traumatized child who spent the first several weeks in her new home sleeping under her bed. Now she's on stage too, having started preschool in September, shy but willing to participate with the other kids. The change in her is nothing short of a miracle, as far as Mulder is concerned.

Glancing at his sister-in-law, he notices that she's relaxed, not stressed out like he'd seen her so often over the past two and a half years. She looks at peace, and he decides that because all is mostly well with her family. Emily still needs to get her shot every month, but she's healthy otherwise, which rounds out the kids nicely. Even Krycek lets his guard down sometimes these days.

Mulder refocuses just in time for Christopher's speaking part, and he cheers for all the kids as their simple play comes to an end. As soon as they're allowed to, Christopher and Addy come running to them, hand in hand.

"Did you see us?" Christopher is literally jumping up and down.

"We did," Mulder tells him, before giving the boy and his cousin a quick hug. "You both did great!"

"Thanks Uncle Mulder," Addy says shyly, and Mulder beams at Missy, though she has no idea that it's in gratitude that she taught her two younger kids to call him Mulder instead of Fox.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart. Is everyone ready for a late lunch?"

"Yeah! Can we get cake?" Christopher asks winsomely. Page and Sammy's love of cake isn't shared by April or either set of twins, but Christopher and William are both fiends for it too.

"I think that can be arranged."

"Oh boy!" Christopher exchanges triumphant looks with his brother and cousins.

Scully's expression is slightly exasperated, but he leans down and whispers in her ear, "Could you say no to those excited little faces?"

"No. But let's try to work on that before any of them is old enough to beg for a cell phone."

Laughing, Mulder agrees as they walk out to the parking lot.

* * *

Mid-December 2003

After muttering something about getting the wrapping done early, Scully has banished everyone from the master bedroom, Mulder included. The older kids seem capable of entertaining themselves, so Mulder is hanging out with William and the babies in the girls' room.

"Let's see if we can annoy Mommy," Mulder tells the youngest of his offspring in a cheerful voice. He's slightly irritated that she's felt the need to drop everything to wrap presents.

The twins just stare at him, but William asks, "How?"

"Let's sing Christmas songs!"

"Okay!"

He begins teaching William the words to Rudolph, and the toddler picks them up quickly, but his younger sisters mostly laugh and repeat the word "deer" at irregular intervals.

William is gustily singing about Frostly the No Man when Mulder notices April walk by the open door and head to Page's room. Two minutes later David passes and goes to Sammy's room.

"Buddy, it's snow man," Mulder points out as William finishes his version of the song. "You know, like how we made snowmen last winter."

"We did?"

"Sure, don't you remember?"

William shakes his head. "Nope."

"Well, you were pretty little."

"But I big now!" William declares.

"Oh yeah? How big are you?"

"Dis big!" William stretches his arms wide, and giggles when his father takes advantage of that by swooping him up in the air. "Again!"

"Me! Me!" Zoe demands, and Brianna gives them an uncertain look, trying to decide if her brother is having fun.

Mulder sets William down, promising him another turn in a minute. He's still got Zoe in his hands when he sees April leave Page's room and Christopher run into it. He's still puzzling that out when Brianna decides to join in on the fun, so he almost misses Jared hurrying into Sammy's room.

"What do you think they're up to?" Mulder asks.

William puts his hands on his hips and says, "No good!"

"Who told you that?" Mulder asks, laughing.

"The TV."

"Okay."

After a short time the girls shut down, which still surprises Mulder. How can they be at full speed one minute, and sleepily rubbing their eyes the next? He puts the girls in their cribs, and sets William on his hip, planning to see what the rest of the kids are up to.

"Shhh," he whispers to William as they sneak up to Page's room.

He knocks quickly and throws the door open. Page is sitting at her desk, and she looks up at him, startled. "What's going on? I've seen a lot of running back and forth."

Christopher smiles at him. "Page is writtin' letters to Santa for us!"

"Sammy too," Page declares as she pokes the stack of letters on her desk. "So I wouldn't have to do them all."

"Oh, that's really nice of you," Mulder tells her.

"I know. We thought you and Mommy might be busy, and we can write real good now, so we wanted to help."

"Yeah," Sammy says behind them, making Mulder turn. "Santa's watching all of the time, _right_?" he asks in such a pointed way that it almost makes his father laugh out loud. He can't tell what's motivating Page, but Sammy is obviously hoping to score points with the big guy.

"That's what I've been told. He sees you when you're sleeping, and when you're awake."

"But Daddy, why does he care if you're sleeping?" Page asks logically. "We don't do anything when we're sleeping."

"When I slept over Hunter's house, he wet his bed," Sammy informs them. "I bet Santa saw."

"Santa knows that wetting the bed is usually an accident, not something naughty," Mulder declares, hoping that Sammy won't tease the other boy. "So it's not going to be held against Hunter. Mommy could tell you all about the medical stuff that makes it hard for some kids to control their bladders when they're sleeping."

"Does she have to?" Sammy asks plaintively. Page often finds Scully's medical expertise interesting, but Sammy finds it less so.

"I won't mention it to her, but if you bring up Hunter's bedwetting she'll probably tell you about it."

"Yeah."

Mulder reaches out with the hand not holding onto William and plucks the letters from Sammy's fingers. "Do you mind if I read these before I drop them off at the post office for you?"

"You can," Page tells him, giving him the rest of the letters. "You want to so you don't get the same stuff as Santa, right?"

"Exactly."

Page beams at him, and Mulder wonders how much longer she'll believe in Santa. She's a smart little kid, but she's always been fiercely loyal to the idea of Santa Claus, so he's hoping she'll hang onto the belief for just a little longer.

* * *

Later that night Mulder and Scully go over the lists. They're pretty much what they expected. "David and Jared both asked for sleds," Scully remarks. "Do you think they mean the plastic kind, or the ones with runners?"

"Plastic. I hated the ones with runners when I was a kid. They just sank into the snow."

"There's a trick to it."

"One that Samantha and I never learned, apparently." Mulder doesn't look bothered by this, and Scully thinks that it's nice to see him casually mention his sister without any pain on his face. "There's something that's not on any of the lists, and I'm glad to see that."

"What's that?" Scully asks.

"There's no 'dear Santa, please bring me a baby brother or sister for Christmas' on anyone's lists."

"Good. Mulder, do you think that they understand that there won't be any more babies? I tried to explain to Sammy, April, and Page but it went over their heads."

"What? They didn't immediately understand the concept of a vasectomy? I thought we were raising smart kids."

She sticks out her tongue at him. "Must you mock me over the futility of trying to explain that to little kids?"

"If I don't, who will?"

* * *

December 19th, 2003

As they walk up the steps in front of Ellen's house, Mulder feels a sense of déjà vu. Ellen and her husband had moved to a gated community a few years earlier, and that, coupled with the natty holiday sweater, ties and slacks that he is wearing, serve to remind him of their long-ago undercover case. Apparently he is alone in this, because his comment about hoping there isn't an ubermenscher lurking about is met by a bemused look from Scully.

They're only halfway up the stairs when the door flies open and a well-dressed woman rushes out crying "Dana!" and immediately engulfs her in a hug. After a fleeting look of surprise, Scully hugged her old friend back.

After a moment, Ellen steps back and looks up at Mulder. "This must be the infamous Fox Mulder who stole Dana away from us."

"That's me," he says, deadpan.

"Well, after giving her such a hard time about not allowing herself the time to find someone to settle down with, we could hardly hold it against her for doing just that." He watches his wife relax as a friend says it. Ellen gestures towards the door. "Come on, Kathy's already here and she can't wait to see you."

Inside, the ritual of exclamation and hugs is repeated, but he is more interested in the husbands' reactions to Scully that her friends'. Both Kathy and Ellen's husbands eye her appreciatively, and one whispers overly loud to the other, "She can't be the friend with nine kids. _Look_ at her."

Scully clearly overhears this exchange as well because she turns a faint pink. She weighs ten or fifteen pounds more than she had the year after giving up William before, and he's glad of it even if she's not. Her being that bone thin before had it only served to worry him.

It must be Kathy's husband who has misspoke, because she's quick to change the subject. "Ellen, where is Pete tonight?"

Ellen's expression becomes fond, as parents' often do when they're about to speak of their offspring with pride. "His school is having a winter formal. You should see how cute he and his date looked..." this leads to a flurry of photo sharing that continues as other guests arrive. Mulder joins in, pulling out his billfold to show off their kids too, and everyone declares that April and William look like Scully, David and Jared like him, and they argue about who the rest resemble more closely.

After twenty minutes or so of socializing and threats by the host to pull out a game, one of the other guests, whom Mulder thinks was introduced as a college roommate of Ellen's husband, squints at him and asks, "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Ellen chuckles. "Think about the Halloween special Pete and Brian made you watch," she says, referring to the other man's son as well as her own.

He looks startled. "Oh. You're on that TV show!"

"I've seen that show," more than one of the guest comments.

"You ever investigate a succubus?" One of the unmarried male guests wants to know. He expresses his disappointment when they say no. "Too bad. Of all the supernatural things out there, that was one I was hoping was real."

"Why? So you can finally get a date?" Kathy's husband ribs him good-naturedly.

* * *

December 21st, 2003

The Sunday before Christmas, Mulder finds himself in his mother's kitchen with April, Page, Samantha and all three of her girls. Teena has asked them over so she can share a family holiday shortbread cookie recipe that has been passed down to women in their family for generations.

"I wish had been able to teach it to Samantha sooner, but she'd shown no interest in baking as a child," Teena had told him when she'd asked him to bring Page and April over.

His sister's lack of childhood enthusiasm for baking was not passed along to her daughters - Ariel and Alyssa are just as enthusiastic about the task as their cousins, and even Adrianna has forgotten to be a sullen teenager long enough to enjoy herself too.

Teena waits until Samantha and the children are up to their elbows in flour before asking Mulder to help her in another room. He expects to be toting heavy boxes, but she just wants to talk to him in her seldom used dining room.

"I'd never thought I'd live to see this," she says wistfully after shutting the door between the dining room and kitchen. "I just wish your father had."

"Me too, Mom." The sacrifice his father made for William and Ryan's safety weighs the most heavily on him during the holidays.

"You don't understand. I literally didn't think I'd live to see this. All that time you spent looking for her, I wanted to shake you and tell you to grow up and face reality. We were never going to get her back, I was so sure of it. And I hated your father for it too."

"Mom..."

She shakes her head. "I was really sick a couple of years ago, Fox. And I didn't tell you about it, though I'm not exactly sure why now. But right around the time I realized I might die, you seemed to finally come to terms with our loss. And that gave me some peace, because I thought perhaps if you were over losing your sister, I could go to my grave without feeling guilty anymore. I don't know which is more unexpected, the fact that I got better, or that you finally found her."

Giving her a quizzical look, Mulder finally asks what he's been wanting to for over two years. "Is it a chip? Is that what made you better?"

Teena looks startled. "How did you know?"

He can't tell her the truth, of course. "I've met other people who have had illnesses like yours, or cancer, cured by chips implanted in the back of their necks."

"I didn't want to take it from him, but he insisted." She doesn't identify who he is, but Mulder knows that she's talking about the smoking man. "At the time I was worried what he might want in return, but he didn't live long enough to extract anything from me. And I'm so glad now that I took the risk, because this past year of having your sister back in our lives..."

Mulder nods. "I know exactly what you mean."

She smiles at him, and he startled by how serene she looks when she does. There is no doubt in his mind that his mother is being completely truthful when she tells him that she cherishes the time she's had with Samantha. The burden has definitely been lifted from her, and it makes her look younger. "So, how many besides us are you expecting for Christmas this year?"

"It'll be a smaller crew than last year," Mulder informs her. He doesn't explain why it's inadvisable for Tara to travel, but he does tell her, "Dana's older brother Bill and his wife and son won't be able to join us this year. And our friends John and Monica will be visiting with John's brother's family. He promised them that they would visit before their baby is born, and the holidays seemed like the most convenient time for that. So we plan to get together with them on Christmas Eve instead."

"It's nice that you're so close to them despite no longer working with them."

"It is. I think it's because of anyone who knows what our lives were like, it's them. But I'm wandering off topic now. Dana's mother, and her sister Missy's family will be there Christmas day. I think that it's possible that her brother Charlie and his wife and son might be able to make it too, though that depends on how cooperative the weather is with them getting a flight there."

"It was nice last year, but I think it will be even better this year."

"You do?"

"You have to admit, Fox, that things were a little bit awkward because we were just getting to know Samantha again. Now we know her and her family."

"That's true." Mulder looks around. "Do you have something heavy for me to carry? I'm sure that they'll want to know what you had me doing out here."

She looks around, and her eyes settle on a rocking chair. "How about you bring that chair into the living room for me? I've been meaning to move it for quite a while, but I've never gotten around to it."

"Sure, Mom."

* * *

December 22nd, 2003

"I'm taller, right Daddy?" Jared asks out of the blue.

Mulder looks up from tying William's shoe. He's about to bring the boys to the park, where they can play on the snow free equipment. It's easier than keeping the backyard toys clear of snow all winter. "Taller than who?"

"David."

"Um, no. You're both the same height."

"Oh." He looks disappointed. "Mommy said that identical twins could be different heights."

"Well, they could be, if one wasn't as healthy as the other, for example. The last time I measured you, you were the same height, though."

Jared thinks about this. "Can I spike my hair?"

Mulder almost asks him where that idea came from when it suddenly dawns on him that it's not a non sequitur: Jared wants to be more of an individual. "Sure, Kiddo. I'll ask Mom what we should get you so you can do that. No mohawks, though, okay?"

"Thank you!"

He's about to bring the kids out to the car when Scully stops him. "We got a Christmas card from Rachel and Sean."

"Did we? Any kids yet?"

Scully smirks at him. "That's what the very first line was about. She and Sean are thinking about starting a family next year."

"They're doing good, though?"

"It seems like it. And Mulder, you'll never believe it – they ran into the Ks!"

"Wow, I guess that it's a smaller island than it seemed when we saw the Ks during our vacation. You know this means that they can trade war stories about looking after our kids."

"Aww, it couldn't have been so bad, or she'd tell me that they were happily childfree."

"I was kidding. Our kids are great. I'm surprised they haven't had two or three of their own by now."

"Guess they're taking things at their own pace." Scully hugs him before whispering, "I hope Michelle fines a nice guy to settle down with too, but not until the kids are a little older."

"Maybe we should give her a raise next year," Mulder suggests, and she rolls her eyes.

* * *

Mulder-Scully Home  
December 24th, 2003

"I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas," Michelle tells them as she finishes hugging the kids goodbye.

"You too!" most of them reply. Scully carefully reminded them that Michelle would be back in a few days, so there were no upset feelings as they saw her off.

Mulder picks up one of her bags and brings it out to her car. After putting it in the car he says, "Drive careful, Michelle."

"Always," the nanny tells him with a smile. "I'll see you in five days."

"Tell your folks that Dana and I told them to spoil you. You deserve it."

"I will. They're love that. Bye!"

Michelle's car is still within sight when Doggett pulls up. He pops the trunk and sends his sons to get the presents.

Noticing that both boys look insanely cheerful as they go about their task, he leans over to ask Doggett, "What's with them?"

"Why don't you ask them?" He looks cheerful too.

"Let me help you with that," Mulder tells them as he meets them at the rear of their father's car. "You both look like you're in good moods. Any particular reason why?"

Luke and Gibson exchange a look. "No, you tell him," Gibson says, and Mulder has the disquieting sense that Gibson is responding to something his brother didn't say. At least not out loud.

"Okay. We got a special gift today," Luke starts to explain, but Mulder interrupts him with a guess.

"Driving lessons?"

"No, better," Gibson says firmly.

"Better?" There's only one thing he can think of that would have struck him as better when he was seventeen, but he's not about to guess that when their impressionable little sister is standing six feet away. "What's better than that?"

Luke practically puffs up with pride. "We got our early acceptance letters to college!"

"Yeah, we're both hoping to design computer games once we graduate," Gibson adds.

"We wanted to request being roommates, but Dad and Monica told us not to. That's okay, though. After sharing a room for a couple of years, maybe it's time for someone else to deal with his dirty socks." Luke hooks a thumb in his brother's direction.

"My socks?" Gibson yelps.

"Congratulations. Now let's get this inside before we freeze."

Luke nods, but doesn't move. "We are going to get a driving lesson, though. Dad said it would be our reward for keeping the kids entertained tonight. Was that Michelle leaving? I was hoping she'd be here."

"Yeah, cause you think she's hot."

"I- I do not!" Luke sputters.

"She's not bad for someone who is in her late twenties," Gibson tells him. "So don't feel bad. You'd never have a shot, anyway, so what does it matter?"

"Who said I _want_ a shot," Luke mutters and rushes into the house ahead of them.

There's yet another delay for Gibson and Mulder as they try to get into the house – Hannah and April are chatting just inside the door. Hannah looks thrilled as she tells her young friend, "You were right! The goblins love junk food and they haven't ruined nothing else."

"Squirt, move," Gibson says, surprising everyone. "We're half frozen here!"

"Oops." April pulls Hannah out of the way.

* * *

"So," Mulder says as he settles on the couch after setting the kids up with a movie in the playroom, "are you ready for both boys to be off at college in less than a year?"

"God no," Reyes says, squeezing Doggett's hand. "We'll have to adjust our thinking, though, since they obviously aren't going to be able to commute."

"Maybe they'll come home a lot. You know, to see their little sisters." Doggett places his hand on Reyes' belly as he says it.

Scully looks delighted. "You found out that it's a girl?"

"Yep. We can't wait to meet her."

"Don't say that, John," Scully scolds him. "You don't want her to try and join us before she's ready."

"Not like David and Jared," Mulder adds. "Though their being early wasn't their fault at all."

"Okay, I'll amend that to being eager to have her with us, but willin' to wait until she's fully baked."

"Besides, if the baby comes early, that'll mean having Leyla Harrison in the X-Files with you earlier."

Doggett gives a good-natured groan. "Don't remind me. But I have to tell you, that the whole going after a supernatural kidnapper thing aside, it wasn't so bad working with her. If things go okay, I might ask her to join the office permanently."

Mulder turns to his wife. "Where did you leave the ear thermometer for the twins? I'm afraid that John has a dangerous fever. He's speaking gibberish."

"Ha ha."

* * *

"Here, Mulder." Scully puts Zoe into his arms. Though the kids did a good job, at least as far as Mulder or Scully heard, when they borrowed the babies, Scully insisted that they had their hands full enough without adding the younger twins to the mix in the playroom. "Someone needs to be changed."

"And yet you shot my idea of getting diapers with 'well, it's not going to change itself' printed on them," he complains as he hefts up the baby.

"Don't even go there. We don't want little girls who think it's appropriate to have words emblazoned across their bottoms."

"Did you check Brianna?" he asks, and she quickly does.

In the end he's got both babies in his arms, and he talks nonsense to them as they head up to their room. It doesn't take him long to change them both, because after years of practice he and Scully are champion diaper changers. They're back downstairs in five minutes flat.

As soon as he's put the girls down on the rug, he notices that it's strangely quiet. "What?"

"I went to check on the snacks in the oven, and Mulder, there's a strange woman in our kitchen," Scully tells him, and he's surprised by how calm she seems. "She asked to speak to you."

A sinking feeling forms in the pit of his stomach, and he isn't surprised to see Elsbeth standing by the kitchen table, spearing a pig in a blanket with a fancy toothpick. She's wearing the same scarf as the day he met her. In fact, nothing about her has seemed to have changed at all. ::Well, that was 2003 too,:: he finds himself thinking in confusion.

"Elsbeth?" he says, his voice near a whisper.

"Don't look so surprised! Surely you knew we'd be seeing each other again today," the short blonde admonishes him, waving her snack.

"No…" He really hasn't given much thought to the idea of what would happen when the date rolled around again. His mind has always shied away from considering the possibilities.

"There might have been something that I forgot to mention when I gave you the chance to put things right." Elsbeth gives him an apologetic smile.

"What?" he asks, deeply afraid that she's going to tell him that he's failed somehow, and tomorrow morning will find him as alone as the first December 24th, 2003 should have.

"In order for this reality to stick, Dana and John need to know that it's not the natural order of things. If they like this reality better, than everything stays the same. If they don't…" she trails off meaningfully.

He swallows hard. "Then we go back to the way things were?"

"Exactly!" Elsbeth beams at him, apparently deciding that he's clever for figure it out so quickly. "Are Dana and John in the other room?"

"Yes, but I don't think they'll believe you-"

"Oh, don't worry about that. They'll believe me. Both of them have occasionally gotten the idea that there's something not quite right. That will be enough to sway them. Not to mention my appearance simply makes people predisposed to believe me, anyway."

"What are you?" Mulder asks, though he knows that she's right. He'd almost instantly believed in her himself. "Are you an angel?"

"That's one word for it," Elsbeth agrees.

* * *

Everyone looks up when Mulder and Elsbeth enter the living room.

"Who are you?" Reyes asks in a semi-friendly tone. "A friend of Dana and Mulder's?"

"I've never seen her before, but she knows Mulder."

"That's right," Elsbeth tells them. "I've known Mulder for a long time, haven't I?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Let's get down to business. I'm here to tell you something very important."

"What's that?" Scully asks warily.

"The sense of deja vu that you and John have suffered off and on over the past eleven years means something."

"What?" Doggett echoes Scully's question.

"It's your connection to the other timeline."

"What other timeline?"

"The one that Mulder escaped from to keep terrible things from happening to people he loves." Elsbeth goes to perch on the arm of the sofa, making Doggett move closer to his lover. "Just today, or a version of today, that is, he went back in time to nineteen ninety-two to try and keep those bad things from happening. He accomplished that and has lived over the years since then again."

Mulder expects all three of them to dismiss Elsbeth as crazy, but Reyes is the only one who seems to be skeptical. On both his wife and Doggett's faces, he can see sort of horrified and bewildered acceptance, as if they were both just waiting for someone to tell them something just like this. ::Just how bad was the deja vu she's talking about?:: he wonders.

"What happened before?" Doggett demands to know. "What was so awful that Mulder agreed to go back and live eleven years of his life over again?"

"You died," Elsbeth says softly. "You and Dana both died."

Scully is wide-eyed. "How?"

"That's a long story, but I'll tell it if you want me to," Elsbeth offers.

"Of course!"

"All right. I'll tell you what happened to John first. It all begins in August of 1993. A little boy named Luke Doggett is kidnapped, and later found murdered." Elsbeth gives Doggett a pointed look, and it's clear that he's horrified. "While looking for the boy, John and Monica meet, but then drift out of contact for a number of years. His marriage is soon over, and he and his wife never have a daughter."

"You're saying the last time I lost both of my kids by Barbara?" Doggett asks, aghast.

"I guess it would be splitting hairs to say that Hannah didn't exist then to be lost, so yes. You stayed a police officer for a number of years before eventually becoming an FBI agent. When agent Mulder was abducted in 2000 you transferred to DC and headed a task force to find him. You stayed on after he was recovered, as did agent Reyes, whom you called in to help agent Scully in May of 2001. The following year you solved your son's case, and had a brief relationship with Monica before you were killed by a semi driver who smashed into your car."

"When did I die?" Doggett asks. "In this other reality, I mean."

"Last week," Elsbeth announces.

Doggett looks a little green, and Mulder wishes there was something he could do to make him feel better. His first impulse is to offer him pigs in a blanket, but decides that it's not the best of ideas.

Elsbeth turns to Mulder's wife. "Dana. Yours is a longer story, but I'll give you the salient points. In your other life, you only had two children. A sickly little girl named Emily who died shortly after her third birthday, and a son named William."

The look on Scully's face is of complete shock, but this doesn't slow Elsbeth down. "You began working with Mulder in 1992. In August of 1994, you were abducted. Three months later you were found, comatose. What you didn't know then was that all of your ova had been harvested as part of an experiment, leaving you unable to have children. In 1997 you were diagnosed with cancer. It was a long battle, but you were able to recover when a chip was implanted in your neck. Not long after that you discovered that you were barren. The week before Christmas that year you also found out that a three-year-old girl named Emily was your biological child, created from your stolen ova. She died just after New Years."

Scully looks bewildered. "Emily was mine? What about the rest of our kids?"

"There were no kids, plural. None but William," Elsbeth says gently. "The rest were never born because you couldn't have them. You only had William because Mulder was able to recover a small amount of your stolen ova."

"We only had William?" Scully is obviously still dazed.

"Yes. But not for long. William wasn't the little boy you know now, at least not exactly, but special because of the DNA you gave him - yours was altered during your abduction. Everyone knew he was special, and he was nearly taken from you at birth by a group of alien abductees who were controlled by aliens. Another attempt to take him from you happened when he was nine months old. You recovered him, but it was the breaking point for you. Mulder had gone into hiding, to protect you both, and there was no way for you to reach him. A final incident involving Mulder's half-brother prompted you to give the boy up."

"How could I give away my only child?" Scully demands to know.

"You thought it would keep him safe," Elsbeth says soothingly. "It was your belief that giving him up was in his best interest, considering you had no idea if you would ever see Mulder again. You did, however, reunited in May of 2002. Months later you began a long drawn out court battle to get your son back. A few days ago you learned that you wouldn't be given custody of him. So you went to a bridge…"

"And?"

"And...you didn't exactly jump, but when you started to lose your balance, you did nothing to save yourself, either. Your body washed ashore the following day. Yesterday."

Doggett and Scully look at each other, horror-stricken.

"On December 24th of that year, I met Mulder. He'd just lost his beloved and a good friend, mere days apart. I offered him the opportunity to go back and try to fix the things that would lead up to your deaths. And he has."

"What happens now?" Doggett wants to know.

"If you both agree, this is your life to keep, now with the knowledge that it wasn't the one you originally led. If either or both of you disagrees, the old timeline will snap back into place. Mulder and Monica will carry on with their lives without you, and the two of you will rest until judgment day."

"What about me?" Reyes asks, a protective hand on her belly. "From what you've said, it seems like I get a pretty raw deal in the other reality. John's dead, two of my step-kids either are dead or don't exist, and neither does my baby."

"I'm sorry dear, but officially only they have a say about what happens next. You and Mulder will have to live with their decision." Elsbeth gives her a sympathetic smile. "But maybe if we discuss the other things that Mister Mulder has done with his second chance, it'll help sway them to the choice you'd obviously prefer."

"Oh. Okay, I guess."

Elsbeth swings her head in Mulder's direction. "You've been a very busy boy since you went back, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry?" Mulder says, wondering if an apology is what she wanted to hear.

She ignores him, and turns back to the others. "Dana, John, Mulder was supposed to come back and save you both, but you know him. What does he do best?"

"Stick his nose into things," Scully says promptly.

"Hey!"

"In that other when, Mulder's parents are both gone now, and his father died shortly before Mulder ended up in New Mexico rather than just recently."

"But that was years ago!" Scully protests. "Sammy wasn't even born yet."

"I know. His father wasn't the only one to die then..." Elsbeth looks up at Scully. "Your sister was shot in your apartment, when men looking for you after you came into possession of a tape they wanted mistook her for you. She died from her injuries a few days later."

"Oh my God!" Scully's hand goes to her mouth. "You said that Emily died too. So-"

"Emily died, Addy and Ryan were never born, and Alex died the night that William was born."

"And my mom died of a disease that she had treated this time," Mulder adds quietly.

"Then there's the matter of his sister-"

"Jesus!" Doggett exclaims, startling them all. "Her too? We all died?"

Elsbeth shook her head. "Samantha didn't die in that other reality, but-"

Mulder offers them a pained smile. "But I never found her. Never. I believed the lie I was feed about her dying as a teenager, and stopped looking for her. I never knew that she was alive with a family of her own. And there never was a TV show for Samantha to see me on, so she believed I was dead too, just as she'd been told as a child."

"Oh, Mulder," Scully hugs him. "You've done so much for people."

He gently pushes her away. "Don't start proceedings to saint me just yet. I was rather ruthless when it came to achieving my objectives of keeping you and Doggett safe."

"Ruthless how?" Doggett asks. He's moved closer to Reyes.

"Well...remember how I accidentally broke Luke's leg?"

"Yeah, of course."

"It wasn't an accident."

"What do you mean it wasn't an accident?" Doggett growls.

Mulder gives him a helpless look. "Short of kidnapping Luke myself, I couldn't think of a way to keep him off of that damn bike when his kidnapper was going to see him."

"Who was a child molester," Elsbeth helpfully adds. "Don't forget that detail."

"Right. It seemed kinder to break a limb and keep him off a child molester's radar than to let things happen the same way twice."

Doggett still looks mildly affronted. "You didn't think you could tell me and work something else out?"

Before Mulder can reply, Elsbeth stares at him. "As if you would have believed him. If someone came to you and told you how you needed to keep your kid off his bike so he wasn't molested and then murdered, your first instinct would be to think he was talking about himself as a potential suspect, and your second would have been to try to have him committed once you realized he meant it as a warning rather than a threat."

"She's got you pegged, John," Reyes tells him.

"Yeah, you're right. I guess maybe that was the best course of action you could have taken."

Reyes squeezes his right hand. "At least his plan worked."

"That's not so bad, Mulder," his wife says bravely.

His smile is sickly. "That's not all, and maybe not the worst of it. What I did to you..."

"Tell me."

"I ruined the condoms we used the first few times we made love," he says guiltily. "My theory was that Duane Barry wouldn't give you to his abductors if you were pregnant, and..."

Scully flushes red, which isn't what Mulder expects. "Um..."

"What?"

"Do you recall what I said when I told you that I was pregnant?" she asks, practically squirming in her seat.

"You said something about understanding if I wasn't ready to be a father." He looks puzzled. "What does that have to do with anything?"

If anything, she turns a deeper shade of red. "The first time we made love, I put the condom on you."

"God, I didn't need to know that," Doggett mutters, and Reyes elbows him to get him to be quiet.

"So?"

"So I knew that there was something wrong with the condom when I unwrapped it. There was a rough part inside the wrapper that caught against my finger, like someone had pushed something through it."

"It was a sewing needle," Mulder admits, still confused.

Scully looks exasperated. "Mulder, I didn't know you'd ruined them yourself, but I did know there was something wrong with the condom. I let us use it anyway," she says carefully. "And all the rest that had the same issue."

"Wait, are you saying you wanted to get pregnant?" he asks in disbelief.

"Wanted to might be putting it a bit strongly, but I didn't mind the possibility. No, maybe wanted is the right word." She's still blushing deeply. "I wanted a family. And you. 'Accidentally' getting pregnant seemed like a means to that end."

"So what you're saying is that we manipulated each other."

"Basically."

"That's so romantic," Reyes sighs.

"What the hell?" Doggett looks at her like she's crazy.

"You're a guy, you wouldn't understand."

He rolls his eyes.

"So," Scully says abruptly, causing them to all focus again. "Is that the end of your transgressions?"

Mulder shakes his head. "I...I screwed Krycek over bigtime."

"How?"

"I gave his address to Duane Barry, which led to him being adducted instead of you. And him getting cancer instead of you."

"Oh boy."

"But on the other hand, if it wasn't for me doing everything I did, he'd be single and childless. And dead. I think that what he gained evens out things in the end."

Elsbeth laughs, surprising them. "Aren't you glad that you only needed to confess to John and Dana, and not everyone else you impacted?"

"Uh, yeah."

"While I think he might forgive you, you might be better off never telling him," Scully suggests.

"Right."

"So, what do you say?" Elsbeth gives Scully and Doggett an interested look. "Is this the life you'd keep, or do you want things to be undone."

"Gee, I don't know," Doggett drawls. "I might have to think about whether or not I'd rather be dead."

"John!"

"We want to live this life," Scully tells her. "Please."

Elsbeth glances at Doggett. "That was sarcasm, right?"

"Right," he says quickly. "Of course this is the life we want to live."

She hops off the arm of the couch. "Okay."

"Okay? That's it?" Mulder asks, worried.

"That's it," she says firmly. "As soon as they said it, their fates were carved in stone. No going back, no more do overs. For better or worse, this reality is yours to do with what you will."

"Wow."

They all look relieved, at least until she says, "Before I go, there is one more thing."

"What?" Mulder practically screams.

"These pigs in a blanket are really good. Would it be rude if I asked to take a couple with me?"

"Take them. You can have them all."

"That's not necessary, but I appreciate the offer." She smiles at Mulder as she plucks three of them off the tray. "Remember, there are no more second chances. Take care of them."

"I will!" he promises fervently.

To his surprise, she pats him on the cheek. "I know. You are the nice boy I thought you were." And with that, she walks out the front door.

Doggett rushes to the window and look out. "Where did she go?"

The front stoop is empty.

"What was she?" Reyes asks, going to stand next to Doggett. He automatically winds an arm around what remains of her waist.

"Our second chance," Mulder whispers. No one corrects him.

* * *

"I wanted to tell you," Mulder admits as he and Scully get undressed that night. "There were so many times I wanted to tell you how things would turn out, but I couldn't. And after a while, things twisted so far from what they'd been like the first time, that I often had no idea what was going to happen next, either."

"Was it tedious?" Scully asks as she pulls up the bottoms to the red silk pajamas Mulder gave her an hour earlier. Everyone got to open new pajamas and a toy before bed, and unlike the kids', their toys were safely stored in a special box in the closet away from the eyes of impressionable children.

"Was what tedious?"

"Living the past eleven years all over again."

His eyes widen in surprise. "Of course not! My life has been so much better, so much fuller, this time that it was a joy to relieve most of it. I could have done without a second round as the aliens' pincushion, but other than that it's been almost perfect." ::except for losing Angel and losing my father again, that is:: he adds silently. ::I guess that there always has to be some sorrow for everyone.::

"Good." She kisses the underside of his jaw. "And thank you."

"No, thank _you_," he corrects her. "All the things that made this life a joy came from you."

"I think you're better versed in biology than that, Mulder."

"I didn't just mean the kids, but they're a big part of that, of course. This life, this love we share…" he trails off, and knows that it's okay that he can't put the rest of the thought into words. She understands, because she's her.

"Mulder, let's go to bed," she suggests, and begins to strip off the silk pajamas they've just put on. In the end, it's turns out that the kids aren't the only ones eager to play with their new toys before bed.

* * *

When Mulder wakes up hours later, it's not quite light out. For half a second his heart pounds, and he worries that he'll look over to Scully's side of the bed, and find it empty, but then she shifts on the bed and bumps into him.

The door to their bedroom inches open, and he sees a mess of blond hair and a happily expectant face looking in at him. "Are you awake? Page said it's too early, but she and me is already awake-"

Mulder holds open his arms, and Christopher runs into them. "Merry Christmas, Christopher."

"You too, Daddy!" his son says too loudly, and nearly wakes Scully.

Mulder carries him out into the hallway, and looking down over the banister he can see Page has already plugged in the tree. The tiny lights twinkle merrily, and paint her face. He can almost feel her itching to open her stocking.

"I hope Santa brought me something cool," Christopher says from his arms. "It's too bad he don't bring presents to grown ups, or you could get what you really want too."

Doors open up along the hallway, and a fussing coming from the nursery indicates that the babies are now awake too. He watches as Scully wanders in to change the girls, and Sammy carries William down the stairs with April, David, and Jared hot on his heels.

Mulder hugs Christopher tightly. "I've already gotten everything I wanted, I really have."

**The End**

The story ends here, but you can go to my profile to a link to the unedited(with rated M scenes) and illustrated version of this story. Take a few reader polls, and see what all the kids look like when you're there! Oh, and you can also get our e-mail addresses, which is helpful if you want to talk us into doing shorter follow up stories... ::grins:: FF needs more convincing than me, though.

* * *

Authors' Endnotes:

Neoxphile: The idea for this story came from being annoyed with the episode "William" and a statement shortly after the series finale when the writers said something to the effect of "Mulder and Scully can't fend off an alien invasion with a baby in tow." (Not, of course, that the movie franchise ultimately when in a direction where this would have actually posed a plot problem!) I personally was filled with indignation about this casual dismissal because the Mulder and Scully I loved could *so* fend off an invasion with a baby strapped to their backs. They just could...and probably always could have, actually. That realization made me wonder: what would the show been like if they *always* had a baby to look after? Nine seasons, nine kids...

Thus the embryo of a plot formed, and I arrived at the plan to write a fic, hopefully with some help, where they had lots of kids so they'd be saddled with that trying-to-be-feds-with-a-family thing through the entire series. So after writing an outline that mostly included how we'd put kids into the timeline of the show, I brought the idea to one of my favorite fic writers, Felinefemme. Fortunately she liked the idea and we got to writing. And writing and writing and... In our defense, I have to confess that we thought it was going to be a short story at the very beginning. Within a week or two we knew it wouldn't be, but no, we had no idea that it would take six whole years to complete this project. Nor did we know that it would so often stray from its original conception, which was to be a parody (self-parody in my case) of the family fic genre. Things got more serious at times than we anticipated, but that's what happens when you try to follow the changes we made through to their mostly logical conclusions.

I'd like to offer a heartfelt thank you both to readers who spent six years following along with the strange adventures of Mulder, Scully, and all the little Mulderlings, and also to people who were undaunted by its length and dove in later. We wouldn't have finished without readers prodding us on.

Oh, and one last thing: if the fact that neither of us has kids shows worse than we think, please forgive us =)

NeoX

Felinefemme: Yes, ladies and gents, it's all NeoX's fault:D Kidding, I was a willing accomplice, and I always did like a good joke. The fact that we kept it up as long as we did is more a testament to her insane creativity & attention to detail than anything I've done - and perhaps it helped that we're not only on opposite ends of this great country of ours, but also an ocean between us, so she couldn't easily strangle me when my muse went comatose for weeks on endXD

But seriously, I do like the idea of second & third chances in life and love, not just for the X-Files crew, but for everyone, and this epic fanfic of ours was out to do just that! Of course, if I'd known how truly epic it would become... you know what? I think some things, like helping NeoX put this fic together, is something I wouldn't regret, no matter how many do-overs I get:D Besides, how often do you get to re-do the X-Files with a mastermind who uses her powers for good rather than evil? So, thanks, Neoxphile!

And thanks to all of you readers! It's so nice to see that our folie a deux has turned into a folie a pleusieurs! It's like reliving the X-Files again, only better, heh heh heh! Kidding, kidding, I looooove you, Chris Carter and all you XF writers, oh yes, I do, you guys gave us so much to work with...! XD runs

Felinefemme


	128. Teaser for FGM sequel One Fine Summer

Authors' Note:

You know how TV shows often offer previews of the next episode at the end of the current one? Consider yourself teaser'd by what follows =) Subscribe to me as an author if you want to know when I begin posting this very first (far far far shorter!) sequel to The Family G-Man in a few weeks.

You missed the Mulderlings too, right?

* * *

**Coming soon!**

Title: The Family G-Man: One Fine Summer  
Authors: FelineFemme & Neoxphile

Summary: Three weeks in the lives of Mulder, Scully, and their extended families during the summer of 2004.

* * *

Vacation: Minus One Day

When the light the studio shut down it feels like an eclipse and Mulder blinks, trying to get his bearings. It's also immediately cooler, so he's not surprised to notice that both Scully and Dr. Green are shivering despite it being August. Aldus Reed is practically made of ice so it doesn't bother him in the slightest.

"Well, that's a wrap!" Wayne Federman, Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There's host/producer declares just in case the lack of blazing light on them wasn't clear enough. "Enjoy your summer!"

"You too," Mulder and his female costars reply. Aldous Reed doesn't deign to be that nice.

Instead Reed looks down his long nose, sneering at Mulder and Scully both. "Three weeks of kiddie pools, I imagine?"

Once Mulder might've bristled over Reed's condescension, but he's used to the author's snideness. "I'm sure there will be some of that," he replies blandly.

"How many are still in diapers?" Read inquires, almost sounding interested in someone other than himself.

Mulder is taken by surprise, so he answers, "Just the youngest two." Zoe and Brianna won't be two until Halloween, so no one is pressuring them to brave the potty just yet.

"At least you stopped making more of them," Reed says before walking off.

Dr. Mary Green apparently overheard given she shoots him a sympathetic look. "Aren't you glad there aren't any little Aldus Reeds out there running around?" Green, a mother of two teenagers herself, never sides with Reed's comments about who should or shouldn't breed or how much.

"Thank God he's obnoxious enough to scare off women despite his money and slightly above-average looks," Scully blurts out.

Mulder smirks at his wife. "The tweed professor look does it for you? I had no idea. Maybe he can tell me where I can get those fetching sweaters with suede patches on the elbows-" he shuts up, ducking out of her reach when she glares at him.

When Scully and Green begin to discuss summer plans, Mulder finds himself thinking about a conversation he and Scully had had years before: they joked that it was their civic duty to produce intelligent children, but Reed makes him wonder if kids who are smarter than the average bear but also prickly as Reed would be a net gain to the world. He supposes not.

Three weeks without Reed will be nice, Mulder thinks, wondering how long it will be before the ladies finish their conversation and they can leave.

* * *

On the drive home Mulder begins to spin a fantasy about how he will spend the first night of their vacation. However, his daydream about spending a relaxing evening sitting in a lounge chair, watching the kids play, dissolves when they pull into their driveway and Scully says, "I guess we better start packing before dinner."

He has to stifle a sigh; the daydream was so real he could practically taste the lemonade and feel the sleepy weight of one of their toddlers dozing on his lap.

"I guess we better," he says, resigned.

His wife shoots him a concerned look. "Are you having second thoughts? I know Bill is far from your favorite person-"

He summons up a smile for her. "I'd far rather spend a week with your brother that with Reed."

"That's not saying much," she complains.

Mulder leans over and gives her what he hopes is a mollifying kiss. "You want to finally see your brother's babies in person. The kids can't wait to play with Mattie. Packing isn't my favorite thing, but you're right, we need to do tonight so we can make our flight tomorrow afternoon."

Before they can continue their conversation the front door opens and several children pour out, followed at a distance by the hardest working nanny in DC. Michelle waves when she catches their eyes.

When Michelle reaches them, Mulder takes a sniffling William from her. "The babies are down for their nap," Michelle report. "But this guy refuses and is overtired as a result. And Page and Sammy decided to get a jump on packing, not that they know where their suitcases are."

Mulder rubs his youngest son's back, then hands him to Scully when he swarmed by three children all saying "Dad! Dad! Dad!"

Scully turns to Christopher, who has been quietly waiting to be noticed. Speaking to the four-year-old she asked, "Christopher, how about you, William, and I go pick out some toys to take on the plane?"

His small face lights up. "Okay, Mommy."

Mulder watches them go, momentarily ignoring the waist-high Greek chorus. Once the door to the house closes, he looks down and asks, "What? What? What?"

David gives him a reproachful look. "We wanted to talk to about baseball." Jared and April nod in vigorously in agreement.

"What about baseball?" Mulder asks warily. Somehow he's sure they don't want to talk to him about how the Yankees or Mets are doing.

As he predicts, the "baseball" in question is T-ball and Little League. "We're going to miss games! Daddy, our teams need us!" Jared declares earnestly.

Their parents hadn't been the slightest bit surprised when David and Jared had begged to be on the local T-ball team because the twin boys had enough energy for sextuplets, but they _had_ been startled when April had asserted her wish to play Little League too. They'd been even more surprised that she still wanted to even after they explained that being older would mean that she wouldn't be on the same team as her brothers.

"When we signed you up, we talked about missing games when our vacation came up. Do you remember that?" Three heads nodded reluctantly. "So…"

"We're afraid they're going to be mad at us," April explains. Her normally shoulder long red hair has been cut to a chin length bob because she got sick of threading a ponytail through her baseball cap and Scully reluctantly decided it was her decision.

"Who would be mad? The other kids?" Mulder asks.

"And the coaches."

"The coaches will not be mad," he promises them, but they look unconvinced.

"How do you know?" David asks suspiciously.

"Because they've known your vacation schedule for a while, and most kids miss some games. Remember that Jaden missed a game because his big sister graduated from middle school? And Conner had to spend a week at his grandma's?"

"Yeah."

"Good-" he starts to say, pleased that he seems to have reasoned with them. At least until April interrupts.

"But this is two whole weeks," April protests worriedly.

"Did the coaches get mad when Jack and Ava missed two weeks to go to Disney World?" Mulder asks, thinking he knows entirely too much about the lives of his children's teammates.

"No…" April says slowly.

"So why would they be mad at you?"

"Because I'm better than Jack or Ava," his daughter blurts out. The boys shrug and nod. They play their games before hers, so they've watched her play plenty of times.

"I'm sure the team will muddle along without you," he says, fighting the urge to smirk over her undisguised arrogance. It reminds him of his own young feelings about his basketball abilities. "Right?" he prompts.

They sigh in resignation. "Right."

"Good. Let's go find your suitcases."

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this taste, and don't forget, the full story will be posted separately this fall, so keep an eye out for it.


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